Crostwick White Horse was one more choice of headquarters. Crostwick Common, to the north of Norwich, was noted for its donkeys and geese and at the farther end, just off the road stood the White Horse, thatched and limewashed, with its tall inn sign standing some yards away. There were farm buildings about it and the landlord, Ted Snelling, farmed its forty odd acres. He was a good, comfortable, middle aged man, with a proper air of the rural landlord about him. His round face shone and he shaved clean, with the exception of a small tuft on his chin.

Besides his wife, his married daughter and son-in-law lived with him. With this household living in a private parlour, I lodged in comfort and was fed for fourteen shillings a week. It was there, liking the place on a ride out of Norwich, that I arranged to paint through the Autumn. I launched this skirmish from my Norwich rooms. With the help of my old friend and open landau driver George Claxton, we came upon the Common, there were donkeys, young and old, a cow or two and a white horse (in the life). What a Common! I had made many such journeys, but the memory of this never-forgotten drive has outlasted all others. The journey ended, the good driver had dinner and beer and left. I did my pictures at Crostwick, undisturbed. An old man, woman or boy fetching a donkey, or roaming children were part of the scene. Passing traffic on the road mattered little for most went on the railway then. Here I was in my twenties, with everything around me to paint, when for a few pence a boy was glad to hold a donkey or pony, or pose himself, all day long.

Calm, grey, autumn days followed in succession in that particular year. Days with soft, "barred clouds", stretching across the sky. I saw the bramble patches, the dark clumps of gorse and purple thorns and yellowing bracken, the donkeys with white muzzles feeding and the geese far away near the stream at the end. What would I give to find myself on the Common as it was then.