After you pass Old Windsor, the river is somewhat uninteresting, and does
not become itself again until you are nearing Boveney. George and I
towed up past the Home Park, which stretches along the right bank from
Albert to Victoria Bridge; and as we were passing Datchet, George asked
me if I remembered our first trip up the river, and when we landed at
Datchet at ten o'clock at night, and wanted to go to bed.
I answered that I did remember it. It will be some time before I forget
it.
It was the Saturday before the August Bank Holiday. We were tired and
hungry, we same three, and when we got to Datchet we took out the hamper,
the two bags, and the rugs and coats, and such like things, and started
off to look for diggings. We passed a very pretty little hotel, with
clematis and creeper over the porch; but there was no honeysuckle about
it, and, for some reason or other, I had got my mind fixed on
honeysuckle, and I said:
"Oh, don't let's go in there! Let's go on a bit further, and see if
there isn't one with honeysuckle over it."
So we went on till we came to another hotel. That was a very nice hotel,
too, and it had honey-suckle on it, round at the side; but Harris did not
like the look of a man who was leaning against the front door. He said
he didn't look a nice man at all, and he wore ugly boots: so we went on
further. We went a goodish way without coming across any more hotels,
and then we met a man, and asked him to direct us to a few.
He said:
"Why, you are coming away from them. You must turn right round and go
back, and then you will come to the Stag."
We said:
"Oh, we had been there, and didn't like it - no honeysuckle over it."
"Well, then," he said, "there's the Manor House, just opposite. Have you
tried that?"
Harris replied that we did not want to go there - didn't like the looks
of a man who was stopping there - Harris did not like the colour of his
hair, didn't like his boots, either.
"Well, I don't know what you'll do, I'm sure," said our informant;
"because they are the only two inns in the place."
"No other inns!" exclaimed Harris.
"None," replied the man.
"What on earth are we to do?" cried Harris.
Then George spoke up. He said Harris and I could get an hotel built for
us, if we liked, and have some people made to put in. For his part, he
was going back to the Stag.
The greatest minds never realise their ideals in any matter; and Harris
and I sighed over the hollowness of all earthly desires, and followed
George.
