Richard Keverne

Richard Keverne     CW Bacon

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SYNOPSIS HUGH MERROW wondered if he would be disappointed. It was so many years since had seen the place, but he had never forgotten it. It was, he always said, the most typically old English thing he knew in a fast changing England. Instinctively he checked the car as it topped the gentle rise where the road swung sharply to the left. The tall beech at the corner was still there anyhow. He could see its slender leaves fretting lazily in the faint breeze. Then the roof came in sight, an irregular rollicking sort of roof of mellow red tiles, mottled with lichens and stonecrop, pierced by a great upstanding chimney stack of narrow Tudor bricks. Merrow gave a little sigh of satisfaction. It was still there, and unchanged, dozing peacefully in the hot July sun. The car slowed and stopped before the Black Boy Inn.