I remember the dread with which I at a quarter past
Let go with a bang behind me our house front
And, clutching a present for my dear little hostess tight,
Sailed out for the children's party into the
Or rather the gathering night.
For still some
In the near municipal acres were making a
Shuffling in fallen leaves and shouting and
And running past hedges of hawthorn, spiky and bristling.
And black in the oncoming darkness stood out the
And pink shone the ponds in the sunset ready to
And all was still and ominous waiting for
And the keeper was ringing his closing bell in the
And the arc lights started to fizzle and burst into
As I climbed West Hill to the great big house in the grove,
Where the children's party was and the dear little hostess.
But halfway up stood the empty house where the ghost is.
I crossed to the other side and under the
Made a rush for the next kind lamppost out of the
And so to the next and the next till I reached the
Where the grove branched off to the left.
Then ready to dropI ran to the ironwork gateway of number
Secure at last on the lamp lit fringe of heaven.
Oh who can say how subtle and safe one
Shod in ones children's sandals from Daniel Neal's,
Clad in one's party clothes made of stuff from Heal's?
And who can still one's thrill at the candle
On cakes and ices and jelly and blackcurrant wine,
And the warm little feel of my hostess's hand in mine?
Can I forget my delight at the conjuring show?
And wasn't I proud that I was the last to go?
Too overexcited and pleased with myself to
That the words I heard my hostess's mother
To a guest departing, would ever diminish my joy,
I
ER
RE
IA
ND
AT
GE,
ER
ON
LE
OY?
