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across their land。 Then； a short time afterwards； a colliery was
sunk on the other side of the canal； and in a while the Midland
Railway came down the valley at the foot of the Ilkeston hill；
and the invasion was plete。 The town grew rapidly； the
Brangwens were kept busy producing supplies； they became richer；
they were almost tradesmen。
Still the Marsh remained remote and original； on the old；
quiet side of the canal embankment； in the sunny valley where
slow water wound along in pany of stiff alders； and the road
went under ashtrees past the Brangwens' garden gate。
But； looking from the garden gate down the road to the right；
there； through the dark archway of the canal's square aqueduct；
was a colliery spinning away in the near distance； and further；
red； crude houses plastered on the valley in masses； and beyond
all； the dim smoking hill of the town。
The homestead was just on the safe side of civilization；
outside the gate。 The house stood bare from the road； approached
by a straight garden path； along which at spring the daffodils
were thick in green and yellow。 At the sides of the house were
bushes of lilac and guelderrose and privet； entirely hiding the
farm buildings behind。
At the back a confusion of sheds spread into the homeclose
from out of two or three indistinct yards。 The duckpond lay
beyond the furthest wall； littering its white feathers on the
padded earthen banks； blowing its stray soiled feathers into the
grass and the gorse bushes below the canal embankment； which
rose like a high rampart near at hand； so that occasionally a
man's figure passed in silhouette； or a man and a towing horse
traversed the sky。
At first the Brangwens were astonished by all this motion
around them。 The building of a canal across their land made them
strangers in their own place； this raw bank of earth shutting
them off disconcerted them。 As they worked in the fields； from
beyond the now familiar embankment came the rhythmic run of the
winding engines； startling at first； but afterwards a narcotic
to the brain。 Then the shrill whistle of the trains reechoed
through the heart； with fearsome pleasure； announcing the
faroff e near and imminent。
As they drove home from town； the farmers of the land met the
blackened colliers trooping from the pitmouth。 As they gathered
the harvest； the west wind brought a faint； sulphurous smell of
pitrefuse burning。 As they pulled the turnips in November； the
sharp clinkclinkclinkclinkclink of empty trucks shunting on
the line； vibrated in their hearts with the fact of other
activity going on beyond them。
The Alfred Brangwen of this period had married a woman from
Heanor； a daughter of the 〃Black Horse〃。 She was a slim； pretty；
dark woman； quaint in her speech； whimsical； so that the sharp
things she said did not hurt。 She was oddly a thing to herself；
rather querulous in her manner； but intrinsically separate and
indifferent； so that her long lamentable plaints； when she
raised her voice against her husband in particular and against
everybody else after him； only made those who heard her wonder
and feel affectionately towards her； even while they were
irritated and impatient with her。 She railed long and loud about
her husband； but always with a balanced； easyflying voice and a
quaint manner of speech that warmed his belly with pride and
male triumph while he scowled with mortification at the things
she said。
Consequently Brangwen himself had a humorous puckering at the
eyes； a sort of fat laugh； very quiet and full； and he was
spoilt like a lord of creation。 He calmly did as he liked；
laughed at their railing； excused himself in a teasing tone that
she loved； followed his natural inclinations； and sometimes；
pricked too near the quick； frightened and broke her by a deep；
tense fury which seemed to fix on him and hold him for days； and
which she would give anything to placate in him。 They were two
very separate beings； vitally connected； knowing nothing of each
other； yet living in their separate ways from one root。
There were four sons and two daughters。 The eldest boy ran
away early to sea； and did not e back。 After this the mother
was more the node and centre of attraction in the home。 The
second boy； Alfred； whom the mother admired most； was the most
reserved。 He was sent to school in Ilkeston and made some
progress。 But in spite of his dogged； yearning effort； he could
not get beyond the rudiments of anything； save of drawing。 At
this； in which he had some power； he worked； as if it were his
hope。 After much grumbling and savage rebellion against
everything； after much trying and shifting about； when his
father was incensed against him and his mother almost
despairing； he became a draughtsman in a lacefactory in
Nottingham。
He remained heavy and somewhat uncouth； speaking with broad
Derbyshire accent； adhering with all his tenacity to his work
and to his town position； making good designs； and being
fairly welloff。 But at drawing； his hand swung naturally in
big； bold lines； rather lax； so that it was cruel for him to
pedgill away at the lace designing； working from the tiny
squares of his paper； counting and plotting and niggling。 He did
it stubbornly； with anguish； crushing the bowels within him；
adhering to his chosen lot whatever it should cost。 And he came
back into life set and rigid； a rarespoken； almost surly
man。
He married the daughter of a chemist； who affected some
social superiority； and he became something of a snob； in his
dogged fashion； with a passion for outward refinement in the
household； mad when anything clumsy or gross occurred。 Later；
when his three children were growing up； and he seemed a staid；
almost middleaged man； he turned after strange women； and
became a silent； inscrutable follower of forbidden pleasure；
neglecting his indignant bourgeois 。
Frank； the third son； refused from the first to have anything
to do with learning。 From the first he hung round the
slaughterhouse which stood away in the third yard at the back
of the farm。 The Brangwens had always killed their own meat； and
supplied the neighbourhood。 Out of this grew a regular butcher's
business in connection with the farm。
As a child Frank had been drawn by the trickle of dark blood
that ran across the pavement from the slaughterhouse to the
crewyard； by the sight of the man carrying across to the
meatshed a huge side of beef； with the kidneys showing；
embedded in their heavy laps of fat。
He was a handsome lad with soft brown hair and regular
features something like a later Roman youth。 He was more easily
excitable； more readily carried away than the rest； weaker in
character。 At eighteen he married a little factory girl； a pale；
plump； quiet thing with sly eyes and a wheedling voice； who
insinuated herself into him and bore him a child every year and
made a fool of him。 When he had taken over the butchery
business； already a growing callousness to it； and a sort of
contempt made him neglectful of it。 He drank； and was often to
be found in his public house blathering away as if he knew
everything； when in reality he was a noisy fool。
Of the daughters； Alice； the elder； married a collier and
lived for a time stormily in Ilkeston； before moving away to
Yorkshire with her numerous young family。 Effie； the younger；
remained at home。
The last child； Tom； was considerably younger than his
brothers； so had belonged rather to the pany of his sisters。
He was his mother's favourite。 She roused herself to
determination； and sent him forcibly away to a grammarschool in
Derby when he was twelve years old。 He did not want to go； and
his father would have given way； but Mrs。 Brangwen had set her
heart on it。 Her slender； pretty； tightlycovered body； with
full skirts； was now the centre of resolution in the house； and
when she had once set upon anything； which was not often； the
family failed before her。
So Tom went to school； an unwilling failure from the first。
He believed his mother was right in decreeing school for him；
but he knew she was only right because she would not acknowledge
his constitution。 He knew； with a child's deep； instinctive
foreknowledge of what is going to happen to him； that he would
cut a sorry figure at school。 But he took the infliction as
inevitable； as if he were guilty of his own nature； as if his
being were wrong； and his mother's conception right。 If he could
have been what he liked； he would have been that which his
mother fondly but deludedly hoped he was。 He would have been
clever； and capable of being a gentleman。 It was her
aspiration for him； therefore he knew it as the true aspiration
for any boy。 But you can't make a silk purse out of a sow's ear；
as he told his mother very early； with regard to himself； much
to her mortification and chagrin。
When he got to school； he made a violent struggle against his
physical inability to study。 He sat gripped； making himself pale
and ghastly in his effort to concentrate on the book； to take in
what he had to learn。 But it was no good。 If he beat down his
first repulsion； and got like a suicide to the stuff； he went
very little further。 He could not learn deliberately。 His mind
simply did not work。
In feeling he was developed； sensitive to the atmosphere
around him； brutal perhaps； but at the same time delicate； very
delicate。 So he had a low opinion of himself。 He knew his own
limitation。 He knew that his brain was a slow hopeless
goodfornothing。 So he was humble。
But at the same time his feelings were more discriminating
than those of most of the boys； and he was confused。 He was more
sensuously developed； more refined in instinct than they。 For
their mechanical stupidity he hated them； and suffered cruel
contempt for them。 But when it came to mental things； then he
was at a disadvantage。 He was at their mercy。 He was a fool。 He
had not the power to controvert even the most stupid argument；
so that he was forced to admit things he did not in the least
believe。 And having admitted them； he did not know whether he
believed them or not； he rather thought he did。
But he loved anyone who could convey enlightenment to him
through feeling。 He sat betrayed with emotion when the teacher
of literature read； in a moving fashion； Tennyson's 〃Ulysses〃；
or Shelley's 〃Ode to the West Wind〃。 His lips parted； his eyes
filled with a strained； almost suffering light。 And the teacher
read on； fired by his power over the boy。 Tom Brangwen was moved
by this experience beyond all calculation； he almost dreaded it；
it was so deep。 But when； almost secretly and shamefully； he
came to take the book himself； and began the words 〃Oh wild west
wind； thou breath of autumn's being；〃 the very fact of the print
caused a prickly sensation of repulsion to go over his skin； the
blood came to his face； his heart filled with a bursting passion
of rage and inpetence。 He threw the book down and walked over
it and went out to the cricket field。 And he hated books as if
they were his enemies。 He hated them worse than ever he hated
any person。
He could not voluntarily control his attention。 His mind had
no fixed habits to go by； he had nothing to get hold of； nowhere
to start from。 For him there was nothing palpable； nothing known
in himself； that he could apply to learning。 He did not know how
to begin。 Therefore he was helpless when it came to deliberate
understanding or deliberate learning。
He had an instinct for mathematics； but if this failed him；
he was helpless as an idiot。 So that he felt that the ground was
never sure under his feet； he was nowhere。 His final downfall
was his plete inability to attend to a question put without
suggestion。 If he had to write a formal position on the Army；
he did at last learn to repeat the few facts he knew： 〃You can
join the army at eighteen。 You have to be over five foot eight。〃
But he had all the time a living conviction that this was a
dodge and that his monplaces were beneath contempt。 Then he
reddened furiously； felt his bowels sink with shame； scratched
out what he had written； made an agonized effort to think of
something in the real position style； failed； became sullen
with rage and humiliation； put the pen