Article—Of Goats and Glaciers

The stocktaking revealed a most serious state of affairs in the number of books which have been lost from the Library during the year; in all over 80 books have been taken from the Library during the year and not returned. Doubtless many of these are in the possession of boys and will be returned in due course, but it is a most serious drain upon the Library, and a repetition of this state of affairs next year can be avoided if everyone co-operates with the librarians in adhering to the Library rule that books may only be borrowed if they are noted down in the book by a librarian.

Finally, that the Library continues to grow and prosper is witnessed not only by the increasing use which the School makes of the Library, but also by the range of new books added to the Library :-

Systematic Reginoal Geography, Vol. II—Urstead. Civilisation on Trial—Toynbee. Anglo-Saxon England—Stenton. Roman Britain—Collingwood. Oxford Junior Encyclopaedia, Vol. III. The Autobiography of a Super Tramp—Davies. Modern Glass Working—M. C. Nokes. The Book of the Ship—Hardy. Painting as a Pastime—Churchill. Second World War, Vol. II—Churchill. A Study of History—Toynbee.

OF GOATS AND GLACIERS

It was mid-day. Under the blazing sun everything was lifeless. Not a breath of air, not a sound accompanied me as I climbed the road which would lead me over the Alps and so to the Riviera. Yes, once again I found myself pursuing in France that blissful and carefree occupation—"hitch-hiking" !

I had come from Paris to just south of Lyon in one day, but I had left the RhOne valley now, and the roads did not carry nearly as much traffic. That did not worry me in the least, however, because this was the first time I hade approached the Alps and I could enjoy watching them as they slowly got nearer and nearer.

I found Grenoble a modern and extremely attractive university town surrounded by the foothills of the Alps, and it was easy to appreciate why so many Frenchmen call it "le petit Paris". South of Grenoble the country became much more imposing, with numerous rugged peaks towering hundreds of feet above the road, and offering a striking contrast to the relatively flat country through which I had passed on my way from Calais. "Sleeping-out" in the Alps, with the warm nights, clear skies, the mountain scenery and a very welcome absence of mosquitoes, was more than pleasant. I was travelling with two Dutchmen at the time, which rather lessened the chances of obtaining lifts, and so, when we were offered a lift to Marseille by a Swiss car, we willingly accepted.

Marseille did not attract me at all. Its industries and factories, its sprawling size, together with the noise and bustle of a modern industrial town, made it seem quite out of place in the sunny South of France ! As we slowly climbed by bus to the high coastal cliffs, leaving Marseille beneath us, we caught our first glimpses of the Mediterranean, and spent the night at what is deemed to be the best Youth Hostel in France, situated in an isolated position high upon the rough coast near Cassis, looking out to sea.

The next day I travelled along the Riviera, behind the immediate coastal range, through a region where the vine and olive are grown to the exclusion of practically everything else.

In this district I was invited to look round a large fruit farm, and, in the customary fashion, I was given a very satisfying and pleasant drink served from a large green vessel with some sort of plant in the bottom : upon enquiring its name I was told it was absinthe!

I spent an extremely pleasant night on the beach at Frejus with a vagabond poet from Sweden and a schoolteacher from Bretagne. The poet had long, fair hair, a flowing beard, corduroy trousers, and battered sandals. His ideas on everything from the origin of man to military service were the most astounding—and original— I have ever heard !

Early next morning I arrived at Cannes, and stayed at a "Camp Volant", where I met two Dutch reporters "covering" the International Film Festival, who told me that they could not see anything funny about the British film "Passport to Pimlico" ! Cannes had too much of the sea-side resort atmosphere about it to interest me very much, and so, after three days— during which time the weather broke (that was about 10th September)—I set off back for Paris.

A large French car stopped for me just outside Grasse, and took me through the heart of the French Alps by Barcolonette and Briancon, where the road ascends a steep mountain side in zig-zag fashion, and where chair-pulleys and ski-huts are ubiquitous. It was dark when I got out of the car, and, feeling rather cold, I slept in a barn—with a cow-shed through one wall and the farmer's living quarters through the other. When I awoke next morning I received the surprise of my life, when, on opening my window and looking towards the peaks bordering the road, three great cold-looking glaciers met my gaze! I was near a mountain 3,983 metres above sea-level ! * * *

I was completely wrong when I assumed that, having reached the Rhone Valley, I would be able to make rapid progress. It took me two days from Cannes to Lyon, but on the main Paris-Marseille road things turned out to be difficult, and I did not travel very fast. It had begun to rain at nights, so that I had to sleep under cover. One of the strangest nights I have ever passed was spent in a dirty stable upon a heap of clean straw with four goats and a score of hens to keep me 39