The Station Master’s direction was accurate. “Bushey? Turn by that ’ere pub and keep a-goin’.” The road was a long squirm without any actual turnings. Herkomer had built a theatre in connection with his Bushey art school; more time was now devoted to drama, they said,…
As our train slithered through the small prettiness of Devonshire I was angered. My parents had so lavishly praised its beauty to us when we were children. I wondered if after many years in Canada it would have seemed as small and pinched to them as it did…
When Westminster School closed for the long summer vacation I, with other students, joined a sketching class at Boxford down in Berkshire. The quaintness of thatched cottages in the village delighted me. The sketching master was a better teacher than painter, I learned a lot from him. It…
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