that up. Her reply to the question, ‘What’s up, Tich?’ was invariably the same: ‘I can get it, I think.’ On those occasions when she couldn’t get the answers, then and only then would she ask questions. No, my reason for moving over to her was simply that my ears were at the ready if she needed them. She didn’t, and that was a very bad sign.
From St Paul’s we moved off towards Hyde Park. After all these months I was beginning to be rather proud of the fact that more and more I was learning to think along with Anna. I was beginning to understand the way she thought and the way she said things. This particular afternoon I had forgotten, no, not forgotten, hadn’t realized one simple fact. It was this. Up to now Anna’s visual horizon had been one of houses, factories, cranes and a toppling inwards of structure. Suddenly there were the open, and to her, the very open, spaces of the park. I wasn’t ready for her reaction. She took one look, buried her face in my stomach, grabbed me with both hands, and howled. I picked her up and she clung to me like a limpet, arms tight around my neck and legs around my waist, sobbing into my neck. I made all the appropriate noises, but this didn’t help much.
After a few minutes she took a sneaky look over her shoulder and stopped crying.
I said, ‘Want to go home, Tich?’ and she shook her head.
‘You can put me down now,’ she said.
I think I had expected her to give one whoop and gallop off across the grass. A couple of hearty sniffs and a moment or two to gain her composure, and we started off to explore the park, but she held on to my hand very tightly. Like any other child, Anna had her fears, but unlike most children she recognized them. And with this recognition came the realization that she could go on in spite of them.
How can any adult know the exact weight of that fright? Does it mean that the child is timid, alarmed, anxious, petrified, or frozen stiff with terror? Is a ten-headed monster more frightening than an Idea? If she hadn’t exactly mastered her fear, whatever it was, she had got it well under control. By now she was prepared to let go of my hand, to make a little sortie after something that interested her, always looking back to make sure I was there. So I stopped in my tracks and waited for her. She was still a little bit scared and she knew that I was aware that she was scared too. The fact that I stopped whenever she let go of my hand brought forth a grateful little smile of acknowledgement.
My mind flipped back to the time when I was her age. My mother and father had taken me to Southend-on-Sea. The sight of the sea and the press of all those people was like being hit by a bus. I had been holding my father’s hand when I first had a sight of the sea, and then, suddenly, I was holding a stranger’s hand. I can’t remember very much except that then and there the world came to an end. So I did have some inkling of her fears, whatever they were.
Her little explorations were slowly bringing things back to normal. She’d return with her usual treasures, different shaped leaves, stone, bits of twigs, etc. Her enthusiasm could not be restrained any longer.
Suddenly I heard the gruff shout of a park-keeper. I turned, and there she was, kneeling in front of a flower-bed. I had forgotten to tell her to Keep off the Grass. Anna would not have given way to Lucifer himself and certainly not to a park-keeper. Having negotiated one catastrophe, I didn’t want to face another. I ran and scooped her into my arms and stood her down on the pathway.
‘He,’ she said indignantly, pointing an accusing finger, ‘told me to get off the grass.’
‘Yes,’ I replied, ‘you’re not supposed to be on this bit of grass.’
‘But it’s the best bit,’ she said.
‘See those words.’ I pointed to the notice. ‘They say “Keep off the grass”.’
She studied the notice with great concentration as I spelt out the words for her.
Late that afternoon, while we were sitting on the grass eating chocolate, she said, ‘Them words.’
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