16 . Chinese geese . early in our occupation of Pond Cottage , when it was yet scarcely homely , I heard another and uglier noise . it was the voices of two geese , and they were to plague us for many a month . looking out of my bedroom window in the early light I observed these lovely birds floating lightly on the water &apos;s surface and giving off at intervals a colourable imitation of a klaxon-horn . inquiry revealed that they were the property of one of my neighbours , whose custom it was to give them the freedom of the water at frequent intervals . they were of the kind called Chinese geese but they were far from inscrutable . they were vile in temper , dreadful bullies and cowards , noisy in and out of season , and , as I have said , really beautiful . it seemed surprising to me that so much that was objectionable should reside in such a lovely source . an inquiry of their owner , a calm man who seemed unmoved by their clamour , as parents enjoy the crying of their children , revealed the excellent news that , though he had hoped for better things , they were both females and unlikely on that account to produce young of their kind . I realized that I had had a fortunate escape when he also added that they were the only two survivors of a brood of eight . terribly delicate , they are , as chicks , he said , and it was , I dare say , too much to hope that this delicacy would persist into adult life . it was perhaps evidence of their unabatable vitality that during the two years I knew them they produced , and brooded upon , infertile eggs of very large size in considerable numbers , one of which the owner presented to me for my breakfast . now either I had to live with them , a nearly impossible proposition , since every time I put my head over the hedge they produced a series of loud metallic cries , or I had to get rid of them . actually the latter was my only course since they had already decided either to attack or hoot at all comers . their technique was to rush at you , and they were not small birds , heads lowered and outstretched , and uttering their offensive cries so loudly that they could be ( and in fact they were ) heard a mile off . if you stood your ground they came to a stop and sidled off in another direction . how could I dispose of them ? I had to do it without offence to their owner - who , as I say , was a peaceable , decent chap - but I had also another hurdle to jump . just along the road lived a local animal lover , who had already eyed me suspiciously when I had moved on the several cats who , in various degrees of decrepitude , were mothered by her . I began my campaign by the usual shooing process . this merely amused the geese . they appeared to look elsewhere , indeed , until I realized afresh , as you have to , that all birds look at you from the sides of their heads . they might sail a couple of yards away , drawing themselves up to the highest points of their dignity , but they would immediately and in unison , as if from a radio signal , veer around and make back to the place from which their manoeuvre had begun . arm waving produced no results except to incite them to guttural grunts of derision . I must admit that I thought of many desperate measures : of going out at night with an airgun ; of throwing poisoned bread upon the waters ( which would have been useless since , unlike moorhens , they did not take to bread , and appeared to subsist on a diet of grass ) . my alarm was increased by my reference to a book on pet keeping which confirmed my worst fears about Chinese geese . it actually warned pet keepers against the wisdom of attempting to keep both Chinese geese and friendly neighbours . I presented the book to their owner but if he read that passage it did not affect his behaviour . in fairness to myself I must add that I had no wish to hurt the geese . it had to be psychological warfare , mental cruelty . in the end I decided that a process of steady discouragement was the only policy . whenever they appeared on the pond , and I was present , I threw a sprinkle of small grit around them . at first they exhibited no emotion apart from comical surprise . I persisted in this sprinkling campaign for nearly a whole winter , not without success . as spring approached they appeared less and less , and indeed on seeing me they would , without undue haste , turn around and retreat to whence they came . for a time an intermittent peace reigned on the pond . if other terrors arising from the pond population came and went ( as , for instance , the day my wife saw a large rat walk slowly across our bridge towards the front door , or the sudden surprise of beady shrew-eyes from the pond &apos;s grass banks ) , at least we had seemingly rid ourselves , without offending anyone openly , of our Chinese geese . between whiles a charming bevy of about a dozen white ( and more or less silent ) geese occasionally trooped down the village street , fluttered and splashed in the pond for a while and then , in solemn dignified file , returned to their drier quarters . they should have been grateful to me , for when the Chinese geese were about they had no difficulty in hounding off these peaceful creatures . if this chapter reads like a successful rout , I am sorry to have given you the wrong impression . those Chinese geese finally fooled me and everyone else . in May , in our second Pond Cottage summer , these two geese returned , and with them , unaccountably , there shuffled to the water &apos;s edge a clutch of six chicks , faintly yet assuredly resembling their parents . that was one of the turning points of my life as a pond-dweller . 17 . parish pump . rumour had had it for some years past that water - a parish supply as it is called - was on its way to Wilborough . the supply of water to remote villages and hamlets is one of the beneficent functions performed in this rather deplorable century . in villages it marks the end of water as a precious liquid , to be dispensed frugally , weighed out drop by drop . living at Pond Cottage I had been able to appreciate my own ample supplies while viewing the bucket-dipping villagers from my window . there were periods when I was amazed at the rareness of their visits to the spring - yet it could not be denied that the villagers were clean people , even shining clean . those who had lived in the heart of the countryside will know that , in the sense of grubbiness , as opposed to good , clean dirt , it is not easy to get dirty . when we first lived in the country my wife worried as to who would clean our windows . we searched around for a window-cleaner , but she need not have worried . when we left that cottage two years later the windows , though never touched , were as clean as when we came in . if the country air is good for complexions and windows it must also be marvellously disinfectant . the amount of waste of one kind and another that has to be destroyed or concealed in any village has to be thought about to be believed . in villages - of the thatched variety - it is not safe to light a bonfire to burn rubbish . in most cases it is consigned to the kindly , effacing earth ; in others chickens and birds are the agents of disposal . where the material is indestructible , well , every village has its dumping ground , its ancient pits - and now and again , as we know , there is luckily a pond or stream . one day the surveyors arrived . they paused long outside Pond Cottage to decide the line of pipes , and they eyed the pond itself with glances made up equally of anxiety and animosity . this was their lowest point , and after the spanning of our little valley they could once more rise . the village was full of depressing rumours . they would drain the pond ; they would run pipes across the arches of the little bridge ; and so on . fortunately the plans of the water engineers lay elsewhere . with a mechanical digging monster , eating up earth and rocks with equal ease , they dug a deep trench on the side of the road furthest from the pond &apos;s edge . to the barely suppressed satisfaction of most of us the excavation immediately filled with water , and thereafter the scene became a morass : ditch , ruts , mud , grey-brown hillocks of earth , large stones , untidy clods of grass , with a few pieces of newspaper and some old cement bags thrown in for good measure . it remained thus for a whole summer . an attempted laying of pipes began . a small pump arrived and cleared the trench of water long enough for the pipes to be set in position . then the water once more resumed its engulfing sway . so that the ditch could be cleared sufficiently of water for sealing the joints , a more delicate job , the little petrol pump was again conjured to work valiantly - but it proved unequal to its task . the trench remained obstinately full ; the water seeped in as fast as it was pumped away . for some weeks the matter remained thus , while the supervisors , who occasionally arrived in shining saloon cars , scratched their heads over the problem . the impasse was finally broken one rainy Saturday . a man-sized pump arrived borne upon the platform of a lorry . it was this pump which was to prove the major enemy , and not the water . anyone who has ever had to deal with a diesel or petrol engine will know the possibilities of trouble here . they are bad enough on a hot afternoon with a lawn-mower . these men went through all the known processes to the point of exhaustion . the engine started , stopped , started , stopped again , always for no apparent reason . the four men concerned explored all possibilities and experienced every feeling from hope to despair . they cajoled , wheedled , entreated , tinkered . eventually they knocked off for a smoke and a cup of tea . this campaign proceeded for an entire morning . I was amazed at the workmen &apos;s stolid patience . then as we were all giving up in despair , for I shared their experience from my window , the pump started and continued genially as if it too had had enough and wanted to perform its task and get home for the day . once going , the job was tidied up , the trench filled , in less than an hour ; and the landscape settled into the condition of quiet waiting which had been its role through the ages . soon the grass would grow again over the trench and over the piped water of the twentieth century . about a month later a number of workmen came through the village and , with the active co-operation of the villagers , made little right-angled connections with the main pipe to each front door taking the water . this was a job soon dispatched although fraught with small obstacles in the way of trickles of springs beneath the road surface . it remained then for the villagers to take the water indoors . on a fine spring morning came the news by post from the rural district council that water would be put into pipes on a particular date , and that supplies could then be delivered . on that day a villager in a cottage turned a tap - and the utility of Wilborough Pond was , after a thousand years , ended . thereafter it became a piece of the landscape . I had a sign written , taking the first Saxon mention of the village . I hung it on our gate : this pond , for a thousand years , provided water to the villagers of this hamlet A.D 888-1957 . 18 . chain of life . steady effort for nearly two years , punctuated by bursts of great energy , had been put to the end of making the pond and its cottage a piece of landscape such as you read about or see in a film : a veritable picture . 