Tower and Town, March 2015 (view the full edition)William GoldingInspiration On The Green 
I sat by my mahogany table and presented myself to the typewriter. I waited motionless for inspiration, staring at my industrial gunmetal machine. Before long I began pacing around the living room glaring at the photos of Cornish landscapes. But it was no use. I was stuck. Stuck in a swamp and slowly sinking to my drowning death. I grabbed the nearest photo and smashed it on the wooden floorboard. As the echoes of the shattered glass faded, I saw a reflection of my distorted face in a fragment on the floor. Why was this so stressful? I longed to write a novel that would last forever and speak to generation after generation. Maybe my father was right; I was never going to be the author I so wanted to be. Maybe I should just give up. It was then when I heard the shriek of a child on the Green outside my window. "Go away! All of you!" I froze like a rabbit alerted to danger. Slowly I crept towards the window to see a circle of choirboys. At the centre a round boy with spectacles was shaking vigorously. "What you gonna do about it? Pig!" roared a voice. The choirboys cackled and from nowhere erupted a chant: "Piggy! Piggy! Piggy!" "That's enough!" A boy stepped into the circle. The choirboys paused; they seemed to respect him as if he was some kind of leader. He was handsome, strong and looked a couple of years older than the rest. The choirboys were silent and gradually dispersed towards St. Mary's, leaving no one but their cruel-mouthed antagonist. He moved stealthily towards the spectacled boy's rescuer, snarled, and spat at his feet. Another moment and they were gone and I was left staring at Marlborough's empty village green. I turned and returned to the now glistening typewriter on my desk and, as if in a trance, typed the words: 'The boy with the fair hair lowered himself down the last few feet of rock and began to pick his way towards the lagoon.' Oliver Ordish |