. . . than fifty years ago. Its pattern was rather more primitive than the earliest ones I can remember. On a dingy board one could still discern traces of the table of fares. The coach was splendidly waterproof; its convex roof had an outermost covering of zinc, then a coating of tar, and lastly, one of tarpaulin. It was drawn up under the lee side of an outbuilding in the grounds of a large school, close to the boundary wall.
A few years ago the old coach stood outside the wall of the yard, and was thus actually on the Common itself. This led to such ludicrous scenes that eventually it was removed to its present position. When the shepherd had gone inside for the evening, strangers from other parts of London, not knowing our habits hereabout, would mistake the bus for a coffee stall. “Open your box,” they would shout; “Come on, we want some coffee; wake up.” Then the little crowd would beat a merry ran-tan on the boards of the hut, and cry “Time! Time!” as if waiting for a popular favourite at the music hall.
Recently the shepherd had missed the chance, in Scotland, of getting a caravan very cheap; it had accommodation for four beds and would have . . .