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er you start off with it always es back to statues and poetry and the greeks and romans。 if you mention the queen mary he’d start telling you about phoenician triremes。 he never reads a modern book； refuses to know their names； never looks at any newspaper except the times； and takes a pride in telling you that he’s never been to the pictures。 except for a few poets like keats and wordsworth he thinks the modern world—and from his point of view the modern world is the last two thousand years—just oughtn’t to have happened。
i’m part of the modern world myself； but i like to hear him talk。 he’ll stroll round the shelves and haul out first one book and then another； and now and again he’ll read you a piece between little puffs of smoke； generally having to translate it from the latin or something as he goes。 it’s all kind of peaceful； kind of mellow。 all a little like a school…master； and yet it soothes you； somehow。 while you listen you aren’t in the same world as trains and gas bills and insurance panies。 it’s all temples and olive trees； and peacocks and elephants； and chaps in the arena with their nets and tridents； and winged lions and eunuchs and galleys and catapults； and generals in brass armour galloping their horses over the soldiers’ shields。 it’s funny that he ever cottoned on to a chap like me。 but it’s one of the advantages of being fat that you can fit into almost any society。 besides we meet on mon ground when it es to dirty stories。 they’re the one modern thing he cares about； though； as he’s always reminding me； they aren’t modern。 he’s rather old…maidish about it； always tells a story in a veiled kind of way。 sometimes he’ll pick out some latin poet and translate a smutty rhyme； leaving a lot to your imagination； or he’ll drop hints about the private lives of the roman emperors and the things that went on in the temples of ashtaroth。 they seem to have been a bad lot； those greeks and romans。 old porteous has got photographs of wall…paintings somewhere in italy that would make your hair curl。
when i’m fed up with business and home life it’s often done me a lot of good to go and have a talk with porteous。 but tonight it didn’t seem to。 my mind was still running on the same lines as it had been all day。 just as i’d done with the left book club lecturer； i didn’t exactly listen to what porreous was saying； only to the sound of his voice。 but whereas the lecturer’s voice had got under my skin； old porteous’s didn’t。 it was too peaceful； too oxfordy。 finally； when he was in the middle of saying something； i chipped in and said：
‘tell me； porteous； what do you think of hitler？’
old porteous was leaning in his lanky； graceful kind of way with his elbows on the mantelpiece and a foot on the fender。 he was so surprised that he almost took his pipe out of his mouth。
‘hitler？ this german person？ my dear fellow！ i don’t think of him。’
‘but the trouble is he’s going to bloody well make us think about him before he’s finished。’
old porteous shies a bit at the world ‘bloody’； which he doesn’t like； though of course it’s part of his pose never to be shocked。 he begins walking up and down again； puffing out smoke。
‘i see no reason for paying any attention to him。 a mere adventurer。 these people e and go。 ephemeral； purely ephemeral。’
i’m not certain what the word ‘ephemeral’ means； but i stick to my point：
‘i think you’ve got it wrong。 old hitler’s something different。 so’s joe stalin。 they aren’t like these chaps in the old days who crucified people and chopped their heads off and so forth； just for the fun of it。 they’re after something quite new—something that’s never been heard of before。’
‘my dear fellow！ there is nothing new under the sun。’
of course that’s a favourite saying of old porteous’s。 he won’t hear of the existence of anything new。 as soon as you tell him about anything that’s happening nowadays he says that exactly the same thing happened in the reign of king so…and…so。 even if you bring up things like aeroplanes he tells you that they probably had them in crete； or mycenae； or wherever it was。 i tried to explain to him what i’d felt while the little bloke was lecturing and the kind of vision i’d had of the bad time that’s ing； but he wouldn’t listen。 merely repeated that there’s nothing new under the sun。 finally he hauls a book out of the shelves and reads me a passage about some greek tyrant back in the b。c。s who certainly might have been hitler’s twin brother。
the argument went on for a bit。 all day i’d been wanting to talk to somebody about this business。 it’s funny。 i’m not a fool； but i’m not a highbrow either； and god knows at normal times i don’t have many interests that you wouldn’t expect a middle…aged seven… pound…a…weeker with two kids to have。 and yet i’ve enough sense to see that the old life we’re used to is being sawn off at the roots。 i can feel it happening。 i can see the war that’s ing and i can see the after…war； the food…queues and the secret police and the loudspeakers telling you what to think。 and i’m not even exceptional in this。 there are millions of others like me。 ordinary chaps that i meet everywhere； chaps i run across in pubs； bus drivers； and travelling salesmen for hardware firms； have got a feeling that the world’s gone wrong。 they can feel things cracking and collapsing under their feet。 and yet here’s this learned chap； who’s lived all his life with books and soaked himself in history till it’s running out of his pores； and he can’t even see that things are changing。 doesn’t think hitler matters。 refuses to believe there’s another war ing。 in any case； as he didn’t fight in the last war； it doesn’t enter much into his thoughts—he thinks it was a poor show pared with the siege of troy。 doesn’t see why one should bother about the slogans and the loudspeakers and the coloured shirts。 what intelligent person would pay any attention to such things？ he always says。 hitler and stalin will pass away； but something which old porteous calls ‘the eternal verities’ won’t pass away。 this； of course； is simply another way of saying that things will always go on