A VISIT It is mid-morning on a spring day in ????.

I have driven from the centre of Oxford, over Magdalen Bridge, along the London road, and up a hill into the respectable but dull suburb of Headington. Near a large private school for girls I turn left into Sand?eld Road, a residential street of two-storey brick houses, each with its tidy front garden. Number seventy-six is a long way down the road. The house is painted white and is partially screened by a tall fence, a hedge, and overhanging trees. I park the car, open the arched gate, go up the short path between rose bushes, and ring the front door bell. For a long time there is silence, except for the rumble of distant traf?c in the main road. I am beginning to think of ringing again or of turning away when the door is opened by Professor Tolkien. He is slightly smaller than I expected. Tallness is a quality of which he makes much in his books, so it is a little surprising to see that he himself is slightly less than the average height not much, but just enough to be noticeable. I introduce myself, and (since I made this appointment in advance and am expected) the quizzical and somewhat defensive look that ?rst met me is replaced by a smile. A hand is offered and my own is ?rmly grasped. Behind him I can see the entrance-hall, which is small and tidy and contains nothing that one would not expect in the house of a middle-class elderly couple. W. H. Auden, in an