1984

           ‘More.Twohundred,Idaresay.Onecan’ttell. It’simpossibletodiscovertheageofanythingnowadays.’ 

           Shewentovertolookatit. ‘Here’swherethatbrutestuckhisnoseout,’shesaid,kickingthewainscotingimmediatelybelowthepicture. ‘Whatisthisplace?I’veseenitbeforesomewhere.’ 

           ‘It’sachurch,oratleastitusedtobe.StClementDanesitsnamewas.’ ThefragmentofrhymethatMrCharringtonhadtaughthimcamebackintohishead,andheaddedhalf-nostalgically: "Orangesandlemons,saythebellsofStClement’s!" 

           Tohisastonishmentshecappedtheline: 

           ‘Youowemethreefarthings,saythebellsofStMartin’s, 

           Whenwillyoupayme?saythebellsofOldBailey——’ 

           ‘Ican’trememberhowitgoesonafterthat. ButanywayIrememberitendsup, "Herecomesacandletolightyoutobed,herecomesachoppertochopoffyourhead!"’ 

           Itwaslikethetwohalvesofacountersign. Buttheremustbeanotherlineafter‘thebellsofOldBailey’. PerhapsitcouldbedugoutofMrCharrington’smemory,ifheweresuitablyprompted. 

           ‘Whotaughtyouthat?’hesaid. 

           ‘Mygrandfather. HeusedtosayittomewhenIwasalittlegirl. HewasvaporizedwhenIwaseight—atanyrate,hedisappeared. Iwonderwhatalemonwas,’sheaddedinconsequently.‘I’veseenoranges. They’reakindofroundyellowfruitwithathickskin.’