The knife as I remember it was a particularly jolly one with all sorts of instruments in it, tweezers and a thing for getting a stone out of the hoof of a horse, and a corkscrew; it had cost me a carefuly accumulated half-crown, and amounted indeed to a new experience in knives.I had had it for two or three days, and then one afternoon I dropped it through a hole in my pocket on a footpath crossing a field between Penge and Anerley.I heard it fall in the way one does without at the time appreciating what had happened, then, later, before I got home, when my hand wandered into my pocket to embrace the still dear new possession I found it gone, and instantly that memory of something hitting the ground sprang up into consciousness.I went back and commenced a search.Almost immediately I was accosted by the leader of a little gang of four or five extremely dirty and ragged boys of assorted sizes and slouching carriage who were coming from the Anerley direction.
"Lost anythink, Matey?" said he.
I explained.
"'E's dropped 'is knife," said my interlocutor, and joined in the search.
"What sort of 'andle was it, Matey?" said a small white-faced sniffing boy in a big bowler hat.
I supplied the information.His sharp little face scrutinised the ground about us.
"GOT it," he said, and pounced.
"Give it 'ere," said the big boy hoarsely, and secured it.
I walked towards him serenely confident that he would hand it over to me, and that all was for the best in the best of all possible worlds.
"No bloomin' fear!" he said, regarding me obliquely."Oo said it was your knife?"Remarkable doubts assailed me."Of course it's my knife," I said.
The other boys gathered round me.
"This ain't your knife," said the big boy, and spat casually.
"I dropped it just now."
"Findin's keepin's, I believe," said the big boy.
"Nonsense," I said."Give me my knife."
"'Ow many blades it got?"
"Three."
"And what sort of 'andle?"
"Bone."
"Got a corkscrew like?"
"Yes."
"Ah! This ain't your knife no'ow.See?"He made no offer to show it to me.My breath went.
"Look here!" I said."I saw that kid pick it up.It IS my knife.""Rot!" said the big boy, and slowly, deliberately put my knife into his trouser pocket.
I braced my soul for battle.All civilisation was behind me, but Idoubt if it kept the colour in my face.I buttoned my jacket and clenched my fists and advanced on my antagonist--he had, I suppose, the advantage of two years of age and three inches of height."Hand over that knife," I said.
Then one of the smallest of the band assailed me with extraordinary vigour and swiftness from behind, had an arm round my neck and a knee in my back before I had the slightest intimation of attack, and so got me down."I got 'im, Bill," squeaked this amazing little ruffian.My nose was flattened by a dirty hand, and as I struck out and hit something like sacking, some one kicked my elbow.Two or three seemed to be at me at the same time.Then I rolled over and sat up to discover them all ****** off, a ragged flight, footballing my cap, my City Merchants' cap, amongst them.I leapt to my feet in a passion of indignation and pursued them.
But I did not overtake them.We are beings of mixed composition, and I doubt if mine was a single-minded pursuit.I knew that honour required me to pursue, and I had a vivid impression of having just been down in the dust with a very wiry and active and dirty little antagonist of disagreeable odour and incredible and incalculable unscrupulousness, kneeling on me and gripping my arm and neck.Iwanted of course to be even with him, but also I doubted if catching him would necessarily involve that.They kicked my cap into the ditch at the end of the field, and made off compactly along a cinder lane while I turned aside to recover my dishonoured headdress.As Iknocked the dust out of that and out of my jacket, and brushed my knees and readjusted my very crumpled collar, I tried to focus this startling occurrence in my mind.
I had vague ideas of going to a policeman or of complaining at a police station, but some boyish instinct against informing prevented that.No doubt I entertained ideas of vindictive pursuit and murderous reprisals.And I was acutely enraged whenever I thought of my knife.The thing indeed rankled in my mind for weeks and weeks, and altered all the flavour of my world for me.It was the first time I glimpsed the ****** brute violence that lurks and peeps beneath our civilisation.A certain kindly complacency of attitude towards the palpably lower classes was qualified for ever 4But the other experience was still more cardinal.It was the first clear intimation of a new motif in life, the *** motif, that was to rise and increase and accumulate power and enrichment and interweave with and at last dominate all my life.
It was when I was nearly fifteen this happened.It is inseparably connected in my mind with the dusk of warm September evenings.Inever met the girl I loved by daylight, and I have forgotten her name.It was some insignificant name.
Yet the peculiar quality of the adventure keeps it shining darkly like some deep coloured gem in the common setting of my memories.
It came as something new and strange, something that did not join on to anything else in my life or connect with any of my thoughts or beliefs or habits; it was a wonder, a mystery, a discovery about myself, a discovery about the whole world.Only in after years did sexual feeling lose that isolation and spread itself out to illuminate and pervade and at last possess the whole broad vision of life.
It was in that phase of an urban youth's development, the phase of the cheap cigarette, that this thing happened.One evening I came by chance on a number of young people promenading by the light of a row of shops towards Beckington, and, with all the glory of a glowing cigarette between my lips, I joined their strolling number.
