There was one thing. In his jungle prison Rex Ivory had, as before, composed poetrywhich he memorized there, since any scrap of paper was conserved for the coded casualty lists. An eminent publisher stood ready to sacrifice a portion of hoarded postwar paper to the awaited volume. None of this was unpredictable. What had not been expected was that the verses from the Malayan death camp, when transcribed, would be found to celebrate, exclusively and inexorably, the streams and hedgerows of Derbyshire.

There were other heroes by then, and other manuscripts. Public interest in Rex Ivory was waning, the paper shortage intensifying. At a top-level meeting held on a wet Saturday morning at the publishing house, it was felt that certain of the poemsin particular, one concerning a lapwinginvited critical derision. Availing themselves of an Act-of-God clause, the publishers withdrew from the contract. And The Half-Reap'd Field appeared, like earlier volumes, under an obscure imprint at the author's expense.