you could not assume that you were much safer in the
country than in London. There were no telescreens, of course, but there was
always the danger of concealed microphones by which your voice might be
picked up and recognized; besides, it was not easy to make a journey by
yourself without attracting attention. For distances of less than 100
kilometres it was not necessary to get your passport endorsed, but
sometimes there were patrols hanging about the railway stations, who
examined the papers of any Party member they found there and asked awkward
questions. However, no patrols had appeared, and on the walk from the
station he had made sure by cautious backward glances that he was not being
followed. The train was full of proles, in holiday mood because of the
summery weather. The wooden-seated carriage in which he travelled was
filled to overflowing by a single enormous family, ranging from a toothless
great-grandmother to a month-old baby, going out to spend an afternoon with
'in-laws' in the country, and, as they freely explained to Winston, to get
hold of a little blackmarket butter.
The lane widened, and in a minute he came to the footpath she had told
him of, a mere cattle-track which plunged between the bushes. He had no
watch, but it could not be fifteen yet. The bluebells were so thick
underfoot that it was impossible not to tread on them. He knelt down and
began picking some partly to pass the time away, but also from a vague idea
that he would