ABSTRACT
Henry Woodd Nevinson Reached Clodd about seven, and was much welcomed. Was almost at once introduced to Thomas Hardy; not a big man, nor ‘virile’, nor countrified. Face a peculiar grey-white like an invalid’s; indeed, he was just recovering from influenza; skin like delicate wax, much wrinkled – sad wrinkles, thoughtful and pathetic, but none of power or rage or active courage. Eyes bluish-grey and growing a little white with age, eyebrows and moustache half light brown, half grey. Head nearly bald on the top, but fringed with thin and soft light hair. The whole face giving a look of soft bonelessness, like an ageing woman’s. Figure spare and straight; hands very white and soft and loose-skinned. He was quite silent at first, sitting sadly and taking no notice of the converse. Then he began to speak a little, always with simple and quite unconscious modesty, attempting no phrase or eloquence as Meredith does, but just stating his opinion or telling some reminiscence or story – always a little shyly, like a country cousin among rapid Londoners. He talked a good deal about General Pitt-Rivers, his wife and daughters, such as Lady Grove.1 But he spoke also of early days in Dorset, when life was so much fuller and more various, chiefly owing to the system of holding cottages on three lives – ‘liviers’ the tenants were called – which gave a permanency and personal interest to the place. Now the Cockney’s idea that all country people are agricultural labourers is almost true. He himself was born only just in time to catch the relics of the old days.
