Free The Phoenix Generation by Henry Williamson

let it. The district was not what it was, a new class of people had been moving in during the past few years. Not that he felt that Wakenham was, or ever had been, in any sense a superior place to live in; but the newcomers generally did not care for gardening, and many were, moreover, distinctly untidy  in other ways. Motor-bicycles stood on the uncut grass of lawns, paper was left to lie about, paint was not renewed. Dinginess was the word for it. No, he would not want his well-kept house and garden occupied by one of those fellows who went about with cigarettes in their mouths and hands in pockets and thought so much of themselves that they never raised their hats to a woman when they spoke to her: the sort who invariably sat about in their rooms, and at table, in their shirt-sleeves.
    He would ask the police to keep an eye on the house, and have the plate chest put in the bank. Master Phillip living there would keep the house alive. He and Lucy might want a holiday; it was handy for London, and theatres and restaurants; and since they would need a comfortable bed, he had ordered, in plenty of time, a modern one, with spiral springs and low centre of gravity, and walnut panels, from the Stores. That was to be his surprise; and when Hetty came to London to visit—whosoever she wanted to visit—she would find it the very thing for sound sleep, nervous little thing that she had always been.
    *
    Fawley having been put in order, Lucy and Felicity set about spring-cleaning at Monachorum. The swallows were back. Stimulated by the sight of these migrants, and by the habit of physical work, Felicity was confident that now she would be able to help Phillip much more than in the past. She must organise his writing room for him, as a start. Having watched him often enough pawing over the contents of a drawer, pulling out old envelopes, worn-out typewriter ribands, stumps of pencils along with shells, nails, odd stamps, German 1914–18 cartridges and bullets, and other relics supposed to be of use later on, she determined to free him of worry by tidying up his room, together with the cupboards, boxes, and contents of his kneehole desk.
    *
    Phillip sat in the shade of the cankered apple trees in the orchard, wearing dark glasses, writing pad on knee. A goldfinch had a nest in the fork of a branch. Voices floated from the house,and the noise of water gurgling down the drain; the gurgling stopped, and he knew that once more the wretchedly inadequate field-drain pipes were choked. When the paper-boy brought the morning papers he got up to meet him, and returning to the deck-chair glanced through the London paper. By this act he broke his rule never to look at the papers until after the morning stint, of a minimum thousand words, was done.
    On the front page was the news of a junior minister’s resignation from the Labour government. The name of Birkin was prominent. Where had he heard it before? Ah, at the Selfridge Election party. GREAT SPEECH TO THE HOUSE, ran the headline.
    ‘If this loan of one hundred million pounds cannot be raised,’ continued the Minister, ‘then unemployment, as an urgent and immediate problem, cannot be dealt with. We are told by the City of London that we cannot have the money to help the workless back to work—in reclaiming land, in afforestation, in building great new roads to replace the narrow, wandering tracks that so frequently link town with town, creating obstacles for traffic and danger to life; in electrification projects; and in everything needed to bring this great country up to date in the public utility services—all these things are needed for our survival. More important still, for our true wealth lies in our people, not only should children be kept out of industry, but an ad hoc pension scheme must be instituted whereby old people shall be encouraged to retire from industry at sixty by payment of pensions of twenty-five shillings a week. Thus more jobs will go to those who urgently need