were allowed into our classroom our teachers would inspect us,and children who had not bathed that day,or had dirt under their fingernails,or whose hair had not been combed anew that day,might not be allowed to attend class).I ate that breakfast.I walked to school.At school we gathered in an auditorium and sang a hymn,"All Things Bright and Beautiful," and looking down on us as we sang were portraits of the Queen of England and her husband; they wore jewels and medals and they smiled.I was a Brownie.At each meeting we would form a little group around a flagpole,and after raising the Union Jack,we would say,"I promise to do my best,to do my duty to God and the Queen,to help other people every day and obey the scouts'law." 9 Who were these people and why had I never seen them,I mean really seen them,in the place where they lived?I had never been to England.No one I knew had ever been to England,or I should say,no one I knew had ever been and returned to tell me about it.All the people I knew who had gone to England had stayed there.Sometimes they left behind them their small children,never to see them again.England!I had seen England's representatives.I had seen the governor general at the public grounds at a ceremony celebrating the Queen's birthday.I had seen an old princess and I had seen a young princess.They had both been extremely not beautiful,but who of us would have told them that?I had never seen England, really seen it,I had only met a representative,seen a picture,read books,memorized its history.I had never set foot,my own foot,in it. 10 The space between the idea of something and its reality is always wide and deep and dark.The longer they are kept apart--idea of thing,reality of thing-the wider the width,the deeper the depth,the thicker and darker the darkness.This space starts out empty,there is nothing in it,but it rapidly becomes filled up with obsession or desire or hatred or love-sometimes all of these things,sometimes some of these things,sometimes only one of these things.The existence of the world as I came to know it was a result of this:idea of thing over here,reality of thing way,way over there.There was Christopher Columbus,an unlikable man,an unpleasant man,a liar(and so,of course,a thief)surrounded by maps and schemes and plans,and there was the reality on the other side of that width,that depth,that darkness.He became obsessed,he became filled with desire,the hatred came later,love was never a part of it.Eventually,his idea met the longed-for reality.That the idea of something and its reality are often,two completely different things is something no one ever remembers; and so when they meet and find that they are not compatible,the weaker of the two,idea or reality,dies.That idea Christopher Columbus had was more powerful than the reality he met, and so the reality he met died. 11 And so finally,when I was a grown-up woman,the mother of two children,the wife of someone,a person who resides in a powerful country that takes up more than its fair share of a continent,the owner of a house with many rooms in it and of two automobiles,with the desire and will(which I very much act upon)to take from the world more than I give back to it,more than I deserve,more than I need,finally then,I saw England,the real England,not a picture,not a painting,not through a story in a book,but England,for the first time.In me,were allowed into our classroom our teachers would inspect us, and children who had not bathed that day, or had dirt under their fingernails, or whose hair had not been combed anew that day, might not be allowed to attend class). I ate that breakfast. I walked to school. At school we gathered in an auditorium and sang a hymn, “All Things Bright and Beautiful,” and looking down on us as we sang were portraits of the Queen of England and her husband; they wore jewels and medals and they smiled. I was a Brownie. At each meeting we would form a little group around a flagpole, and after raising the Union Jack9 , we would say, “I promise to do my best, to do my duty to God and the Queen, to help other people every day and obey the scouts’ law.” 9 Who were these people and why had I never seen them, I mean really seen them, in the place where they lived? I had never been to England. No one I knew had ever been to England, or I should say, no one I knew had ever been and returned to tell me about it. All the people I knew who had gone to England had stayed there. Sometimes they left behind them their small children, never to see them again. England! I had seen England’s representatives. I had seen the governor genera1 at the public grounds at a ceremony celebrating the Queen’s birthday. I had seen an old princess and I had seen a young princess. They had both been extremely not beautiful, but who of us would have told them that? I had never seen England, really seen it, I had only met a representative, seen a picture, read books, memorized its history. I had never set foot, my own foot, in it. 10 The space between the idea of something and its reality is always wide and deep and dark. The longer they are kept apart—- idea of thing, reality of thing- the wider the width, the deeper the depth, the thicker and darker the darkness. This space starts out empty, there is nothing in it, but it rapidly becomes filled up with obsession or desire or hatred or love-sometimes all of these things, sometimes some of these things, sometimes only one of these things. The existence of the world as I came to know it was a result of this: idea of thing over here, reality of thing way, way over there. There was Christopher Columbus, an unlikable man, an unpleasant man, a liar (and so, of course, a thief) surrounded by maps and schemes and plans, and there was the reality on the other side of that width, that depth, that darkness. He became obsessed, he became filled with desire, the hatred came later, love was never a part of it. Eventually, his idea met the longed-for reality. That the idea of something and its reality are often, two completely different things is something no one ever remembers; and so when they meet and find that they are not compatible, the weaker of the two, idea or reality, dies. That idea Christopher Columbus had was more powerful than the reality he met, and so the reality he met died. 11 And so finally, when I was a grown-up woman, the mother of two children, the wife of someone, a person who resides in a powerful country that takes up more than its fair share of a continent, the owner of a house with many rooms in it and of two automobiles, with the desire and will (which I very much act upon) to take from the world more than I give back to it, more than I deserve, more than I need, finally then, I saw England, the real England, not a picture, not a painting, not through a story in a book, but England, for the first time. In me