I'LL tell you a strange
thing about me - I never forget a face. The only trouble is that usually I'm
quite unable to tell you the name of the person. I know what you're going to
say - you suffer from the same thing yourself. Lots of people do, to some
extent. But I'm not like that. When I say I never forget a face, I mean it.
I can pass a fellow in the street one day and recognize him again months after,
though we've never spoken to each other. My wife says sometimes that I ought to
be a reporter for the newspapers and wait about at first nights at cinemas,
looking for all the famous people who go to see the films. But, as I tell her,
I should not be able to do very well at that. I should see the famous man or
woman, but I should not be able to say which one it was. That's my trouble, as
I say - names.
Of course, this
trouble with names has put me in difficulties from time to time. But with a
little skill one can usually get out of the difficulty in one way or another.
In my work, moving round the City doing bits of business, I have to be very
clever not to let a man see that I can't remember whether his name is Smith or
Moses. I've annoyed people in that way and lost good business more than once.
But on the whole, I think I gain more than I lose by this strange memory
of mine.
Quite often I've approached a man who
didn't know me at all. I've said: "I think we've met before," and
I've been able to give him some idea of where it was. I can always connect a
face with a place, you see. Well, as I was saying, I can approach this fellow
and remind him of a big dinner or a football match or whatever it is that his
face reminds me of, and probably within five minutes we're talking about
business. I can usually find out his name later on. My memory for faces helps me
a lot in business.
You can guess that there's not a man,
woman or child here in Bardfield that I don't know by sight. I've lived in
Bardfield ever
since the
Second World War. I like the place; although it's only forty minutes from
London, there's a lot of country here, village is almost a mile from the
station, and that's rather troublesome. But quite a pleasant crowd of men
travel up an down to the City most days, and 1 needn't tell you that I know the
names of half of them, though we speak to each other cheerfully enough. My wife
complains that 1 don't know the names of our neighbours in the next house, and
that's true.
Well, on this particular evening I'd been
kept a bit late at the office, and it was difficult to get to the station in
time to catch the train. There was quite a crowd on the train at first, but the
gradually got out; and by the time we reached Ellingham - that's two stations
before mine - there were only two of us left in the carriage. The other fellow
wasn't one of the regular travellers but I knew he was a Bardfield man.
I knew it as soon as I saw him of course. I'd smiled at him when I saw him get
into the carriage
in London, and
he had smiled back. But that didn't tell me his name.
The annoying thing was that 1 couldn't
remember where I knew this fellow's face from, if you understand what I
mean. His face told me clearly that he was connected with Bardfield, but that
was all it told me. 1 could not think where in Bardfield I had seen it. 1
guessed he must be one of those fellows who've come to live lately in
the small houses by the bus-stop, but I couldn't be sure. Some of us who've
lived in the place for a long time are rather unfriendly towards newcomers, but
that's not my way - never has been. 1 never know where the next bit of business
is going to come from, and it may come from one of them. I can't afford to
neglect chances.
So when the two
of us found ourselves alone in the carriage, with room to stretch our legs and
be a bit comfortable, I started to talk, just as if we were old friends. But I
can't say that I got much information out of him. He spoke well, with a quiet
friendly manner, but he told me very little. 1 can generally find out what a
man's work is in ten and a half minutes - that's the time it takes from Ellingham
to Bardfield by train - but I failed this time. He looked a bit tired, I
remember, as if he'd been working too hard lately, and I thought maybe that
made him unwilling to talk much.
"Do you
generally travel down on this train?" I asked him. That's usually a safe
opening to a conversation, because either they do travel or they don't, and
nine times out of ten they'll tell you why, and what hours they work, and what
their work is. It's only human nature. But he just smiled and shook his head
and said, "Not generally," which wasn't much help.
Of course, I went on to talk about the
train service in general, comparing this train with that, hut still he said
nothing. He just
agreed with all
I said, but he didn't seem to have any opinions ( his own. I told him I
sometimes went up to the City by road, bit that didn't make him talk either. I
didn't think it would, because you don't expect a fellow who lives in a cheap
house to own a car.
Well, in the
end, I had to give up. I'd told him a lot about myself! of course, so as to
make things pleasant. I'd even boasted a little) about a rather nice bit
of business I'd done that morning. I'\ always found that there's nothing as
good as boasting to start! fellow talking. It makes him want to boast too. He
seemed interested in a quiet sort of way, but it was no good. So I stopped
talking and started to read my paper. And the next time I looked at him, he'd
put his head back and gone off to sleep!
We were just coming into the station
then, and though the train) stopped rather suddenly, it didn't seem to wake
him. Well, I'm a kind-hearted fellow and I wasn't going to let a Bardfield man
be( carried on all the way to the next stop if I could help it. So I touched
him sharply on the knee.
"Wake up,
old fellow! We're there!" I said. He awoke at once and smiled at me.
"Oh, so we are!" he said, and got out after me.
You know what
the weather was like just then. When we came out of the station together it was
quite dark and raining heavily. There was a wind blowing strong enough to knock
you over, and it was bitterly cold. Well, what would you have done? The same as
I did. I turned round and said to him:" Listen. There isn't a bus for a
quarter of an hour. I've got my car in the station-yard, and if you're in one
of those small houses I can take you there. It's on my way."
"Thanks
very much," he said, and we walked through the water to where my old car
was standing and off we went.
"This is
very kind of you," he said as we started, and that was the last thing he
said until we were halfway across the open country.
Then he
suddenly turned round and said, "You can let me get out here."
"What,
here?" I asked him. It seemed mad, because there wasn't a house within
five hundred yards and, as I say, it was raining and blowing like the end of
the world. But I slowed down, as anyone would.
The next thing
that happened was that something hit me really hard on the back of the head. I
fell forwards then everything went black. I can remember being pulled out of
the and when I came to my senses aga was lying in the ditch with the rain pouring
down on me with a bad headache, no car in sight and my pockets – as I
found out later - empty.
I pulled myself
up at last and somehow managed to walk into Bardfield. I went straight to the
police station, of course. It's the first building you reach if you come that
way. And there I reported that someone had stolen my car, a new umbrella, a
gold watch and a hundred and
fifty-two pounds ten shillings in notes.
Of course, as soon as I got there I
remembered who the man was; His picture was on the wall outside. I'd seen it
every day for week. That's why his face reminded me of Bardfield. Under picture
were some words: "Wanted for Robbery with Violence and Attempted Murder.
John ———" Oh dear, I've forgotten the name again. I just can't keep names
in my head. But that's the man. I tell you - I never forget a face.
Questions:
Answer the following questions : -1- What did the writer guess the traveller was ?2- How did the writer start a conversation with the stranger ?3- Why did the writer boast about a business he had done that morning ?4- How was the weather when the writer and the stranger got out of the station ?5- What did the writer do when the writer slowed down the car?
