ABSTRACT
Thomas D. Soundy It was on the occasion of my first visit to England from Canada. For days previous to the journey to Dorchester from Enfield, I had been carefully instructed repeatedly to ‘be good’, to such an extent that on the final drive to Max Gate from the station I was fast becoming quite terrified of whom I should meet. Immediately on our arrival, Aunt Florence left my mother to deal with the luggage in the hall, and whisked me upstairs and along a dark corridor leading to the study door. Instead of a ‘monster’ (to a five-year-old),1 out stepped a very kindly white-haired old gentleman with a beaming smile, saying ‘Well, well, so this is little Tommy’. I shall never forget that kindly welcome and the gentleness to a small bewildered boy.
