In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree:
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man
Down to a sunless sea…

Coleridge! You beauty!  
And how did I know something like that? It happened that just the week before Mr Demetre had the flu and the school Librarian—a seriously misplaced attractive young lady —had read us the poem and told the story of the interruption. Perhaps intimidated by her beauty or maybe the bodgies were as unused to nubile women as I was but in any case they were remarkably well behaved. Nevertheless, the young miss did not last long in that alien environment and was soon replaced by a more appropriate old boiler named Mrs Tully.
Still, the poem stuck, even though I had little understanding of it, and now it would stay with me forever. Actually, as with most true adventures, I thought Marco’s travels rather dull—too much custom and sight-seeing and potted local history and not enough personal details or experiences—but this time it didn’t matter because I had a wonderful time figuring it all out. I might have persisted in this way through every adventure ever written, had I not fairly soon run into Jonathan Swift and Arthur Mee was quite unable to direct me to Lilliput.