the top third hollow as a drum, crack in two
and just miss a schoolboy playing below.
Your readers may like to know what is to happen when the last tree is removed. The earth will be allowed to rest for a few months and then, through the generosity of Lady Everett, new trees are to be planted, in memory of her husband. If Mr. Betjeman will call for a glass of sherry, in twenty-five years' time, I am sure he will enjoy the sight of the line of adolescent limes, moving gracefully against the Cathedral and the sky, in place of the arthritic old trunks that are not much fun to look at during the long, long winter.
Of course, anyone with half an eye agrees with what Mr. Betjeman has to say about the concrete lamp standards, and the hideous street lighting in Salisbury, It makes everyone look like ghouls. It is sonic comfort that the town councillor who defends these horrors recently wrote, 'By any stretch of imagination I fail to see . . .'—Yours faithfully, HECTOR BOLITHO Mompesson House, The Close, Salisbury
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