VI
T
he
days passed slowly but I was grateful for their slowness, for I had still a long journey to travel before I had remade my mind, my heart, my attitude to life. I realised as I lay then how tired I had been without knowing it, how hard I had flogged my willing body, poor beast, towards a sterile ambition. I smiled to think then how sterile we Fishers were when all came to all, and in all respects . . . I even made a prayer that God might give us richness, luxuriance, one day before it was too late.
John Griffith came to see me on three occasions, bringing news of the foundry—of number two mill having to be closed for repairs, of a new order for a bridge in South Africa, and of the appointment of a new director, James Kirkstone, a young northerner with progressive ideas.
“You’ll
