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349
The Journal of a Disappointed Man
·
W. N. P. Barbellion
303
"W.N.P.
BARBELLION,
ESQ.,
Naturalist,
Downstable,"
and
illustrated
with
a
delightful
sketch
of
Ring
Plovers
feeding
on
the
saltings.
This
letter
was
carefully
pasted
into
my
diary,
where
it
still
remains.
After
all,
it
is
perhaps
unfair
to
say
that
I
had
no
kindred
spirit
with
me
in
my
investigations.
Martha,
the
servant
girl
who
had
been
with
us
for
30
years,
loved
animals
of
all
sorts
and--what
was
strange
in
a
country
girl--she
had
no
fear
of
handling
even
such
things
as
Newts
and
Frogs.
My
Batrachia
often
used
to
escape
from
their
pans
in
the
yard
into
Martha's
kitchen,
and,
not
a
bit
scandalised,
she
would
sometimes
catch
one
marching
across
the
rug
or
squeezing
underneath
a
cupboard.
"Lor'!"
would
be
her
comment
as
she
picked
the
vagrant
up
and
took
it
back
to
its
aquarium,
"can't
'em
travel?"
Martha
had
an
eye
for
character
in
animals.
In
the
long
dynasty
of
cats
we
possessed
one
at
length
who
by
association
of
opposite
ideas
we
called
Marmaduke
because
he
ought
to
have
been
called
Jan
Stewer.
"A
chuff
old
feller,
'idden
'ee?"
Martha
used
to
ask
me
with
pride
and
love
in
her
eyes.
"He
purrs
in
broad
Devon,"
I
used
to
answer.
Marmaduke
need
only
wave
the
tip
of
his
tail
to
indicate
to
her
his
imperative
desire
to
promenade.
Martha
knew
if
no
one
else
did
that
every
spring
"Pore
'Duke,"
underneath
his
fur,
used
to
come
out
in
spots.
"'Tiz
jus'
like
a
cheel
'e
gets
a
bit
spotty
as
the
warm
weather
cums
along."
Starlings
on
the
washhouse
roof,
regularly
fed
with
scraps,
were
ever
her
wonder
and
delight.
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