United States or Curaçao ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
"Now look here!" he said, as the conversation proceeded, "those specifications are at the Sytch Chapel. If you could come along with me now I mean now I could give them to you and point out one or two things to you, and perhaps Big James could make a start on them this morning. You see it's urgent." So he was familiar with Big James. "Certainly," said Edwin, excited.
Hilda and Janet were mounting the precipitous Sytch Bank together on their way from Turnhill into Bursley. It was dark; they had missed one train at Turnhill and had preferred not to wait for the next.
As she breasted the top of the Sytch under the invisible lowering clouds, with her new, adored friend by her side, and the despised but powerful book in her hand, she mused in an ambiguous reverie upon her situation, dogged by the problem which alone was accompanying her out of the past into the future.
Mr Orgreave crossed the road and then stood still to gaze at the facade of the Sytch Pottery. It was a long two-storey building, purest Georgian, of red brick with very elaborate stone facings which contrasted admirably with the austere simplicity of the walls. The porch was lofty, with a majestic flight of steps narrowing to the doors.
Then he went to the wall and examined a framed water-colour of the old Sytch Pottery, which was signed with his initials. He had done it, aided by a photograph, and by Johnnie Orgreave in details of perspective, and by dint of preprandial frequentings of the Sytch, as a gift for Mrs Orgreave. It always seemed to him to be rather good. Then he bent to examine bookshelves.
They passed the Old Sytch Pottery, the smoke of whose kilns now no longer darkened the sky. The senior partner of the firm which leased it had died, and his sons had immediately taken advantage of his absence to build a new and efficient works down by the canal-side at Shawport a marvel of everything save architectural dignity. Times changed.
"I'm going this road," said Darius, when they were safely out of the Bank, pointing towards the Sytch. "What for?" "I'm going this road," he repeated, gloomily obstinate. "All right," said Edwin cheerfully. "I'll trot round with you." He did not know whether he could safely leave his father. The old man's eyes resented his assiduity and accepted it.
Dozens of times he must have passed the Sytch Pottery, and yet not noticed, not suspected, that it differed from any other pot-works: he who dreamed of being an architect! "You don't think much of it?" said Mr Orgreave, moving on. "People don't." "Oh yes! I do!" Edwin protested, and with such an air of eager sincerity that Mr Orgreave turned to glance at him.
The debaters had already disappeared. Trafalgar Road and Duck Bank were empty and silent under rosy clouds. Instead of going straight home Edwin went past the Town Hall and through the Market Place to the Sytch Pottery. Astounding that he had never noticed for himself how beautiful the building was! It was a simply lovely building!
And the car stopped a moment to observe. And then a number of chapel-goers on their way to the Sytch Chapel, which the Carter family still faithfully attended, joined the scene; and then a policeman. Ellis sat like a stuck pig in the dogcart. He knew that speech was demanded of him, but he did not know where to begin.
Word Of The Day