The chalk downs sloped
steeply to the river, and halfway down was a bit of a level plateau
just the size for a couple of huts. South aspect; good fishing and
bathing; a home from home. The woods hid it from view above and the
roadside poplars from below. It was a truly desirable building site.
We had a hurdle-maker in our company, so I gave him a brace of
light-duty men as apprentices and they built a little hut of wattle
and daub. It had a nice rural appearance and was warm, but it leaked
in wet weather, and the more I thought of Chaucer lying dry under his
felt roofs the worse I felt about it. So I had a chat with my sergeant
at the wharf, and the long and short of it was that two walls and one
roof got delivered by mistake at the desirable building-site.
We worked late that night, and next day had thirty men in residence,
with one end of the long hut partitioned off for Simmonds, my
subaltern, and myself.
So far so good. I began to think about making another mistake and
getting a second hut, but that evening Chaucer came sliding down over
the steep turf, visibly annoyed.
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