Twenty-five years or more later, I dined with Frederic Chapman, the publisher of the Fortnightly Review, which I was then editing; he asked me some weeks afterwards, had I noticed a lady, and described her dress to me, adding, «She was very curious about you. As soon as you came into the room she recognized you and has asked me to tell her if you recognized her; did you?» I shook my head. «I'm near-sighted, you know,» I said, «and therefore to be forgiven, but when did she know me?» He replied, «As a boy at school; she said you would remember her by her Christian name of E…» «Of course I do,» I cried. «Oh, please tell me her name and where she lives. I'll call on her. I want (and then reflection came to suggest prudence) to ask her some questions,» I added, lamely. «I can't give you her name or address,» he replied. «I promised her not to, but she's long been happily married, I was to tell you.» I pressed him, but he remained obstinate, and on second thought I came to see that I had no right to push myself on a married woman who did not wish to renew acquaintance with me, but oh! I longed to see her and hear from her own lips the explanation of what to me at the time seemed her inexplicable, cruel change of attitude. As a man, of course, I know she may have had a very good reason indeed, and her mere name still carries a glamour about it for me, and unforgettable fascination. My father was always willing to encourage self-reliance in me: indeed, he tried to make me act as a man while I was still a mere child. The Christmas holidays only lasted for four weeks; it was cheaper for me, therefore, to take lodgings in some neighboring town rather than return to Ireland. Accordingly, the headmaster received the request to give me some seven pounds for my expenses and he did so, adding moreover much excellent advice. My first holiday I spent in the watering-place of Rhyl in North Wales because a chum of mine, Evan Morgan, came from the place and told me he'd make it interesting for me. And in truth he did a good deal to make me like the people and love the place. He introduced me to three or four girls, among whom I took a great fancy to one Gertrude Hanniford. Gertie was over fifteen, tall and pretty, I thought, with long plaits of chestnut hair; one of the best companions possible. She would kiss me willingly but whenever I tried to touch her more intimately, she would wrinkle up her nose with «Don't!» or «Don't be dirty!» One day I said to her reproachfully: «You'll make me couple 'dirty' with 'Gertie' if you go on using it so often.» Bit by bit she grew tamer, though all too slowly for my desires; but luck was eager to help me. One evening late we were together on some high ground behind the town when suddenly there came a great glare in the sky, which lasted two or three minutes: the next moment we were shaken by a sort of earthquake accompanied by a dull thud. «An explosion!» I cried, «on the railway: let's go and see!» And away we set off for the railway. For a hundred yards or so Gertie was fast as I was; but after the first quarter of a mile I had to hold in so as not to leave her. Still for a girl she was very fast and strong. We found a footpath alongside the railway, for we found running over the wooden ties very slow and dangerous. We had covered a little over a mile when we saw the blaze in front of us and a crowd of figures moving about before the glare. In a few minutes we were opposite three or four blazing railway carriages and the wreck of an engine.
«How awful!» cried Gertie. «Let's get over the fence,» I replied,
«and go close!» The next moment I had thrown myself on the wooden paling and half-vaulted, half-clambered over it. But Gertie's skirts prevented her from imitating me. As she stood in dismay, a great thought came to me. «Step on the low rail, Gertie,» I cried, «and then on the upper one, and I'll lift you over. Quick!» At once she did as she was told, and while she stood with a foot on each rail hesitating, and her hand on my head to steady herself, I put my right hand and arm between her legs, and pulling her at the same moment towards me with my left hand, I lifted her over safely, but my arm was in her crotch, and when I withdrew it, my right hand stopped on her sex and began to touch it. It was larger than E…'s and had more hairs and was just as soft, but she did not give me time to let it excite me so intensely. «Don't!» she exclaimed angrily. «Take your hand away!» And slowly, reluctantly I obeyed, trying to excite her first. As she still scowled, «Come quick!» I cried, and taking her hand, drew her over to the blazing wreck. In a little while we learned what had happened: a goods train loaded with barrels of oil had been at the top of the siding: it began to glide down of its own weight and ran into the Irish Express on its way from London to Holyhead. When the two met, the oil barrels were hurled over the engine of the express train, caught fire on the way and poured in flame over the first three carriages, reducing them and their unfortunate inmates to cinders in a very short time. There were a few persons burned and singed in the fourth and fifth carriages, but not many. Open-eyed, we watched the gang of workmen lift out charred things like burnt logs, rather than men and women, and lay them reverently in rows alongside the rails: about forty bodies, if I remember rightly, were taken out of that holocaust. Suddenly Gertie realized that it was late and quickly hand in hand we made our way home: «They will be angry with me,» said Gertie, «for being so late; it's after midnight.» «When you tell them what you've seen,» I replied, «they won't wonder why we waited!» As we parted I said,
«Gertie, dear, I want to thank you-» «What for?» she said shortly.
«You know,» I said cunningly. «It was so kind of you-» She made a face at me and ran up the steps into her house. Slowly I returned to my lodgings, only to find myself the hero of the house when I told the story in the morning. That experience in common made Gertie and myself great friends. She used to kiss and say I was sweet: once she even let me see her breasts when I told her a girl (I did not say who it was) had shown hers to me once: her breasts were nearly as large as my sister's and very pretty. Gertie even let me touch her legs right up to the knee; but as soon as I tried to go further, she would pull down her dress with a frown. Still I was always going higher, making progress; persistence brings one closer to any goal; but alas, it was near the end of Christmas holidays and though I returned to Rhyl at Easter, I never saw Gertie again. When I was just over thirteen I tried mainly out of pity to get up a revolt of the fags, and at first had a partial success, but some of the little fellows talked and as a ringleader I got a trouncing. The monitors threw me down on my face on a long desk; one sixth-form boy sat on my head and another on my feet, and a third, it was Jones, laid on with an ash plant. I bore it without a groan but I can never describe the storm of rage and hate that boiled in me. Do English fathers really believe that such work is a part of education? It made me murderous. When they let me up, I looked at Jones and if looks could kill, he'd have had short shrift.