I Remember Father

Some Reminiscences of John Masefield

JUDITH MASEFIELD

M^' father loved children, and usually they behaved well
in his presence. There was one notable exception,
however. On a hot summer's day when I was four
years old, 1 was gi\'cn the hose to water our small garden at Maida
Hill, near Paddington. I watered everything, and water trickled
from between my bare toes. Father «'as coming towards me and
an idea struck me; I pointed the hose straight at him and he was
soaked within seconds. I turned my eyes to Heaven and pro¬
claimed it an accident, but my parents unhappily decided other¬
wise. It was worth it, though, for I carry a coloured picture
always with mc. 1 see his handsome bronzed face looking rather
surprised as the water cascaded down on him.

Father resolutely refused to play with dolls, but we had high
adventure with my teddy-bears, called Edward, Bruno Buifkins
and Robin. He made L'dward soldiers' jackets piped in white, blue
trousers with a scarlet stripe, and a cocked hat, and F.dward car¬
ried a sword, a water bottle, and a folded blanket. .My father con¬
structed a complete camping equipment, with hammocks that
slung up and down and tents that folded up and were carried in
the Travel \\'aggon drawn bv the spotted string-tailed horse Gil¬
lian. A\'e had a cooking stove heated by methylated spirit, and
1 cooked a sort of mess studded in currants in a fry pan.

A\'hen 1 was five, father got an orange box, fixed it on «heels,
added a mast at one end with sails that furled, and 1 pushed myself
along on two poles.

Opposite: John .Masefield at his home near Abingdon in 1950.

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