NotesfromasmallIsland

ByBillBryson

PROLOGUE

CHAPTERONE

CHAPTERTWO

CHAPTERTHREE
CHAPTERFOUR

CHAPTERFIVE
CHAPTERSIX
CHAPTERSEVEN

CHAPTEREIGHT

CHAPTERNINE

CHAPTERTEN
CHAPTERELEVEN
CHAPTERTWELVE
CHAPTERTHIRTEEN
CHAPTERFOURTEEN
CHAPTERFIFTEEN
CHAPTERSIXTEEN
CHAPTERSEVENTEEN
CHAPTEREIGHTEEN
CHAPTERNINETEEN
CHAPTERTWENTY
CHAPTERTWENTYONE
CHAPTERTWENTYTWO
CHAPTERTWENTYTHREE
CHAPTERTWENTYFOUR
CHAPTERTWENTYFIVE
CHAPTERTWENTYSIX
CHAPTERTWENTYSEVEN
CHAPTERTWENTYEIGHT
CHAPTERTWENTYNINE

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PROLOGUE
MYFIRSTSIGHTOFENGLANDWASONAFOGGYMARCHNIGHTIN1973
whenIarrivedonthemidnightferryfromCalais.Fortwentyminutes,theterminalarea
wasaswarmwithactivityascarsandlorriespouredforth,customspeopledidtheir

duties,andeveryonemadefortheLondonroad.ThenabruptlyallwassilenceandI
wanderedthroughsleeping,lowlitstreetsthreadedwithfog,justlikeinaBulldog
Drummondmovie.ItwasratherwonderfulhavinganEnglishtownalltomyself.
Theonlymildlydismayingthingwasthatallthehotelsandguesthousesappearedto
beshutupforthenight.Iwalkedasfarastherailstation,thinkingI'dcatchatrainto
London,butthestation,too,wasdarkandshuttered.Iwasstandingwonderingwhattodo
whenInoticedagreylightoftelevisionfillinganupstairswindowofaguesthouseacross
theroad.Hooray,Ithought,someoneawake,andhastenedacross,planninghumble
apologiestothekindlyownerforthelatenessofmyarrivalandimaginingacheery
conversationwhichincludedtheline,'Oh,butIcouldn'tpossiblyaskyoutofeedmeat
thishour.No,honestlywell,ifyou'requitesureit'snotrouble,thenperhapsjustaroast
beefsandwichandalargedillpicklewithperhapssomepotatosaladandabottleofbeer.'
ThefrontpathwaspitchdarkandinmyeagernessandunfamiliaritywithBritish
doorways,Itrippedonastep,crashingfacefirstintothedoorandsendinghalfadozen
emptymilkbottlesclattering.Almostimmediatelytheupstairswindowopened.
'Who'sthat?'cameasharpvoice.Isteppedback,rubbingmynose,andpeeredupata
silhouettewithhaircurlers.'Hello,I'mlookingforaroom,'Isaid.
'We'reshut.'
'Oh.'Butwhataboutmysupper?
TrytheChurchill.Onthefront.'
'Onthefrontofwhat?'Iasked,butthewindowwasalreadybangingclosed.
TheChurchillwassumptuousandwelllitandappearedreadytoreceivevisitors.
ThroughawindowIcouldseepeopleinsuitsinabar,lookingelegantandsuave,like
charactersfromaNoelCowardplay.Ihesitatedintheshadows,feelinglikeastreet
urchin.Iwassociallyandsartoriallyillsuitedforsuchanestablishmentandanywayit
wasclearlybeyondmymeagrebudget.Onlythepreviousday,Ihadhandedoveran
exceptionallyplumpwadofcolourfulfrancstoabeadyeyedPicardyhotelierinpayment
foronenightinalumpybedandaplateofmysteriouschasseurcontainingthebonesof
assortedsmallanimals,muchofwhichhadtobesecretedawayinalargenapkininorder
nottoappearimpolite,andhaddeterminedthenceforthtobemorecautiouswith
expenditures.SoIturnedreluctantlyfromtheChurchill'sbeckoningwarmthandtrudged
offintothedarkness.
FurtheralongMarineParadestoodashelter,opentotheelementsbutroofed,andI
decidedthatthiswasasgoodasIwasgoingtoget.Withmybackpackforapillow,Ilay
downanddrewmyjackettightaroundme.Thebenchwasslattedandhardandstudded
withbigroundheadedboltsthatmaderecliningincomfortanimpossibilitydoubtless
theirintention.Ilayforalongtimelisteningtotheseawashingovertheshinglebelow,
andeventuallydroppedofftoalong,coldnightofmumbleddreamsinwhichIfound
myselfbeingpursuedoverArcticicefloesbyabeadyeyedFrenchmanwithacatapult,a
bagofboltsandanuncannyaim,whothwackedmerepeatedlyinthebuttocksandlegs
forstealingalinennapkinfullofseepyfoodandleavingitatthebackofadresserdrawer
ofmyhotelroom.Iawokewithagaspaboutthree,stiffalloverandquiveringfromcold.
Thefoghadgone.Theairwasnowstillandclear,andtheskywasbrightwithstars.A
beaconfromthelighthouseatthefarendofthebreakwatersweptendlesslyoverthesea.

Itwasallmostfetching,butIwasfartoocoldtoappreciateit.Idugshiveringlythrough
mybackpackandextractedeverypotentiallywarmingitemIcouldfindaflannelshirt,
twosweaters,anextrapairofjeans.Iusedsomewoollensocksas
mittensandputapakofflannelboxershortsonmyheadasakindofdesperate
headwarmer,thensankheavilybackontothebenchandwaitedpatientlyfordeath'ssweet
kiss.Instead,Ifellasleep.
Iwasawakenedagainbyanabruptbellowoffoghorn,whichnearlyknockedmefrom
mynarrowperch,andsatupfeelingwretchedbutfractionallylesscold.Theworldwas
bathedinthatmilkypredawnlightthatseemstocomefromnowhere.Gullswheeledand
criedoverthewater.Beyondthem,pastthestonebreakwater,aferry,vastandwelllit,
slidregallyouttosea.Isatthereforsometime,ayoungmanwithmoreonhismindthan
init.Anotherboomingmoanfromtheship'sfoghornpassedoverthewater,reexciting
theirksomegulls.Itookoffmysockmittensandlookedatmywatch.Itwas5.55a.m.I
lookedattherecedingferryandwonderedwhereanybodywouldbegoingatthathour.
WherewouldIgoatthathour?Ipickedupmybackpackandshuffledoffdowntheprom,
togetsomecirculationgoing.
NeartheChurchill,nowitselfpeacefullysleeping,Icameacrossanoldguywalkinga
littledog.Thedogwasfranticallytryingtopeeoneveryverticalsurfaceandin
consequencewasn'tsomuchwalkingasbeingdraggedalongonthreelegs.
ThemannoddedagoodmorningasIdrewlevel.'Mightturnoutnice,'heannounced,
gazinghopefullyataskythatlookedlikeapileofwettowels.Iaskedhimiftherewasa
restaurantanywherethatmightbeopen.Heknewofaplacenotfarawayanddirectedme
toit.'BesttransportcaffinKent,'hesaid.
'Transportcalf?'Irepeateduncertainly,andretreatedacoupleofpacesasI'dnoticed
hisdogwasstrainingdesperatelytomoistenmyleg.
'Verypopularwiththelorrydrivers.Theyalwaysknowthebestplaces,don'tthey?'
Hesmiledamiably,thenloweredhisvoiceafractionandleanedtowardsmeasifaboutto
shareaconfidence.'Youmightwanttotakethempantsoffyourheadbeforeyougoin.'
Iclutchedmyhead'Oh!'andremovedtheforgottenboxershortswithablush.I
triedtothinkofasuccinctexplanation,butthemanwasscanningtheskyagain.
'Definitelybrighteningup,'hedecided,anddraggedhisdogoffinsearchofnew
uprights.Iwatchedthemgo,thenturnedandwalkedoffdownthepromenadeasitbegan
tospitwithrain.
Thecafewasoutstandinglivelyandsteamyanddeliciouslywarm.Ihadaplatterof
eggs,beans,friedbread,baconandsausage,withasideplateofbreadandmarge,andtwo
cupsoftea,allfor22p.Afterwards,feelinganewman,Iemergedwithatoothpickanda
burp,andsaunteredhappilythroughthestreets,watchingDovercometolife.Itmustbe
saidthatDoverwasnotvastlyimprovedbydaylight,butIlikedit.Ilikeditssmallscale
andcosyair,andthewayeveryonesaid'Goodmorning,'and'Hello,'and'Dreadful
weatherbutitmightbrightenup,'toeveryoneelse,andthesensethatthiswasjustone
moreinaverylongseriesoffundamentallycheerful,wellordered,pleasantlyuneventful
days.NooneinthewholeofDoverwouldhaveanyparticularreasontoremember21
March1973,exceptformeandahandfulofchildrenbornthatdayandpossiblyoneold
guywithadogwhohadencounteredayoungfellowwithunderpantsonhishead.

Ididn'tknowhowearlyonecoulddecentlybeginaskingforaroominEngland,soI
thoughtIwouldleaveittillmidmorning.Withtimeonmyhands,Imadeathorough
searchforaguesthousethatlookedattractiveandquiet,butfriendlyandnottoo
expensive,andatthestrokeofteno'clockpresentedmyselfonthedoorstepoftheoneI
hadcarefullyselected,takingcarenottodiscomposethemilkbottles.Itwasasmallhotel
thatwasreallyaguesthouse,indeedwasreallyaboardinghouse.
Idon'trememberitsname,butIwellrecalltheproprietress,aformidablecreatureof
latemiddleyearscalledMrsSmegma,whoshowedmetoaroom,thengavemeatourof
thefacilitiesandoutlinedthemanycomplicatedrulesforresidingtherewhenbreakfast
wasserved,howtoturnontheheaterforthebath,whichhoursofthedayIwouldhaveto
vacatethepremisesandduringwhichbriefperiodabathwaspermitted(theseseemed,
oddly,tocoincide),howmuchnoticeIshouldgiveifIintendedtoreceiveaphonecallor
remainoutafter10p.m.,howtoflushthelooandusetheloobrush,whichmaterialswere
permittedinthebedroomwastebasketandwhichhadtobecarefullyconveyedtothe
outsidedustbin,whereandhowtowipemyfeetateachpointofentry,howtooperatethe
threebarfireinmybedroomandwhenthatwouldbepermitted(essentially,duringan
IceAge).Thiswasallbewilderinglynewtome.WhereIcamefrom,yougotaroomina
motel,spenttenhoursmakingalavishandpossiblyirredeemablemessofit,andleft
earlythenextmorning.ThiswaslikejoiningtheArmy.
Theminimumstay,'MrsSmegmawenton,'isfivenightsatonepoundanight,
includingfullEnglishbreakfast.'
'Fivenights?'Isaidinasmallgasp.I'donlyintendedtostaytheone.Whatonearth
wasIgoingtodowithmyselfinDoverforfivedays?
MrsSmegmaarchedaneyebrow.'Wereyouhopingtostay
longer?'
'No,'Isaid.'No.Asamatterof'
'Good,becausewehaveapartyofScottishpensionerscomingfortheweekendandit
wouldhavebeenawkward.Actually,quiteimpossible.'Shesurveyedmecritically,asshe
mightacarpetstain,andconsiderediftherewasanythingelseshecoulddotomakemy
lifewretched.Therewas.'I'mgoingoutshortly,somayIaskthatyouvacateyourroom
withinquarterofanhour?'
Iwasconfusedagain.'I'msorry,youwantmetoleave?I'vejustgothere.'
'Asperthehouserules.Youmayreturnatfour.'Shemadetodepartbutthenturned
back.'Oh,anddobesogood,wouldyou,astoremoveyourcounterpaneeachnight.
We'vehadsomeunfortunateoccurrenceswithstains.Ifyoudodamagethecounterpane,I
willhavetochargeyou.Youdounderstand,ofcourse?'
Inoddeddumbly.Andwiththatshewasgone.Istoodthere,feelinglostandweary
andfarfromhome.I'dspentanhystericallyuncomfortablenightoutofdoors.My
musclesached,Iwasdentedalloverfromsleepingonboltheads,andmyskinwaslightly
oiledwiththedirtandgritoftwonations.Ihadsustainedmyselftothispointwiththe
thoughtthatsoonIwouldbeimmersedinahot,soothingbath,followedbyabout
fourteenhoursofdeep,peaceful,wallowingsleep,onplumppillowsunderadowny
comforter.
AsIstoodthereabsorbingtherealizationthatmynightmare,farfromdrawingtoa

close,wasonlyjustbeginning,thedooropenedandMrsSmegmawasstridingacrossthe
roomtothestriplightabovethesink.Shehadshownmethecorrectmethodforturningit
on'There'snoneedtoyankit.Agentletugissufficient'andevidentlyremembered
thatshehadleftitburning.Sheturneditoffnowwithwhatseemedtomeasharpyank,
thengavemeandtheroomafinalsuspiciousonceover,anddepartedagain.
WhenIwassureshewasquitegone,Iquietlylockedthedoor,drewshutthecurtains
andhadapeeinthesink.Idugabookfrommybackpack,thenstoodforalongminute
bythedoorsurveyingthetidy,unfamiliarcontentsofmylonelyroom.'Andjustwhatthe
fuckisacounterpane?'Iwonderedinasmall,unhappyvoiceandquietlytookmyleave.
WhatadifferentplaceBritainwasinthespringof1973.Thepoundwasworth$2.46.
Averageweeklytakehomepaywas30.11.Apacketofcrispswas5p,asoftdrink8p,
lipstick45p,chocolatebiscuits12p,aniron4.50,anelectrickettle7,ablackandwhite
TV60,acolourTV300,aradio16,theaveragemealoutl.Ascheduledairline
ticketfromNewYorktoLondoncost87.45inwinter,124.95insummer.Youcould
haveeightdaysinTenerifeonaCook'sGoldenWingsHolidayfor65orfifteendays
from93.IknowallthisbecausebeforethistripIlookeduptheissueofTheTimesfor
20March1973,thedayIarrivedinDover,anditcontainedafullpageadvertisement
fromtheGovernmentoutlininghowmuchmostofthesethingscostandhowtheywould
beaffectedbyazippynewtaxcalledVAT,whichwastobeintroducedaweekorso
later.ThegistoftheadvertwasthatwhilesomethingswouldgoupinpricewithVAT,
somethingswouldalsogodown.(Ha!)Ialsorecollectfrommyowndwindlingcerebral
resourcesthatitcost4ptosendapostcardtoAmericabyair,13pforapintofbeer,and3
OpforthefirstPenguinbookIeverbought(BillyLiar).Decimalizationhadjustpassed
itssecondanniversary,butpeoplewerestillconvertingintheirheads'Goodlord,that's
nearlysixshillings!'andyouhadtoknowthatasixpencewasreallyworth2%pandthat
aguineawas1.05.
Asurprisingnumberofheadlinesfromthatweekcouldaseasilyappeartoday:'French
airtrafficcontrollersstrike','WhitePapercallsforUlsterpowersharing','Nuclear
researchlaboratorytobeclosed','Stormsdisruptrailservices'andthatoldstandbyof
cricketreports,'Englandcollapse'(thistimeagainstPakistan).Butthemostarresting
thingabouttheheadlinesfromthatdimlyrememberedweekin1973washowmuch
industrialunresttherewasabout:'StrikethreatatBritishGasCorporation','2,000Civil
Servantsstrike','NoLondoneditionofDailyMirror','10,000laidoffafterChryslermen
walkout','UnionsplancripplingactionforMayDay','12,000pupilsgetdayoffas
teachersstrike'allthisfromasingleweek.ThiswastobetheyearoftheOPECcrisis
andtheeffectivetopplingoftheHeathgovernment(thoughtherewouldn'tbeageneral
electionuntilthefollowingFebruary).Beforetheyearwasout,therewouldbepetrol
rationingandmilelongqueuesatgaragesalloverthecountry.Inflationwouldspiralup
to
28percent.Therewouldbeacuteshortagesoftoiletpaper,sugar,electricityandcoal,
amongmuchelse.Halfthenationwouldbeonstrikeandtherestwouldbeonthreeday
weeks.PeoplewouldshopforChristmaspresentsindepartmentstoreslitbycandlesand
watchindismayastheirtelevisionscreenswentblankafterNewsatTenbyorderofthe
Government.ItwouldbetheyearoftheSunningdaleAgreement,theSummerland

disasterontheIsleofMan,thecontroversyoverSikhsandmotorcyclehelmets,Martina
Navratilova'sdebutatWimbledon.ItwastheyearthatBritainenteredtheCommon
Marketanditscarcelyseemscrediblenow
wenttowarwithIcelandovercod(albeitinamercifullywimpy,putdownthose
whitefishorwemightjustshootacrossyourbowsortofway).
Itwouldbe,inshort,oneofthemostextraordinaryyearsinmodernBritishhistory.Of
course,Ididn'tknowthisonthatdrizzlyMarchmorninginDover.Ididn'tknowanything
really,whichisastrangelywonderfulpositiontobein.Everythingthatlaybeforeme
wasnewandmysteriousandexcitinginawayyoucan'timagine.Englandwasfullof
wordsI'dneverheardbeforestreakybacon,shortbackandsides,Belishabeacon,
serviettes,hightea,icecreamcornet.Ididn'tknowhowtopronounce'scone'or'pasty'or
'Towcester'or'Slough'.IhadneverheardofTesco's,PerthshireorDenbighshire,council
houses,MorecambeandWise,railwaycuttings,Christmascrackers,bankholidays,
seasiderock,milkfloats,trunkcalls,Scotcheggs,MorrisMinorsandPoppyDay.Forall
Iknew,whenacarhadanLplateonthebackofit,itindicatedthatitwasbeingdriven
byaleper.Ididn'thavethefaintestideawhatGPO,LBW,GLCorOAPstoodfor.Iwas
positivelyradiantwithignorance.Thesimplesttransactionswereamysterytome.Isaw
amaninanewsagent'saskfor'twentyNumberSix'andreceivecigarettes,andpresumed
foralongtimeafterwardsthateverythingwasorderedbynumberinanewsagent's,like
inaChinesetakeaway.IsatforhalfanhourinapubbeforeIrealizedthatyouhadto
fetchyourownorder,thentriedthesamethinginatearoomandwastoldtositdown.
Thetearoomladycalledmelove.Alltheshopladiescalledmeloveandmostofthe
mencalledmemate.Ihadn'tbeenheretwelvehoursandalreadytheylovedme.And
everyoneatethewayIdid.Thiswastrulyexciting.ForyearsI'dbeenthedespairofmy
motherbecauseasalefthanderIpolitelydeclinedtoeattheAmericanway
graspingtheforkinyourlefthandtosteadythefoodwhilecutting,thentransferring
ittoyourrighthandtoliftthefoodtoyourmouth.Itallseemedridiculously
cumbersome,andheresuddenlywasawholecountrythatatethewayIdid.Andthey
droveontheleft!Thiswasparadise.Beforethedaywashalfover,Iknewthatthiswas
whereIwantedtobe.
Ispentalongdaywanderingaimlesslyandhappilyalongresidentialstreetsand
shoppingstreets,eavesdroppingonconversationsatbusstopsandstreetcorners,looking
withinterestinthewindowsofgreengrocersandbutchersandfishmongers,readingfly
postersandplanningapplications,quietlyabsorbing.Iclimbeduptothecastletoadmire
theviewandwatchtheshuttlingferries,hadarespectfullookatthewhitecliffsandOld
TownGaol,andinthelateafternoononanimpulsewenttoamovie,attractedbythe
prospectofwarmthandbyaposterdepictinganarrayofscantilycladyoungladiesin
seductivemood.'Circleorstalls?'saidtheticketlady.
'No,SuburbanWifeSwap,'Iansweredinaconfusedandfurtivevoice.
Inside,anothernewworldopenedforme.Isawmyfirstcinemaadverts,myfirst
trailerspresentedinaBritishaccent,myfirstBritishBoardofFilmCensorscertificate
('ThismoviehasbeenpassedassuitableforAdultsbyLordHarlech,whoenjoyeditvery
much'),anddiscovered,tomysmalldelight,thatsmokingwaspermittedinBritish
cinemasandtohellwiththefirerisks.Thefilmitselfprovidedarichfundofsocialand

lexicalinformation,aswellasthewelcomeopportunitytorestmysteamingfeetandsee
alotofattractiveyoungwomendisportinginthealtogether.Amongthemanytermsnew
tomewere'dirtyweekend','loo','completepillock','aupair','semidetachedhouse',
'shirtlifter'and'swiftshagagainstthecooker',allofwhichhaveprovedvariouslyuseful
since.DuringtheintervalanotherexcitingnewdevelopmentformeIhadmyfirstKia
Ora,purchasedfromamonumentallyboredyoungladywhohadtheremarkableabilityto
pullfifteenselecteditemsfromherilluminatedtrayandmakechangewithoutever
removinghergazefromanimaginaryspotinthemiddledistance.AfterwardsIdinedata
smallItalianrestaurantrecommendedbyPearlandDeanandreturnedcontentedlytothe
guesthouseasnightstoleoverDover.Itwasaltogetherathoroughlysatisfyingand
illuminatingday.
I'dintendedtoturninearly,butonthewaytomyroomInoticedadoormarked
RESIDENTS'LOUNGEandputmyheadin.Itwasalargeparlour,witheasychairsand
asettee,allwithstarchedantimacassars;abookcasewithamodestselectionofjigsaw
puzzlesandpaperbackbooks;anoccasionaltablewithsomewellthumbedmagazines;
andalargecolourtelevision.IswitchedontheTVandlookedthroughthemagazines
whileIwaitedforittowarmup.Theywereallwomen'smagazines,buttheyweren'tlike
themagazinesmymotherandsisterread.Thearticlesinmymother'sandsister's
magazineswerealwaysaboutsexandpersonalgratification.Theyhadtitleslike'Eat
YourWaytoMultipleOrgasms','OfficeSexHowtoGetIt','Tahiti:TheHotNewPlace
forSex'and'ThoseShrinkingRainforestsAreTheyAnyGoodforSex?'TheBritish
magazinesaddressedmoremodestaspirations.Theyhadtitleslike'KnitYourOwn
Twinset','MoneySavingButtonOffer','MakeThisSuperKnittedSoapSaver'and
'Summer'sHereIt'sTimeforMayonnaise!'
TheprogrammethatunfoldedonthetelevisionwascalledJasonKing.Ifyou'reofa
certainageandlackedasociallifeonFridayeveningsintheearlySeventies,youmay
recallthatitinvolvedaridiculousrakeinapoofykaftanwhomwomenunaccountably
appearedtofindalluring.Icouldn'tdecidewhethertotakehopefromthisorbedepressed
byit.Themostremarkablethingabouttheprogrammewasthat,thoughIsawitonly
oncemorethantwentyyearsago,Ihaveneverlostthedesiretoworkthefellowover
withabaseballbatstuddedwithnails.
Towardstheendoftheprogrammeanotherresidentcamein,carryingabowlof
steamingwaterandatowel.Hesaid,'Oh!'insurprisewhenhesawmeandtookaseatby
thewindow.Hewasthinandredfacedandfilledtheroomwithasmellofliniment.He
lookedlikesomeonewithunhealthysexualambitions,thesortofpersonyourPEteacher
warnedthatyouwouldturnintoifyoumasturbatedtooextravagantly(someone,inshort,
likeyourPEteacher).Icouldn'tbesure,butIwouldalmosthaveswornthatIhadseen
himbuyingapacketoffruitgumsatSuburbanWifeSwapthatafternoon.Helooked
stealthilyatme,possiblythinkingsomethingalongthesamelines,thencoveredhishead
withthetowelandloweredhisfacetothebowl,whereitremainedformuchoftherestof
theevening.
Afewminuteslaterabaldheaded,middleagedguyashoesalesman,Iwouldhave
guessedcamein,said,'Hullo!'tomeand'Evening,Richard,'tothetowelledheadand
tookaseatbesideme.Shortlyafterthatwewerejoinedbyanoldermanwithawalking

stick,adickylegandagruffmanner.Helookeddarklyatusall,noddedthemosttinily
preciseofacknowledgements,andfellheavilyintohisseat,wherehespentthenext
twentyminutesmanoeuvringhislegthiswayandthat,asifpositioningaheavypieceof
furniture.Igatheredthatthesepeoplewerealllongtermresidents.
AsitcomcameoncalledMyNeighbourisaDarkie.Isupposethatwasn'titsactual
title,butthatwasthegistofitthattherewassomethingrichlycomicinthenotionof
havingblackpeoplelivingnextdoor.Itwasfulloflineslike'Goodlord,Gran,there'sa
colouredchappieinyourcupboard!'and'Well,Icouldn'tseehiminthedark,couldI?'It
washopelesslymoronic.Thebaldheadedguybesidemelaugheduntilhewaswiping
tearsfromhiseyes,andfromunderthetoweltherecameoccasionalsnortsofamusement,
butthecolonel,Inoticed,neverlaughed.Hesimplystaredatme,asiftryingtoremember
whatdarkeventfromhispastIwasassociatedwith.EverytimeIlookedover,hiseyes
werefixedonme.Itwasunnerving.
Astarburstbrieflyfilledthescreen,indicatinganintervalofadverts,whichthebald
headedmanusedtoquizmeinafriendlybutconfusinglydisconnectedwayastowhoI
wasandhowIhadfallenintotheirlives.HewasdelightedtofindthatIwasAmerican.
'I'vealwayswantedtoseeAmerica,'hesaid.'Tellme,doyouhaveWoolworth'sthere?'
'Well,actually,Woolworth'sisAmerican.''Youdon'tsay!'hesaid.'Didyouhear
that,Colonel?Woolworth'sisAmerican.'Thecolonelseemedunmovedbythis
intelligence.'Andwhataboutcornflakes?''Ibegyourpardon?''Doyouhavecornflakesin
America?''Well,actually,they'reAmerican,too.''Never!'
Ismiledweakly,andbeggedmylegstostandmeupandtakemeoutofthere,butmy
lowerbodyseemedoddlyinert.
'Fancy!SowhatbringsyoutoBritainthenifyouhavecornflakesalready?'
Ilookedathimtoseeifthequestionwasserious,thenembarkedreluctantlyand
falteringlyonabriefresumeofmylifetothatpoint,butafteramomentIrealizedthatthe
programmehadrestartedandhewasn'tevenpretendingtolisten,soItailedoff,and
insteadspentthewholeofparttwoabsorbingtheheatofthecolonel'sglare.
Whentheprogrammefinished,Iwasabouttohoistmyselffromthechairandbidthis
happytrioawarmadieuwhenthedooropenedandMrsSmegmacameinwithatrayof
teathingsandaplateofbiscuitsofthesortthatIbelievearecalledteatimevariety,and
everyonestirredfriskilytolife,rubbingtheirhandskeenlyandsaying,'Ooh,lovely.'To
thisday,IremainimpressedbytheabilityofBritonsofallagesandsocialbackgrounds
togetgenuinelyexcitedbytheprospectofahotbeverage.
'AndhowwasWorldofBirdstonight,Colonel?'askedMrsSmegmaasshehanded
thecolonelacupofteaandabiscuit.
'Couldn'tsay,'saidthecolonelarchly.'Thetelevision'hesmackedmeinthesideof
theheadwithameaningfullook'wastunedtotheotherside.'MrsSmegmagavemea
sharplook,too,insympathy.Ithinktheyweresleepingtogether.
'WorldofBirdsisthecolonel'sfavourite,'shesaidtomeinatonethatwentsome
distancepasthate,andhandedmeacupofteawithahardwhitishbiscuit.
Imewedsomepitifulapology.
'Itwaspuffinstonight,'blurtedtheredfacedfellow,lookingverypleasedwith

himself.
MrsSmegmastaredathimforamomentasifsurprisedtofindthathehadthepower
ofspeech.'Puffins!'shesaidandgavemeastillmorewitheringexpressionthatasked
howanyonecouldbesolackinginfundamentalhumandecency.'Thecoloneladores
puffins.Don'tyou,Arthur?'Shewasdefinitelysleepingwithhim.
'Idorather,'saidthecolonel,bitingunhappilyintoachocolatebourbon.
Inshame,Isippedmyteaandnibbledatmybiscuit.Ihadneverhadteawithmilkinit
beforeorabiscuitofsuchrocklikecheerlessness.Ittastedlikesomethingyouwould
giveabudgietostrengthenitsbeak.Afteraminutethebaldheadedguyleanedcloseto
meandinaconfidingwhispersaid,'Youmustn'tmindthecolonel.Hehasn'tbeenthe
samesincehelosthisleg.'
'Well,Ihopeforhissakehesoonfindsit,'Ireplied,hazardingalittlesarcasm.The
baldheadedguyguffawedatthisandforoneterrifyingmomentIthoughthewasgoing
tosharemylittlequipwiththecolonelandMrsSmegma,butinsteadhethrustameaty
handatmeandintroducedhimself.Idon'trememberhisnamenow,butitwasoneof
thosenamesthatonlyEnglishpeoplehaveColinCrapsprayorBertramPantyshieldor
somethingsimilarlyimprobable.Igaveacrookedsmile,thinkinghemustbepullingmy
leg,andsaid,'You'rekidding.'
'Notatall,'herepliedcoldly.'Why,doyoufinditamusing?'
'It'sjustthatit'skindof...unusual.'
'Well,youmaythinkso,'hesaidandturnedhisattentiontothecolonelandMrs
Smegma,andIrealizedthatIwasnow,andwoulddoubtlessforeverremain,friendlessin
Dover.
Overthenexttwodays,MrsSmegmapersecutedmemercilessly,whiletheothers,I
suspected,scoutedevidenceforher.Shereproachedmefornotturningthelightoffinmy
roomwhenIwentout,fornotputtingtheliddowninthetoiletwhenI'dfinished,for
takingthecolonel'shotwaterI'dnoideahehadhisownuntilhestartedrattlingthe
doorknobandmakingaggrievednoisesinthecorridorfororderingthefullEnglish
breakfasttwodaysrunningandthenleavingthefriedtomatobothtimes.'Iseeyou'veleft
thefriedtomatoagain,'shesaidonthesecondoccasion.Ididn'tknowquitewhattosay
tothisasitwasincontestablytrue,soIsimplyfurrowedmybrowandjoinedherin
staringattheoffendingitem.Ihadactuallybeenwonderingfortwodayswhatitwas.
'MayIrequest,'shesaidinavoiceheavywithpainandyearsofirritation,'thatinfutureif
youdon'trequireafriedtomatowithyourbreakfastthatyouwouldbegoodenoughto
tellme.'
Abashed,Iwatchedhergo.'Ithoughtitwasabloodclot!'Iwantedtoyellafterher,
butofcourseIsaidnothingandmerelyskulkedfromtheroomtothetriumphantbeams
ofmyfellowresidents.
Afterthat,IstayedoutofthehouseasmuchasIcould.Iwenttothelibraryand
lookedup'counterpane'inadictionarysothatImightatleastescapecensureonthat
score.(Iwasastonishedtofindoutwhatitwas;forthreedaysI'dbeenfiddlingwiththe
window.)Withinthehouse,Itriedtoremainsilentandinconspicuous.Ieventurnedover
quietlyinmycreakingbed.ButnomatterhowhardItried,Iseemedfatedtoannoy.On
thethirdafternoonasIcreptinMrsSmegmaconfrontedmeinthehallwaywithanempty

cigarettepacket,anddemandedtoknowifitwasIwhohadthrustitintheprivethedge.I
begantounderstandwhyinnocentpeoplesignextravagantconfessionsinpolicestations.
Thatevening,Iforgottoturnoffthewaterheaterafteraquickandstealthybathand
compoundedtheerrorbyleavingstrandsofhairintheplughole.Thenextmorningcame
thefinalhumiliation.MrsSmegmamarchedmewordlesslytothetoiletandshowedmea
littleturdthathadnotflushedaway.WeagreedthatIshouldleaveafterbreakfast.I
caughtafasttraintoLondon,andhadnotbeenbacktoDoversince.
CHAPTERONE
THEREARECERTAINIDIOSYNCRATICNOTIONSTHATYOUQUIETLY
COMEtoacceptwhenyouliveforalongtimeinBritain.OneisthatBritishsummers
usedtobelongerandsunnier.AnotheristhattheEnglandfootballteamshouldn'thave
anytroublewithNorway.AthirdistheideathatBritainisabigplace.Thislastiseasily
themostintractable.
Ifyoumentioninthepubthatyouintendtodrivefrom,say,SurreytoCornwall,a
distancethatmostAmericanswouldhappilygotogetataco,yourcompanionswillpuff
theircheeks,lookknowinglyateachother,andblowoutairasiftosay,'Well,nowthat's
abitofatallorder,'andthenthey'lllaunchintoalivelyandprotracteddiscussionof
whetherit'sbettertotaketheA30toStockbridgeandthentheA303toIlchesterorthe
A361toGlastonburyviaSheptonMallet.Withinminutestheconversationwillplunge
offintoalevelofdetailthatleavesyou,asaforeigner,swivellingyourheadinquiet
wonderment.
'YouknowthatlaybyoutsideWarminster,theonewiththegritboxwiththebroken
handle?'oneofthemwillsay.'Youknow,justpasttheturnoffforLittlePukingbut
beforetheB6029miniroundabout.Bythedeadsycamore.'
Atthispoint,youfindyouaretheonlypersoninthegroupnotnoddingvigorously.
'Well,aboutaquarterofamilepastthere,notthefirstleftturning,butthesecondone,
there'salanebetweentwohedgerowsthey'remostlyhawthornbutwithalittlehazel
mixedin.Well,ifyoufollowthatroadpastthereservoirandundertherailwaybridge,
andtakeasharprightattheBuggeredPloughman'
'Nicelittlepub,'somebodywillinterjectusually,forsomereason,aguyinabulky
cardigan.'TheydoadecentpintofOldToejam.'
'andfollowthedirttrackthroughthearmyfiringrangeandroundthebackofthe
cementworks,itdropsdownontotheB3689Ram'sDroppingbypass.Itsavesagood
threeorfourminutesandcutsouttherailcrossingatGreatShagging.'
'Unless,ofcourse,you'recomingfromCrewkerne,'someoneelsewilladdeagerly.
'Now,ifyou'recomingfromCrewkerne...'
GivetwoormoremeninapubthenamesofanytwoplacesinBritainandtheycan
happilyfillhours.Whereveritisyouwanttogo,theconsensusisgenerallythatit'sjust
aboutpossibleaslongasyouscrupulouslyavoidOkehampton,theHangerLanegyratory
system,centralOxfordandtheSevernBridgewestboundbetweenthehoursof3p.m.on
Fridaysand10a.m.onMondays,exceptbankholidayswhenyoushouldn'tgoanywhere
atall.'Me,Idon'tevenwalktothecornershoponbankholidays,'somelittleguyonthe

marginswillchirpupproudly,asifbystayingathomeinStaineshehasforyearscannily
avoidedanotoriousbottleneckatScotchCorner.
Eventually,whentheintricaciesofBroads,contraflowblackspotsandgoodplacesto
getabaconsandwichhavebeendiscussedsothoroughlythatyourearshavebegunto
seepblood,onememberofthepartywillturntoyouandidlyaskoverasipofbeerwhen
youwerethinkingofsettingoff.Whenthishappens,youmustneveranswertruthfully
andsay,inthatkindofdopeywayofyours,'Oh,Idon'tknow,aboutten,Isuppose,'
becausethey'llallbeoffagain.
'Teno'clock?'oneofthemwillsayandtrytobackhisheadoffhisshoulders.'Asin
teno'clocka.m.?'He'llmakeafacelikesomeonewho'stakenacricketballinthescrotum
butdoesn'twanttoappearwimpybecausehisgirlfriendiswatching.'Well,it'sentirelyup
toyou,ofcourse,butpersonallyif/wasplanningtobeinCornwallbythreeo'clock
tomorrow,I'dhaveleftyesterday.'
'Yesterday?'someoneelsewillsay,chortlingsoftlyatthismisplacedoptimism.'I
thinkyou'reforgetting,Colin,thatit'shalfterminNorthWiltshireandWestSomerset
thisweek.It'llbemurderbetweenSwindonandWarminster.No,youwanttohavelefta
weeklastTuesday.'
'Andthere'stheGreatWestSteamRallyatLittleDribblingthisweekend,'somebody
fromacrosstheroomwilladd,strollingovertojoinyoubecauseit'salwayspleasantto
bringbadmotoringnews.'There'llbe375,000carsallconvergingontheLittleChef
roundaboutatUptonDupton.Weoncespentelevendaysinatailbackthere,andthatwas
justtogetoutofthecarpark.No,youwanttohaveleftwhenyouwerestillinyour
mother'swomb,orpreferablywhileyouwerespermatozoa,andeventhenyouwon'tfind
aparkingspacebeyondBodmin.'
Once,whenIwasyounger,Itookallthesealarmingwarningstoheart.Iwenthome,
resetthealarmclock,rousedthefamilyatfour,toprotestsandgeneralconsternation,and
hadeveryonebundledintothecarandontheroadbyfive.Asaresult,wewerein
Newquayintimeforbreakfastandhadtowaitaroundforsevenhoursbeforetheholiday
parkwouldletushaveoneoftheirwretchedchalets.AndtheworstofitwasthatI'donly
agreedtogotherebecauseIthoughtthetownwascalledNookieandIwantedtostockup
onpostcards.
ThefactisthattheBritishhaveatotallyprivatesenseofdistance.Thisismostvisibly
seeninthesharedpretencethatBritainisalonelyislandinthemiddleofanemptygreen
sea.Oh,yes,Iknowyouareallaware,inanabstractsortofway,thatthereisa
substantiallandmasscalledEuropenearbyandthatfromtimetotimeitisnecessaryto
goovertheretogiveoldJerryadrubbingorhaveaholidayontheMed,butit'snotnear
byinanymeaningfulsenseinthewaythat,say,DisneyWorldis.Ifyourconceptof
worldgeographywasshapedentirelybywhatyoureadinthepapersandsawon
television,youwouldhavenochoicebuttoconcludethatAmericamustbeaboutwhere
Irelandis,thatFranceandGermanylieroughlyalongsidetheAzores,thatAustralia
occupiesahotzonesomewhereintheregionoftheMiddleEast,andthatprettymuchall
theothersovereignstatesareeithermythical(viz.,Burundi,ElSalvador,Mongoliaand
Bhutan)orcanonlybereachedbyspaceship.ConsiderhowmuchnewsspaceinBritain
isdevotedtomarginalAmericanfigureslikeOliverNorth,LorenaBobbitt,andOJ.

SimpsonamanwhoplayedasportthatmostBritonsdon'tunderstandandthenmade
commercialsforrentalcarsandthatwasitandcomparethatwithallthenewsreported
inanyyearfromScandinavia,Austria,Switzerland,Greece,PortugalandSpain.It's
crazyreally.Ifthere'sapoliticalcrisisinItalyoranuclearspillinKarlsruhe,itgets
maybeeightinchesonaninsidepage.ButifsomewomaninShitkicker,WestVirginia,
cutsoffherhusband'sdickandflingsitoutthewindowinafitofpique,it'ssecondlead
onthe9O'clockNewsandTheSundayTimesismobilizingthe'Insight'team.Youfigure
it.
Icanremember,afterIhadbeenlivingaboutayearinBournemouthandboughtmy
firstcar,fiddlingwiththecarradioandbeingastoundedathowmanyofthestationsit
pickedupwereinFrench,thenlookingatamapandbeingevenmoreastoundedto
realizethatIwasclosertoCherbourgthanIwastoLondon.Imentionedthisatworkthe
nextdayandmostofmycolleaguesrefusedtobelieveit.EvenwhenIshowedthemona
map,theyfrowneddoubtfullyandsaidthingslike,'Well,yes,itmaybecloserinastrict
physicalsense,'asifIweresplittinghairsandthatreallyawholenewconceptofdistance
wasrequiredonceyouwadedintotheEnglishChannelandofcoursetothatextentthey
wereright.Evennow,Iamfrequentlydumbfoundedtorealizethatyoucangetonan
airplaneinLondonandinlesstimethanittakestogetthefoillidoffthelittlecontainer
ofUHTmilkanditscontentsdistributedalloveryourselfandthemannexttoyou(and
it'samazing,isn'tit,howmuchmilkoneofthoselittletubsholds?),you'reinParisor
BrusselsandeveryonelookslikeYvesMontandorJeanneMoreau.
ImentionthisbecauseIwasexperiencingmuchthesamesortofsenseofwonderment
asIstoodonadirtybeachatCalais,onanunusuallybright,clearautumnafternoon,
staringatanoutcroponthehorizonthatwasclearlyandsunnilytheWhiteCliffsof
Dover.Iknew,inatheoreticalsortofway,thatEnglandwasonlyaspitover20miles
off,butIcouldn'tquitebelievethatIcouldstandonaforeignbeachandactuallyseeit.I
wassoastonished,infact,thatIsoughtconfirmationfromamantrudgingpastin
reflectivemood.
'Excusezmoi,monsieur,'IenquiredinmybestFrench.'C'estAngleterreoverthere?'
HelookedupfromhisthoughtstowhereIwaspointing,gaveadeeplygloomynodas
iftosay,'Alas,yes,'andtrudgedon.
'Well,fancy,'Imurmuredandwenttoseethetown.
CalaisisaninterestingplacethatexistssolelyforthepurposeofgivingEnglish
peopleinshellsuitssomewheretogofortheday.Becauseitwasheavilybombedinthe
war,itfellintothehandsofpostwartownplannersandinconsequencelookslike
somethingleftoverfroma1957ExpositionduCement.Analarmingnumberof
structuresinthecentre,particularlyaroundthecheerlessPlaced'Armes,seemtohave
beenmodelledonsupermarketpackaging,primarilypacketsofJacob'sCreamCrackers.A
fewstructuresareevenbuiltacrossroadsalwaysasignof1950splannerssmittenwith
thenovelpossibilitiesofconcrete.Oneofthemainbuildingsinthecentre,italmostgoes
withoutsaying,isaHolidayInn/cornflakesbox.
ButIdidn'tmind.ThesunwasshininginakindlyIndiansummerwayandthiswas
FranceandIwasinthathappyframeofmindthatalwayscomeswiththestartofalong
tripandthegiddyprospectofspendingweeksandweeksdoingnothingmuchandcalling

itwork.MywifeandIhadrecentlytakenthedecisiontomovebacktotheStatesfora
bit,togivethekidsthechanceofexperiencinglifeinanothercountryandmywifethe
chancetoshopuntil10p.m.sevennightsaweek.Ihadrecentlyreadthat3.7million
Americans,accordingtoaGalluppoll,believedthattheyhadbeenabductedbyaliensat
onetimeoranother,soitwasclearthatmypeopleneededme.ButIhadinsistedon
havingonelastlookatBritainakindofvaledictorytourroundthegreenandkindly
islandthathadsolongbeenmyhome.IhadcometoCalaisbecauseIwantedtoreenter
EnglandasI'dfirstseenit,fromthesea.TomorrowIwouldcatchanearlyferryand
begintheseriousbusinessofinvestigatingBritain,examiningthenation'spublicfaceand
privateparts,asitwere,buttodayIwascarefreeandunattached.Ihadnothingtodobut
pleasemyself.
IwasdisappointedtonotethatnobodyonthestreetsofCalaislookedlikeYves
MontandorJeanneMoreauoreventhedelightfulPhilippeNoiret.Thiswasbecausethey
wereallBritonsdressedinsportswear.Theyalllookedasiftheyshouldhavewhistles
aroundtheirnecksandbecarryingfootballs.Instead,theywereluggingheavycarrier
bagsofclinkingbottlesandnoisomecheesesandwonderingwhytheyhadboughtthe
cheeseandwhattheyweregoingtodowiththemselvesuntilitwastimetocatchthefour
o'clockferryhome.Youcouldhearthembickeringinsmall,unhappyvoicesasthey
passed.'Sixtyfrancsforapacketofbloodygoat'scheese?Well,shewon'tthankyoufor
that.'Theyalllookedasiftheyachedforanicecupofteaandsomerealfood.Itoccurred
tomethatyoucouldmakeasmallfortunewithahamburgerstand.Youcouldcallit
BurgersofCalais.
Itmustbesaidthatapartfromshoppingandbickeringquietlythereisn'tagreatdeal
todoinCalais.There'sthefamousRodinstatueoutsidetheHoteldeVilleandasingle
museum,theMuseedesBeauxArtsetdelaDentelle('TheMuseumofBeautifulArtand
oftheTeeth',ifmyFrenchhasn'tabandonedme),butthemuseumwasclosedandthe
HoteldeVillewasalongslogandanywaytheRodinstatueisoneverypostcard.I
endedup,likeeveryoneelse,nosingaroundthesouvenirshops,ofwhichCalaishasa
certainamplitude.
ForreasonsthatIhaveneverunderstood,theFrenchhaveaparticulargeniuswhenit
comestotackyreligiouskeepsakes,andinagloomyshoponacornerofthePlace
d'Armes,IfoundoneIliked:aplasticmodeloftheVirginMarystandingwithbeckoning
armsinakindofgrottofashionedfromseashells,miniaturestarfish,lacysprigsofdried
seaweedandapolishedlobsterclaw.GluedtothebackoftheMadonna'sheadwasahalo
madefromaplasticcurtainring,andonthelobsterclawthemodel'sgiftedcreatorhad
paintedanoddlyfestivelooking'Calais!'inneatscript.Ihesitatedbecauseitcostalotof
money,butwhentheladyoftheshopshowedmethatitalsopluggedinandlituplikea
funfairrideatMargate,theonlyquestioninmymindwaswhetheronewouldbeenough.
'C'esttresjolie,'shesaidinakindofastonishedhushwhensherealizedthatIwas
preparedtopayrealmoneyforit,andbustledofftogetitwrappedandpaidforbeforeI
cametomysensesandcried,'Say,whereamI?Andwhat,pray,isthistackypieceof
FrancomerdeIseebeforeme?'
'C'esttresjolie,'shekeptrepeatingsoothingly,asifafraidofdisturbingmywakeful
slumber.IthinkitmayhavebeensometimesinceshehadsoldaVirginMarywith

SeashellsOccasionalLight.Inanycase,astheshopdoorshutbehindme,Idistinctly
heardawhoopofjoy.
Afterwards,tocelebrate,IcalledinforacoffeeatapopularcafeontheruedeGaston
PapinetAutresDignitairesObscures.Indoors,Calaisseemedmuchmoreagreeably
Gallic.Peoplegreetedeachotherwithtwocheekedkissesandwreathedthemselvesin
bluesmokefromGauloisesandGitanes.Anelegantwomaninblackacrosstheroom
lookeduncannilylikeJeanneMoreauhavingaquickfagandaPernodbeforeplayinga
funeralsceneinamoviecalledLaVieDrearieuse.Iwroteapostcardhomeandenjoyed
mycoffee,thenpassedthehoursbeforeduskwavinginafriendlybutfutilewayatthe
bustlingwaiterinthehopeofcoaxinghimbacktomytabletosettlemymodestaccount.
Idinedcheaplyandastonishinglywellatalittleplaceacrosstheroadthereisthisto
besaidfortheFrench:theycanmakechipsdranktwobottlesofStellaArtoisinacafe,
whereIwasservedbyaPhilippeNoiretlookalikeinaslaughterhouseapron,andretired
earlytomymodesthotelroom,whereIplayedwithmyseashellMadonnaforabit,then
gotintobedandpassedthenightlisteningtocarscrashinginthestreetbelow.
Inthemorning,Ibreakfastedearly,settledmybillwithGerardDepardieunowthere
wasasurpriseandsteppedouttoanotherpromisingday.Clutchinganinadequatelittle
mapthatcamewithmyferryticket,Isetoffinsearchoftheferryterminus.Onthemapit
lookedtobequitenearby,practicallyinthetowncentre,butinrealityitwasagoodtwo
milesawayatthefarendofabewilderingwastelandofoilrefineries,derelictfactories,
andacresofwastegroundstrewnwitholdgirdersandpilesofjaggedconcrete.Ifound
myselfsqueezingthroughholesinchainlinkfencesandpickingmywaybetweenrusting
railwaycarriageswithbrokenwindows.Idon'tknowhowotherpeoplegettotheferryat
Calais,butIhadthedistinctfeelingthatnoonehadeverdoneitthiswaybefore.Andall
thewhileIwalkedIwasuncomfortablyawareactuallyinawhimperingpanicthat
departuretimewasdrawingnighandthattheferryterminus,thoughalwaysvisible,never
seemedtogetanycloser.
Eventually,afterdodgingacrossadualcarriagewayandclamberingupan
embankment,Iarrivedbreathlessandlateandlookinglikesomeonewho'djustsurviveda
miningdisaster,andwashustledaboardashuttlebusbyanofficiouswomanwitha
seriouscaseofdysmenorrhoea.Ontheway,Itookstockofmypossessionsand
discoveredwithquietdismaythatmybelovedandcostlyMadonnahadlostherhaloand
wassheddingseashells.
Iboardedtheshipperspiringfreelyandwithacertaindisquiet.I'mnotagoodsailor,I
freelyadmit.Igetsickonpedalos.NorwasIhelpedbythefactthatthiswasoneofthose
RoRoferries(shortforrollon,rollover)andthatIwasentrustingmylifetoacompany
thathadasignificantlylessthanflawlessrecordwhenitcametorememberingtoshutthe
bowdoors,thenauticalequivalentofforgettingtotakeoffyourshoesbeforegettinginto
thebath.
Theboatwaschockablockwithpeople,allofthemEnglish.Ispentthefirstquarter
ofanhourwanderingaroundwonderinghowtheyhadgottherewithoutgettingfilthy,
insertedmyselfbrieflyintotheshellsuitedmayhemthatwasthedutyfreeshopandas
quicklyfoundmywayoutagain,strolledaroundthecafeteriawithatraylookingatthe
foodandthenputthetrayback(therewasaqueueforthis),searchedforaseatamong

hordesofdementedlylivelychildren,andfinallyfoundmywayoutontothebreezydeck
where274peoplewithbluelipsanddancinghairweretryingtoconvincethemselvesthat
becausethesunwasshiningtheycouldn'tpossiblybecold.Thewindwhippedour
anorakswithasoundlikegunshot,scootedsmallchildrenalongthedeckand,to
everyone'sprivategratification,tippedastyrofoamcupofteaontoafatlady'slap.
Beforelong,theWhiteCliffsofDoverrosefromtheseaandbegancreepingtowards
usandinnotimeatall,itseemed,weweresailingintoDoverHarbourandclumsily
nuzzlinguptothedock.Asadisembodiedvoiceinstructedfootpassengerstoassembleat
thestarboardegresspointonDeckZX2bytheSunshineLoungeasifthatmeant
anythingtoanybodyweallembarkedonlong,befuddled,highlyindividualexplorations
oftheship:upanddownstairways,throughthecafeteriaandclubclasslounge,inand
outofstorerooms,throughakitchenfulloftoilinglascars,backthroughthecafeteria
fromanotherangle,andfinallywithoutknowingquitehowoutintothewelcoming,
waterysunshineofEngland.
IwaseagertoseeDoveragainafteralltheseyears.Istrodeintothecentrealong
MarineParadeandwithasmallcryofpleasurespiedtheshelterI'dsleptinthosemany
yearsago.Itwascoveredinaboutelevenmorelayersofbilegreenpaintbutotherwise
unchanged.Theviewouttoseawaslikewiseunchanged,thoughthewaterwasbluerand
moreglitterythanwhenI'dlastseenit.Buteverythingelselookeddifferent.WhereI
recalledtherebeingarowofelegantGeorgianterracestherewasnowavastand
unbecomingbrickapartmentblock.TownwallStreet,themainthroughroadtothewest,
waswiderandmoremenacingwithtrafficthanIremembered,andtherewasnowa
subwaytothetowncentre,whichitselfwasunrecognizable.
ThemainshoppingstreethadbeenpedestrianizedandtheMarketSquarehadbeen
turnedintoakindofpiazzawithshowoffpavingandtheusualarrayofcastiron
trimmings.Thewholetowncentreseemeduncomfortablysqueezedbybusy,widerelief
roadsofwhichIhadnorecollectionandtherewasnowabigtouristedificecalledthe
WhiteCliffsExperience,where,Ipresumefromthename,youcandiscoverwhatitfeels
liketobe800millionyearoldchalk.Ididn'trecognizeanything.Thetroublewith
Englishtownsisthattheyaresoindistinguishableonefromanother.Theyallhavea
BootsandW.H.SmithandMarks&Spencer.Youcouldbeanywherereally.Iplodded
distractedlythroughthestreets,unhappythataplacesocentraltomymemorieswasso
unfamiliar.Then,onmythirdgrumblingpassthroughthetowncentre,onalaneIwould
swearIhadneverwalkedbefore,Icameacrossthecinema,stillrecognizableasthehome
ofSuburbanWifeSwapdespiteaheavypatinaofartyrefurbishment,andeverything
suddenlybecameclear.NowthatIhadafixedpointofreference,Iknewpreciselywhere
Iwas.Istrodepurposefully500yardsnorthandthenwestnowIcouldalmosthave
doneitblindfoldedandfoundmyselfsquareinfrontofMrsSmegma'sestablishment.It
wasstillahotelandlookedsubstantiallyunchanged,asfarasIcouldremember,except
fortheadditionofsomehardstandinginthefrontgardenandaplasticsignannouncing
colourTVsandensuitebathrooms.Ithoughtaboutknockingatthedoor,buttheredidn't
seemmuchpoint.ThedragonlikeMrsSmegmamustbelongsincegoneretiredordead
orperhapsresidentinoneofthemanynursinghomesthatcrowdthesouthcoast.She
couldn'tpossiblyhavecopedwiththemodernageofBritishguesthouses,withtheiren

suitebathroomsandcoffeemakingfacilitiesandpeoplehavingpizzasdeliveredtotheir
rooms.
Ifsheisinanursinghome,whichwouldcertainlybemyfirstchoice,Idohopethe
staffhavethecompassionandgoodsensetoscoldherfrequentlyfordribblingonthe
toiletseat,leavingherbreakfastunfinishedandgenerallybeinghelplessandtiresome.It
woulddosomuchtomakeherfeelathome.
Cheeredbythisthought,IstrolleduptheFolkestoneRoadtotherailstationand
boughtaticketforthenexttraintoLondon.
CHAPTERTWO
GOODNESSME,BUTISN'TLONDONBIG?ITSEEMSTOSTARTABOUT
twentyminutesafteryouleaveDoverandjustgoesonandon,mileaftermileofendless
greysuburbswiththeirwanderingranksofterracedhousesandstuccoedsemisthat
alwayslookmoreorlessidenticalfromatrain,asifthey'vebeensqueezedoutofavery
largeversionofoneofthosemachinestheyusetomakesausages.How,Ialwayswonder,
doallthemillionsofoccupantsfindtheirwaybacktotherightboxeseachnightinsucha
complexandanonymoussprawl?
I'msureIcouldn't.Londonremainsavastandexhilaratingmysterytome.Ilivedand
workedinorarounditforeightyears,watchedLondonnewsontelevision,readthe
eveningpapers,rangedextensivelythroughitsstreetstoattendweddingsandretirement
partiesorgoonharebrainedquestsforbargainsinfarflungbreakers'yards,andstillI
findthattherearegreatfragmentsofitthatIhavenotjustnevervisitedbutneverheard
of.ItconstantlyamazesmetoreadtheEveningStandardorchatwithanacquaintance
andencountersomereferencetoadistrictthathasmanagedtoeludemykenfortwenty
oneyears.'We'vejustboughtalittleplaceinFagEnd,nearTungstenHeath,'somebody
willsayandI'llthink,I'veneverevenheardofthat.Howcanthispossiblybe?
IhadstuckaLondonAZinmyrucksackandcameacrossitnowwhilesearching
unsuccessfullyforhalfaMarsbarIwassurewasinthere.Pluckingitout,Iidlyleafed
throughitsbusypages,aseveramazedandquietlyexcitedtofinditpepperedwith
districts,1
villages,sometimessmallswallowedcitieswhosenames,Iwouldswear,hadnotbeen
therethelasttimeIlookedDuddenHill,Plashet,Snaresbrook,FulwellCross,Elthorne
Heights,HighamHill,LessnessHeath,BeacontreeHeath,BellGreen,ValeofHealth.
Andthethingis,IknowthatthenexttimeIlooktherewillbeother,differentnames.Itis
asdeepamysterytomeasthelosttabletsofTitiancaorthecontinuingappealtomillions
ofNoelEdmonds.
IhavethegreatestadmirationfortheAZandthewayitscrupulouslyfixesand
identifieseverycricketgroundandsewageworks,everyforgottencemeteryand
wanderingsuburbanclose,andpacksthedensestnamesontothetiniest,obscurest
spaces.Iflippedtotheindexand,forwantofanythingbettertodo,absorbedmyself
there.Icalculatedthatthereare45,687streetnamesinLondon(giveortake),including
21GloucesterRoads(aswellasagenerousslewofGloucesterCrescents,Squares,
AvenuesandCloses),32Mayfields,35Cavendishes,66Orchards,74Victorias,111

StationRoadsorsimilar,159Churches,25AvenueRoads,35TheAvenues,and
othermultipleswithoutnumber.Thereare,however,surprisinglyfewreallyinteresting
soundingplaces.Thereareafewstreetsthatsoundlikemedicalcomplaints(Glyceina
Avenue,ShinglesLane,BurnfootAvenue),afewthatsoundlikenamesonananatomical
chart(ThyrapiaandPendulaRoads),afewthatsoundvaguelyunsavoury(ColdBlow
Lane,DroopStreet,GutterLane,DiceyAvenue),andafewthatarepleasinglyridiculous
(ColdbathSquare,GlimpsingGreen,HamshadesClose,CactusWalk,NutterLane,The
Butts),butthereisverylittlethatcouldbecalledtrulyarresting.Ireadoncethatin
ElizabethantimestherewasaGropecuntLanesomewhereintheCity,butevidentlyno
longer.Ispenthalfanhouramusingmyselfinthisway,pleasedtobeenteringa
metropolisofsuchdazzlingandunknowablecomplexity,andhadthebonuspleasure,
whenIreturnedthebooktothebag,offindingthehalfeatenMarsbar,itsleadingedge
coveredinasmallfestivaloflint,whichdidn'tdoagreatdealfortheflavourbutdidadd
someusefulbulk.
VictoriaStationwasswarmingwiththeusualcomplementoflostlookingtourists,
lurkingtoutsandpassedoutdrunks.Ican'trememberthelasttimeIsawanyoneat
Victoriawholookedlikehewastheretocatchatrain.Onmywayout,threeseparate
peopleenquiredwhetherIhadanysparechange'No,butthankyouforasking!'which
wouldn'thavehappenedtwentyyearsago.Then,notonlywerepanhandlerssomethingof
anoveltybuttheyalwayshadagoodstoryabouthavinglosttheirwalletanddesperately
needing2togettoMaidstonetodonatebonemarrowtotheirkidsisterorsomething,
butnowtheyjustflatlyaskformoney,whichisquickerbutlessinteresting.
ItookacabtoHazlitt'sHotelonFrithStreet.IlikeHazlitt'sbecauseit'sintentionally
obscureitdoesn'tevenhaveasignoutfrontwhichputsyouinararepositionof
strengthwithyourcabdriver.LetmesayrightnowthatLondoncabdriversare,without
question,thefinestintheworld.They'retrustworthy,safe,generallyfriendly,always
polite.Theykeeptheirvehiclesspotlessinsideandout,andtheywillputthemselvesto
themostextraordinaryinconveniencetodropyouatthefrontentranceofyour
destination.Therearereallyonlytwooddthingsaboutthem.Oneisthattheycannot
drivemorethan200feetinastraightline.I'veneverunderstoodthis,butnomatterwhere
youareorwhatthedrivingconditions,every200feetalittlebellgoesoffintheirheads
andtheyabruptlylungedownasidestreet.Andwhenyougettoyourhotelorrailway
stationorwhereveritisyouaregoing,theyliketodriveyouallthewayarounditatleast
oncesothatyoucanseeitfromallanglesbeforealighting.
Theotherdistinctivethingaboutthem,andthereasonIliketogotoHazlitt's,isthat
theycannotbeartoadmitthattheydon'tknowthelocationofsomethingtheyfeelthey
oughttoknow,likeahotel.TheywouldsoonerentrusttheirteenageddaughterstoAlan
ClarkforaweekendthanconcedeevenfractionalignoranceofTheKnowledge,whichI
thinkisrathersweet.Sowhattheydoinsteadisprobe.Theydriveforabit,thenglanceat
youinthemirrorandinanovercasualvoicesay,'Hazlitt'sthat'stheoneonCurzon
Street,innit,guv?OppositetheBlueLion?'Buttheinstanttheyseeaknowingsmileof
demurralformingonyourlips,theyhastilysay,'No,hangonaminute,I'mthinkingof
theHazelbury.Yeah,theHazelbury.YouwantHazlitt's,right?'He'lldriveonabitina
fairlyrandomdirection.'That'sthissideofShepherd'sBush,innit?'he'llsuggest

speculatively.
Whenyoutellhimthatit'sonFrithStreet,hesays,'Yeah,that'stheone.Courseitis.I
knowitmodernplace,lotsofglass.'
'Actually,it'saneighteenthcenturybrickbuilding.'
'Courseitis.Iknowit.'AndheimmediatelyexecutesadramaticUturn,causinga
passingcyclisttosteerintoalamppost(butthat'sallrightbecausehehasoncycleclips
andoneofthosegeeky\slipstreamhelmetsthatallbutinviteyoutoknockhimover).
'Yeah,youhadmethinkingoftheHazelbury,'thedriveradds,chucklingasiftosayit'sa
luckythinghesortedthatoneoutforyou,andthenlungesdownalittlesidestreetoffthe
StrandcalledRunningSoreLaneorSphincterPassage,which,likesomuchelsein
London,youhadnevernoticedwastherebefore.
Hazlitt'sisanicehotel,butthethingIlikeaboutitisthatitdoesn'tactlikeahotel.It's
beenthereforyears,andthestaffarefriendlyalwaysanoveltyinabigcityhotelbut
theydomanagetogivetheslightimpressionthattheyhaven'tbeendoingthisforvery
long.Tellthemthatyouhaveareservationandwanttocheckinandtheygetakindof
panickedlookandbeginaperplexedsearchthroughdrawersforregistrationcardsand
roomkeys.It'sreallyquitecharming.Andthedelightfulgirlswhocleantherooms
which,letmesay,arealwaysspotlessandexceedinglycomfortableseldomseemto
havewhatmightbecalledatotalcommandofEnglish,sothatwhenyouaskthemfora
barofsoaporsomething,youseethattheyarewatchingyourmouthcloselyandthen,
prettygenerally,theyreturnafterabitwithahopefullookbearingapotplantora
commodeorsomethingthatismanifestlynotsoap.It'sawonderfulplace.Iwouldn'tgo
anywhereelse.
It'scalledHazlitt'sbecauseitwasthehomeoftheessayist^andallthebedroomsare
namedafterhischumsorwomenheshaggedthereorsomething.Iconfessthatmy
mentalnotecardfortheoldboyisatriflesketchy.Itreads:
Hazlitt(sp?),William(?),English(poss.Scottish?)essayist.Lived:before1900.Most
famouswork:don'tknow.Quips,epigrams,bonsmots:don'tknow.Otheruseful
information:hishouseisnowahotel.
Asalways,IresolvedtoreaduponHazlittsometimetocorrectthisgapinmy
knowledgeand,asalways,immediatelyforgotit.Instead,Idroppedmyrucksackonthe
bed,extractedasmallnotebookandapen,andhitthestreetsinaspiritofenquiryand
boyishkeenness.
IdofindLondonexciting.MuchasIhatetoagreewiththattediousoldgitSamuel
Johnson,anddespitethepompousimbecilityofhisfamousremarkaboutwhenamanis
tiredofLondonheistiredoflife(anobservationexceededinfatuousnessonlyby'Leta
smilebeyourumbrella'),Ican'tdisputeit.Aftersevenyearsoflivinginthecountryin
thesortofplacewhereadeadcowdrawsacrowd,Londoncanseemabitdazzling.
IcanneverunderstandwhyLondonersfailtoseethattheyliveinthemostwonderful
cityintheworld.ItisfarmorebeautifulandinterestingthanParis,ifyouaskme,and
morelivelythananywherebutNewYorkandevenNewYorkcan'ttouchitinlotsof
importantways.Ithasmorehistory,finerparks,alivelierandmorevariedpress,better
theatres,morenumerousorchestrasandmuseums,leafiersquares,saferstreets,andmore
courteousinhabitantsthananyotherlargecityintheworld.

Andithasmorecongenialsmallthingsincidentalcivilitiesyoumightcallthem
thananyothercityIknow:cheeryredpillarboxes,driverswhoactuallystopforyouon
pedestriancrossings,lovelyforgottenchurcheswithwonderfulnameslikeStAndrewby
theWardrobeandStGilesCripplegate,suddenpocketsofquietlikeLincoln'sInnand
RedLionSquare,interestingstatuesofobscureVictoriansintogas,pubs,blackcabs,
doubledeckerbuses,helpfulpolicemen,politenotices,peoplewhowillstoptohelpyou
whenyoufalldownordropyourshopping,bencheseverywhere.Whatothergreatcity
wouldtroubletoputblueplaquesonhousestoletyouknowwhatfamouspersononce
livedthereorwarnyoutolookleftorrightbeforesteppingoffthekerb?I'lltellyou.
None.
TakeawayHeathrowAirport,theweatherandanybuildingthatRichardSeifertever
laidabonyfingerto,anditwouldbenearlyperfect.Oh,andwhilewe'reatitwemight
alsostopthestaffattheBritishMuseumfromclutteringtheforecourtwiththeircarsand
insteadmakeitintoakindofgarden,andalsogetridofthosehorriblecrushbarriers
outsideBuckinghamPalacebecausetheylooksostragglyandcheapnotatallin
keepingwiththedignityofherpoorbesiegedMajestywithin.And,ofcourse,putthe
NaturalHistoryMuseumbacktothewayitwasbeforetheystarteddickingaroundwithit
(inparticulartheymustrestorethedisplaycaseshowinginsectsinfestinghousehold
productsfromthe1950s),andremovetheentrancechargesfromallmuseumsatonce,
andmakeLordPalumboputtheMappinandWebbbuildingback,andbringbackLyons
CornerHousesbutthistimewithfoodyou'dliketoeat,andmaybetheoddKardomahfor
oldtimes'sake,andfinally,butmostcrucially,maketheboardofdirectorsofBritish
Telecomgooutandpersonallytrackdowneverylastredphoneboxthattheysoldoffto
beusedasshowerstallsandgardenshedsint
farflungcornersoftheglobe,makethemputthemallbackandthensackthemno,
killthem.ThentrulywillLondonbegloriousagain.
ThiswasthefirsttimeinyearsI'dbeeninLondonwithouthavinganythingin
particulartodoandIfeltasmallthrillatfindingmyselfabroadandunrequiredinsucha
great,teemingurbanorganism.IhadanamblethroughSohoandLeicesterSquare,spent
alittletimeinthebookshopsonCharingCrossRoadrearrangingbookstomyadvantage,
wanderedaimlesslythroughBloomsburyandfinallyovertoGray'sInnRoadtotheold
Timesbuilding,nowtheofficesofacompanyIhadneverheardof,andfeltapangof
nostalgiasuchascanonlybeknownbythosewhorememberthedaysofhotmetaland
noisycomposingroomsandthequietjoyofbeingpaidaverygoodwageforatwenty
fivehourweek.
WhenIstartedatTheTimesin1981,justafterthefamousyearlongshutdown,
overmanningandslackoutputwereprodigioustosaytheleast.OntheCompanyNews
deskwhereIworkedasasubeditor,thefivemanteamwouldwanderinabouttwothirty
andspendmostoftheafternoonreadingtheeveningpapersanddrinkingteawhile
waitingforthereporterstosurmountthedailychallengeoffindingtheirwaybacktotheir
desksafterathreehourlunchinvolvingseveralbottlesofjollydecentChateauneufdu
Pape;composetheirexpenses;completehunchedandwhisperedphonecallstotheir
brokerswithregardtoalittletipthey'dpickedupoverthecremebrulee;andfinally
produceapageorsoofcopybeforeretiringparchedtotheBlueLionacrosstheroad.At

abouthalfpastfive,wewouldengageinalittlelightsubbingforanhourorso,thenslip
ourarmsintoourcoatsandgohome.Itseemedveryagreeablyunlikework.Attheendof
thefirstmonth,oneofmycolleaguesshowedmehowtorecordimaginaryexpenditures
onanexpenseaccountsheetandtakeituptothethirdfloor,whereitcouldbeexchanged
atalittlewindowforabout100incashmoremoney,literally,thanIhadeverheld
before.Wegotsixweeks'holiday,threeweeks'paternityleaveandamonth's
sabbaticaleveryfouryears.WhatawonderfulworldFleetStreetthenwasandhow
thrilledIwastobepartofit.
Alas,nothingthatgoodcaneverlast.Afewmonthslater,RupertMurdochtookover
TheTimesandwithindaysthebuildingwasfullofmysterioustannedAustraliansin
whiteshortsleevedshirts,wholurkedinthebackgroundwithclipboardsandlookedlike
theyweremeasuringpeopleforcoffins.Thereisastory,whichIsuspectmayactuallybe
true,thatoneofthesefunctionarieswanderedinto"aroomonthefourthfloorfullof
peoplewhohadn'tdoneanythinginyearsand,whentheyprovedunabletoaccount
convincinglyforthemselves,sackedthematastroke,exceptforonefortunatefellowwho
hadpoppedouttothebettingshop.Whenhereturned,itwastoanemptyroomandhe
spentthenexttwoyearssittingalonewonderingvaguelywhathadbecomeofhis
colleagues.
Inourdepartmentthedriveforefficiencywaslesstraumatic.ThedeskIworkedon
wassubsumedintoalargerBusinessNewsdesk,whichmeantIhadtoworknightsand
somethingmorecloselyapproximatingeighthourdays,andwealsohadourexpenses
cruellylopped.ButtheworstofitwasthatIwasbroughtintoregularcontactwithVince
ofthewireroom.
Vincewasnotorious.Hewouldeasilyhavebeentheworld'smostterrifyinghuman
hadhebutbeenhuman.Idon'tknowquitewhathewas,otherthanitwasfivefootsix
inchesofwirymalevolenceinagrubbyTshirt.Reliablerumourhaditthathewasnot
born,buthadburstfullformedfromhismother'sbellyandthenskitteredofftothe
sewers.AmongVince'sfewsimpleandgenerallyneglectedtaskswasthenightlydelivery
tousoftheWallStreetreport.EachnightIwouldhavetogoandtrytocoaxitfromhim.
Hewasgenerallytobefoundinthehumming,unattendedmayhemofthewireroom,
lounginginaleatherchairliberatedfromanexecutiveofficeupstairs,withhisblood
tippedDocMartensplonkedonthedeskbeforehimbeside,andsometimesactuallyin,a
largeopenboxofpizza.
EverynightIwouldknockhesitantlyattheopendoor,andpolitelyaskifhehadseen
theWallStreetreport,pointingoutthatitwasnowquarterpastelevenandweshould
havehaditathalfpastten.Perhapshecouldlookforitamongthereamsofunwatched
papertumblingoutofhismanymachines?
'Idon'tknowweweryounoticed,'Vincewouldsay,'butI'meatingpizza.'
EverybodyhadadifferentapproachwithVince.Sometriedtogetthreatening.Some
triedbribery.Sometriedwarmfriendship.Ibegged.
'Please,Vince,can'tyoujustgetitforme,please.Itwon'ttakeasecanditwould
makemylifesomucheasier.'
'Fuckoff.'
'Please,Vince.Ihaveawifeandfamily,andthey'rethreateningtosackmebecause

theWallStreetreportisalwayslate.'Fuckoff.'
'Well,then,howaboutifyoujusttellmewhereitisandIgetitmyself.'
'Youcan'ttouchnuffinkinhere,youknowthat.'Thewireroomwasthedomainofa
unionmysteriouslynamedNATSOPA.OneofthewaysNATSOPAmaintaineditsvice
likegriponthelowerechelonsofthenewspaperindustrywasbykeepingtechnological
secretstoitself,likehowtotearpaperoffamachine.Vince,asIrecall,hadgoneonasix
weekcoursetoEastbourne.Itlefthimexhausted.Journalistsweren'tevenallowedover
thethreshold.
Eventually,whenmyentreatieshaddeclinedintoakindofhelplessbleating,Vince
wouldsighheavily,jamawedgeofpizzainhismouthandcomeovertothedoor.He
wouldstickhisfacerightinmineforafullhalfminute.Thiswasalwaysthemost
unnervingpart.Hisbreathsmelledprimeval.Hiseyeswereshinyandratlike.'You're
fuckingannoyingme,'hewouldsayinalowgrowl,fleckingmyfacewithbitsofwet
pizza,andthenhewouldeithergettheWallStreetreportorhewouldretiretohisdeskin
adarkmood.Therewasneveranytellingwhich.
Once,onaparticularlydifficultnight,IreportedVince'sinsubordinationtoDavid
Hopkinson,thenighteditor,whowashimselfaformidablefigurewhenhechosetobe.
Harrumphing,hewentofftosortthingsoutandactuallywentinthewirerooman
impressivefloutingoftherulesofdemarcation.Whenheemergedafewminuteslater,
lookingflushedandwipingbitsofpizzafromhischin,heseemedadifferentman
altogether.InaquietvoiceheinformedmethatVincewouldbringalongtheWallStreet
reportshortlybutthatperhapsitwasbestnottodisturbhimfurtherjustatpresent.
EventuallyIdiscoveredthatthesimplestthingtodowasgettheclosingpricesoutofthe
firsteditionoftheFT.
TosaythatFleetStreetintheearly1980swasoutofcontrolbarelyhintsatthescale
ofmatters.TheNationalGraphicalAssociation,theprinters'union,decidedhowmany
peoplewereneededoneachpaper(hundredsandhundreds)andhowmanyweretobe
laidoffduringarecession(none),andbilledthemanagementaccordingly.Managements
didn'thavethepowertohireandfiretheirownprintworkers,indeedgenerallydidn't
evenknowhowmanyprintworkerstheyemployed.Ihavebeforemeaheadlinefrom
December1985saying:'Auditorsfind300extraprintingstaffatTelegraph'.Thatisto
say,theTelegraphwaspayingsalariesto300peoplewhodidn'tactuallyworkthere.
Printerswerepaidunderapieceratesystemsobyzantinethateverycomposingroomon
FleetStreethadapieceratebookthesizeofatelephonedirectory.Ontopofplump
salaries,printersreceivedspecialbonuspaymentssometimescalculatedtotheeighth
decimalpointofapennyforhandlingtypeofirregularsizes,fordealingwithheavily
editedcopy,forsettingwordsinalanguageotherthanEnglish,forthewhitespaceatthe
endsoflines.Ifworkwasdoneoutofhouseforinstance,advertisingcopythatwasset
outsidethebuildingtheywerecompensatedfornotdoingit.Attheendofeachweek,a
seniorNGAmanwouldtotalltheseextrasup,addalittlesomethingforahandycategory
called'extratroubleoccasioned',andpassthebilltothemanagement.Inconsequence,
manyseniorprinters,withskillsnomoreadvancedthanyouwouldexpecttofindinany
backstreetprintshop,enjoyedincomesinthetop2percentofBritishearnings.Itwas
crazy.

Well,Idon'tneedtotellyouhowitturnedout.On24January1986,TheTimes
abruptlysacked5,250membersofthemosttruculentunionsordeemedthemtohave
dismissedthemselves.Ontheeveningofthatday,theeditorialstaffwerecalledintoan
upstairsconferenceroomwhereCharlieWilson,theeditor,climbedontoadeskand
announcedthechanges.WilsonwasaterrifyingScotsmanandaMurdochmanthrough
andthrough.Hesaidtous:'We'resendingyetaeWapping,yesoft,Englishnancies,and
ifyewairkvery,veryhardandifyedoonaegitonmatits,thenmebbeI'llnotcutoffyer
knackersandputtheminmaChristmaspudding.D'yehaveanyproblemswiththa'?'Or
wordstothateffect.
As400skittishjournaliststumbledfromtheroom,jabberingexcitedlyandtryingto
cometotermswiththerealizationthattheywereabouttobeimmersedinthebiggest
dramaoftheirworkinglives,Istoodaloneandbaskingintheglowofasinglejoyous
thought:IwouldneverhavetoworkwithVinceagain.
CHAPTERTHREE
IHADN'TBEENBACKTOWAPPINGSINCEI'DLEFTTHEREINTHE
SUMMERof1986andwaseagertoseeitagain.Ihadarrangedtomeetanoldfriendand
colleague,soIwentnowtoChanceryLaneandcaughtanUndergroundtrain.Idolike
theUnderground.There'ssomethingsurrealaboutplungingintothebowelsoftheearth
tocatchatrain.It'salittleworldofitsowndownthere,withitsownstrangewindsand
weathersystems,itsowneerienoisesandoilysmells.Evenwhenyou'vedescendedsofar
intotheearththatyou'velostyourbearingsutterlyandwouldn'tbeintheleastsurprised
topassatroopofblackenedminerscomingoffshift,there'salwaystherumbleand
trembleofatrainpassingsomewhereonanunknownlineevenfurtherbelow.Anditall
happensinsuchorderlyquiet:allthesethousandsofpeoplepassingonstairsand
escalators,steppingonandoffcrowdedtrains,slidingoffintothedarknesswith
wobblingheads,andneverspeaking,likecharactersfromNightoftheLivingDead.
AsIstoodontheplatformbeneathanother,fairlyrecentLondoncivilitynamelyan
electronicboardannouncingthatthenexttraintoHainaultwouldbearrivingin4minsI
turnedmyattentiontothegreatestofallcivilities:theLondonUndergroundMap.Whata
pieceofperfectionitis,createdin1931byaforgottenheronamedHarryBeck,anoutof
workdraughtsmanwhorealizedthatwhenyouareundergrounditdoesn'tmatterwhere
youare.Becksawandwhatanintuitivestrokethiswasthataslongasthestationswere
presentedintheirrightsequencewiththeirinterchangesclearlydelineated,hecould
freelydistortscale,indeedabandonitaltogether.Hegavehismaptheorderlyprecisionof
anelectricalwiringsystem,andinsodoingcreatedanentirelynew,imaginaryLondon
thathasverylittletodowiththedisorderlygeographyofthecityabove.
Here'sanamusingtrickyoucanplayonpeoplefromNewfoundlandorLincolnshire.
TakethemtoBankStationandtellthemtomaketheirwaytoMansionHouse.Using
Beck'smapwhichevenpeoplefromNewfoundlandcanunderstandinamomentthey
willgamelytakeaCentralLinetraintoLiverpoolStreet,changetoaCircleLinetrain
headingeastandtravelfivemorestops.WheneventuallytheygettoMansionHousethey
willemergetofindtheyhavearrivedatapoint200feetfurtherdownthesamestreet,and

thatyouhavehadanicebreakfastanddonealittleshoppingsinceyoulastsawthem.
NowtakethemtoGreatPortlandStreetandtellthemtomeetyouatRegent'sPark(that's
right,samethingagain!),andthentoTempleStationwithinstructionstorendezvousat
Aldwych.Whatfunyoucanhave!Andwhenyougettiredofthem,tellthemtomeetyou
atBromptonRoadStation.Itclosedin1947,soyou'llneverhavetoseethemagain.
ThebestpartofUndergroundtravelisthatyouneveractuallyseetheplacesabove
you.Youhavetoimaginethem.Inothercitiesstationnamesareunimaginativeand
mundane:LexingtonAvenue,Potsdammerplatz,ThirdStreetSouth.ButinLondonthe
namessoundsylvanandbeckoning:StamfordBrook,TurnhamGreen,BromleybyBow,
MaidaVale,DraytonPark.Thatisn'tacityupthere,it'saJaneAustennovel.It'seasyto
imaginethatyouareshuttlingaboutunderasemimythiccityfromsomegolden,pre
industrialage.SwissCottageceasestobeabusyroadjunctionandbecomesinsteada
gingerbreaddwellinginthemidstofthegreatoakforestknownasStJohn'sWood.Chalk
Farmisanopenspaceoffieldswherecheerfulpeasantsinbrownsmockscutandgather
cropsofchalk.Blackfriarsisfullofcowledandchantingmonks,OxfordCircushasits
bigtop,Barkingisadangerousplaceoverrunwithpacksofwilddogs,TheydonBoisisa
communityofindustriousHuguenotweavers,WhiteCityisawalledandturretedelysium
builtofthemostdazzlingivory,andHollandParkisfullofwindmills.
Theproblemwithlosingyourselfintheselittlereveriesisthatwhenyousurface
thingsareapttobedisappointing.IcameupnowatTowerHillandtherewasn'tatower
andtherewasn'tahill.*
Thereisn'tevenanylongeraRoyalMint(whichIalwayspreferredtoimagineasa
verylargechocolatewrappedingreenfoil)asithasbeenmovedsomewhereelseand
replacedwithabuildingwithlotsofsmokedglass.Muchofwhatoncestoodinthisnoisy
cornerofLondonhasbeensweptawayandreplacedwithbigbuildingswithlotsof
smokedglass.ItwasonlyeightyearssinceI'dlastbeenhere,butwereitnotforthefixed
referencepointsofLondonBridgeandtheTowerI'dscarcelyhaverecognizedthe
neighbourhood.
IwalkedalongthepainfullynoisystreetcalledTheHighway,quietlyagogatallthe
newdevelopment.Itwaslikebeinginthemidstofanuglybuildingcompetition.Forthe
betterpartofadecade,architectshadbeenarrivingintheareaandsaying,'Youthink
that'sbad?Wait'11youseewhat/cando.'Andthere,toweringproudlyaboveallthe
clunkynewoffices,wastheugliestpieceofbulkinLondon,theNewsInternational
complex,lookinglikethecentralairconditioningunitfortheplanet.
WhenIlastsawit,in1986,itstoodforlornlyamidacresofemptywarehousesand
puddlywasteground.TheHighway,asIrecalledit,wasacomparativelysedate
throughway.Nowheavylorriespoundedalongit,makingthepavementstrembleand
givingtheairanunhealthybluishtinge.TheNewsInternationalcompoundwasstill
surroundedwithsinisterfencingandelectronicgates,buttherewasanewmaximum
securityreceptioncentrethatlookedlikesomethingyou'dexpecttofindataplutonium
depotatSellafield.Goodnessknowswhatterroristcontingencytheyhaveallowedfor,
butitmustbesomethingambitious.I'dneverseenamoreunbreachablelookingcomplex.
Ipresentedmyselfatthesecuritywindowandwaitedoutsidewhilemycolleaguewas
summoned.Themosteeriethingaboutthescenenowwashowsereneitwas.The

memorysearedintomyskullwasofcrowdsofdemonstratorsandpoliceonhorsesand
angrypicketswhooneminutewouldbescreamingatyouwithwildeyesandbigteeth
andthenextwouldsay,'Oh,hi,Bill,didn'trecognizeyou,'andthenexchangefagsand
talkaboutwhatadreadfulbusinessthisallwas.Anditwasadreadfulbusiness,for
amongthe5,000sackedworkerswerehundredsandhundredsofdecent,mildmannered
librarians,clerks,secretariesandmessengerswhoseonlysinwastohavejoinedaunion.
Totheireternalcredit,mostborethoseofusstillinworknopersonalgrudges,thoughI
confessthethoughtofVincesteppingfromthecrowdwithamachetealwayshastened
mystepsthroughthegate.
:*Forabout500yardsalongthenorthernsideofthecompound,buttingPennington
Street,standsalow,windowless,brickbuilding,anoldstorehouseleftoverfromthedays
whentheEastfindwasabustlingportanddistributionpointfortheCity.Guttedand
kittedoutwithhitechtrappings,thisratherunlikelybuildingbecame,andremains,the
officesofTheTimesandSundayTimes.Inside,throughoutthatlongwinterof1986,
whilewefumblinglyfoundourwaythroughanewcomputerizedtechnology,wecould
hearchantsandturmoil,themuffledclopsofpassingpolicehorses,theroarandshrieks
ofabatoncharge,butbecausethebuildingwaswindowless,wecouldn'tseeanything.It
wasveryodd.Wewouldwatchitonthe9O'clockNews,thenstepoutsideandthereit
wouldbeinthreedimensionsthemostbitterandviolentindustrialdisputeyetseenon
thestreetsofLondonhappeningjustoutsidethefrontgate.Itwasadeeplybizarre
experience.
Tokeepmoraleup,thecompanyeachnightbroughtroundboxesofsandwichesand
beer,whichseemedacheerygestureuntilyourealizedthatthelargessewascarefully
workedouttoprovideeachmemberofstaffwithonedamphamsandwichandasix
ouncecanofwarmHeineken.Wewerealsopresentedwithglossybrochuresshowingthe
company'splansforthesiteoncethedisputewasover.Notwopeopleseemtoremember
thesamethingsfromthisbrochure.Iclearlyrecallarchitect'sdrawingsofalargeindoor
swimmingpool,withunusuallysleekandhealthylookingjournalistsdivingoffalow
boardorloungingwithfeetdanglinginthewater.Othersremembersquashcourtsand
exerciserooms.OneguyIknowrecollectsatenpinbowlingalley.Nearlyeverybody
recallsalargemodernbarsuchasyoumightfindinthefirstclassloungeofawell
appointedairport.
Evenfrombeyondthesecurityperimeter,Icouldseeseveralnewbuildingsinside,
andIcouldn'twaittofindoutexactlywhatfacilitiesthestaffhadbeenblessedwith.It
wasthefirstquestionIaskedmyoldcolleaguewhosenameIdarenotconfideherelest
hefindhimselfabruptlytransferredtoclassifiedadvertisingtelesaleswhenhecameto
collectmeatthegate.'Oh,Iremembertheswimmingpool,'hesaid.'Weneverheard
anythingmoreaboutthatoncethedisputewasover.Butgivethemtheirdue,they've
increasedourhours.Theynowletusworkanextradayeveryfortnightwithoutadditional
pay.'
'Theirwayofshowingtheythinkhighlyofyouall?'t
'Theywouldn'taskustodomoreworkiftheydidn'tlikethewaywedidit,would
they?'Quite.
Westrolledalongthemainthoroughfareoftheplantbetweentheoldbrickstorehouse

andthemonumentalprintworks.PeoplepassedlikeextrasinaHollywoodmoviea
workmanwithalongplankofwood,twowomeninsmartbusinesssuits,aguywitha
hardhatandaclipboard,adeliverymancradlingalargepotplant.Wepassedthrougha
doorintoTheTimeseditorialsuiteandIgaspedquietly.Itisalwaysasmallshocktogo
backtoaplacewhereyouworkedyearsbeforeandseethesamefacestoilingatthesame
desksacombinationofsuddenfamiliarity,asifyou'veneverbeenawayatall,and
profound,heartfeltgratitudebecauseyouhave.IsawmyoldfriendMickeyClark,nowa
mediastar,andfoundGrahamSearjeantinhislittlecavemadeofnewspapersandpress
releases,someofthemdatingbacktothedayswhenMrMorriswasstillmaking
motorcars,andencounteredmanyotherfriendsandformercolleagues.Wedidallthe
usualthingscomparedstomachsandbaldpatchesandmadelistsofthemissingand
dead.Itwasquitesplendidreally.Afterwards,Iwastakentolunchinthecanteen.Atthe
oldTimesbuildingonGray'sInnRoadthecanteenhadbeeninabasementroomthathad
thecharmandambienceofasubmarineandthefoodhadbeensloppedoutbyhumourless
droneswhoalwaysbroughttomindmolesinaprons,butthiswasbrightandspacious,
withawidechoiceoftemptingdishesservedbychirpycockneygirlsinbright,clean
uniforms.Thediningareaitselfwasunchangedexceptfortheview.Whereformerlyhad
sprawledamuddyswampcrisscrossedwithneglectedwaterchannelsfullofbedsteads
andshoppingtrolleys,therenowstoodrowuponrowofdesignerhousesandjaunty
blocksofflatsofthekindyoualwaysfindaroundredevelopedwaterfrontsinBritain,the
sortofbuildingswhereallthebalconiesandexteriortrimaremadefromlengthsof
tubularmetalpaintedred.
ItoccurredtomethatthoughIhadworkedatthissiteforsevenmonths,Ihadnever
seenWappingandwas,ofasudden,keentohavealookatit.WhenIhadfinishedmy
puddingandbidfondfarewellstomyexcolleagues,Ihastenedoutthroughthesecurity
gates,intentionallyfailingtoturninmysecuritypassinthehopethatnuclearattack
sirenswouldsoundandmeninchemicalwarfaresuitswouldbeginasprintingsearchof
thecompoundforme,andthen,withnervousbackwardglances,Iredoubledmypaceup
tenningtonStreetasitoccurredtomethatatNewsInternationalthiswasnotactually
outsidetheboundsofpossibility.
IhadneverstrolledthroughWappingbecauseduringthedispute&wasunsafeto.The
pubsandcafesofthedistrictteemedwithdisgruntledprintersandvisitingdelegationsof
sympathizersScottishminerswereparticularlyfearedforsomereasonwhowould
happilyhavetornawimpyjournalist'slimbsfromhissocketstouseastorchesforthat
night'sprocession.Onejournalistwhoencounteredsomeformerprintersinapubsome
wayfromWappinghadaglasssmashedinhisfaceand,asIrecall,nearlydied,oratthe
veryleastfailedtoenjoytherestofhisevening.
Sounsafewasit,particularlyafterdark,thatthepoliceoftenwouldn'tletusoutuntil
thesmallhours,particularlyonnightsofbigdemos.Becauseweneverknewwhenwe
wouldbesetfree,wehadtoformourcarsintoalineandthensitforhouruponhourin
thefreezingcold.Sometimebetween11p.m.and1.30a.m.,whenasignificantportion
ofthebrayingthrongshadbeenbeatenbackordraggedofftojailorhadjustwandered
home,thegateswouldbethrownopenandagreatfleetofNewsInternationaltrucks
wouldroardownarampandoutontoTheHighway,wheretheywouldbemetbya

barrageofbricksandcrushbarriersfromwhateverwasleftofthemob.Therestofus,
meanwhile,wereinstructedtomakehasteinconvoythroughthebacklanesofWapping
andtodispersewhenwewereasafedistancefromtheplant.Thisworkedwellenough
forseveralnights,butoneeveningweweresentonourwayjustasthepubswere
shutting.Aswewereproceedingdownsomedarkened,narrowstreet,suddenlypeople
weresteppingoutoftheshadowsandintotheroad,kickingdoorsandheavingwhatever
cametohand.Aheadofmetherewerestartlingexplosionsofglassandintemperate
shouting.Tomydeepandlastingastonishmentsomeoneaboutsixcarsaheadofmea
fussylittlemanfromtheforeigndesk,whoevennowIwouldhappilydragoverrough
groundbehindaLandRovergotouttolookatthedamagetohiscar,asifhethoughthe
mighthaverunoveranail,bringingthoseofusbehindtoahalt.Irememberwatchingin
sputteringdismayashetriedtopressbackintopositionaflappingpieceoftrim,then
turningmyheadtofindatmywindowanenragedfaceawhiteguywithdancing
dreadlocksandanarmysurplusjacketandeverythingtookonastrangedreamlike
quality.Howodd,Ithought,thatatotalstrangerwasabouttopullmefrommycarand
beatmemushyforthebenefitofprintworkershehadnevermet,whowouldmostly
despisehimasanunkempthippie,wouldcertainlyneverlethimintotheirownunion,
andwhohadenjoyeddecadesofobscenelyinflatedearningswithoutonceshowing
collectivesupportforanyotherunion,including,onoccasion,provincialbranchesof
theirownNGA.SimultaneouslyitoccurredtomethatIwasabouttosquandermysmall
lifeforthebenefitofamanwhohad,withoutapparenthesitation,givenuphisown
nationalityoutofeconomicselfinterest,whodidn'tknowwhoIwas,wouldaslightly
havediscardedmeifamachinecouldbefoundtodomyjob,andwhoseideaof
maximummagnanimitywastohandoutasixouncecanofbeerandalimpsandwich.I
couldimaginethecompanywritingtomywife:'DearMrsBryson:Inappreciationof
yourhusband'srecenttragicdeathatthehandsofaterrifyingmob,wewouldlikeyouto
havethissandwichandcanoflager.PSCouldyoupleasereturnhisparkingpass?'
Andallthetimethiswasgoingon,whilealargewildmanwithdreadlockswastrying
towrenchopenmydoorwithaviewtocarryingmeoffwrigglingintothedarkness,some
halfwitfromtheforeigndeskfiftyyardsaheadwaswalkingslowlyaroundhisPeugeot,
assessingitdeliberativelylikesomeoneabouttobuyasecondhandcar,andoccasionally
pausingtolookwithpuzzlementatthebricksandblowsrainingdownonthecarsbehind
him,asifitweresomekindoffreakweatheroccurrence.Eventually,hegotbackinhis
car,checkedtherearviewmirror,madesurehisnewspaperwasstillontheseatbeside
him,putonhisindicator,checkedthemirroragainandpulledoff,andmylifewassaved.
Fourdayslater,thecompanystoppedbringingroundfreesandwichesandbeer.
Itwasthusveryrefreshingtowalkwithoutfearformylifethroughthedozingstreets
ofWapping.IhaveneverboughtintothatquaintconceitaboutLondonbeingessentially
aclusterofvillageswhereelsehaveyouseenvillageswithflyovers,gasometers,reeling
derelictsandaviewofthePostOfficeTower?buttomydelightandsurpriseWapping
did,infact,ratherfeellikeone.Itsshopsweresmallandvariedandthestreetshadcozy
names:CinnamonStreet,WatermanWay,VinegarStreet,MilkYard.Thecouncilestates
weresnugandcheerylooking,andtheloomingwarehouseshadalmostallbeensmartly
renovatedasflats.Iinstinctivelyquiveredatthesightofyetmoreglossyredtrimandthe

thoughtoftheseonceproudworkplacesfilledwithbrayingtwitsnamedSelenaand
Jasper,butitmustbesaidthattheyhavenearlybroughtsomeprosperitytothe
neighbourhoodanddoubtlesssavedtheoldwarehousesfromfarsadderfates.
NearWappingOldStairs,Ihadalookattheriverandtriedtoimagine,withoutthe
tiniestmeasureofsuccess,whattheseoldneighbourhoodsmusthavelookedlikeinthe
eighteenthandnineteenthcenturieswhentheyteemedwithworkersandthewharves
werepiledhighwithbarrelsofthespicesandcondimentsthatgavethesurrounding
streetstheirnames.Asrecentlyas1960,over100,000peopleworkedonthedocksor
drewtheirlivingsfromit,andDocklandswasstilloneofthebusiestportsintheworld.
By1981,everyLondondockwasclosed.TheviewoftheriverfromWappingnowwas
astranquilandundisturbedasaConstablelandscape.Iwatchedtheriverforperhaps
thirtyminutesandsawjustoneboatgoby.ThenIturnedandbeganthelongtrekbackto
Hazlitt's.
CHAPTERFOUR
ISPENTACOUPLEMOREDAYSINLONDONDOINGNOTHINGMUCH.I
DIDalittleresearchinanewspaperlibrary,spentmostofoneafternoontryingtofindmy
waythroughthecomplexnetworkofpedestriansubwaysatMarbleArch,didalittle
shopping,sawsomefriends.
EveryoneIsawsaid,'Gosh,you'rebrave!'whenIrevealedthatIwasplanningto
travelaroundBritainbypublictransport,butitneveroccurredtometogoanyotherway.
Youaresoluckyinthiscountrytohavearelativelygoodpublictransportsystem
(relative,thatis,towhatitwillbewhentheToriesfinishwithit)andIthinkweshould
alltryhardertoenjoy.itwhileit'sstillthere.Besides,drivinginBritainissuchadreary
experiencethesedays.Therearefartoomanycarsontheroad,nearlydoublewhatthere
werewhenIfirstcamehere,andinthosedayspeopledidn'tactuallydrivetheircars.
Theyjustparkedtheminthedrivewayandbuffedthemuponceeveryweekorso.About
twiceayeartheywould'getthecarout'thosewerethewordstheyused,likethatin
itselfwasabigoperationandpootleofftovisitrelativesinEastGrinsteadorhaveatrip
tosomeplacelikeHaylingIslandorEastbourne,andthatwasaboutit,apartfromthe
buffing.
Noweveryonedriveseverywhereforeverything,whichIdon'tunderstandbecause
thereisn'tasinglefeatureofdrivinginBritainthathaseventhetiniestmeasureof
enjoymentinit.Justconsidertheaveragemultistoreycarpark.Youdrivearoundfor
ages,andthenspendasmalleternityshuntingintoaspacethatisexactlytwoinches
widerthantheaveragecar.Then,becauseyouareparkednexttoapillar,youhaveto
climbovertheseatsandendup
squeezingbuttfirstoutofthepassengerdoor,intheprocesstransferringallthedirt
fromthesideofyourcartothebackofyoursmartnewjacketfromMarks&Spencer.
Thenyougohuntingforsomedistantpayanddisplaymachine,whichdoesn'tmake
changeoracceptanycoinintroducedsince1976,andwaitonanoldguywholikesto
readalltheinstructionsonthemachinebeforecommittinghimselfandthentriestoinsert

hismoneythroughtheticketslotandmaintenancekeyhole.
Eventuallyyouacquireaticketandtrekbacktoyourcarwhereyourwifegreetsyou
witha'Wherehaveyoubeen?'Ignoringher,yousqueezepastthepillar,collectinga
matchingsetofdustforthefrontofyourjacket,discoverthatyoucan'treachthe
windscreenasthedooronlyopensthreeinches,soyoujustsortofthrowtheticketatthe
dashboard(itflutterstothefloorbutyourwifedoesn'tnoticesoyousay,'Fuckit,'and
lockthedoor),andsqueezebackoutwhereyourwifeseeswhatascruffyou'veturned
intoaftershespentallthattimedressingyouandbeatsthedustfromyouwithpaddled
handswhilesaying,'Honestly,Ican'ttakeyouanywhere.'
Andthat'sjustthebeginning.Arguingquietly,youhavetofindyourwayoutofthis
dankhellholeviaanunmarkeddoorleadingtoacuriouschamberthatseemstobea
compositeofdungeonandurinal,orelsewaittwohoursfortheworld'smostabusedand
unreliablelookinglift,whichwillonlytaketwopeopleandalreadyhastwopeopleinit
amanwhosewifeisbeatingdustfromhisnewMarks&Spencerjacketandberatinghim
incluckingtones.
Andtheremarkablethingisthateverythingaboutthisprocessisintentionallymark
this,intentionallydesignedtofloodyourlifewithunhappiness.Fromthetinyparking
baysthatcanonlybegotintobymanoeuvringyourcarthroughafortysixpointturn
(whycan'tthespacesbeangled,forcryingoutloud?)tothecarefulplacingofpillars
wheretheywillcausemaximumobstruction,totherampsthataresodarkandnarrowand
badlyangledthatyoualwaysbumpthekerb,totheremote,wilfullyunhelpfulticket
machines(youcan'ttellmethatamachinethatcanrecognizeandrejectanyforeigncoin
everproducedcouldn'tmakechangeifitwantedto)allofthisisdesignedtomakethis
themostdispiritingexperienceofyouradultlife.Didyouknowthisisalittleknown
factbutabsolutetruththatwhentheydedicateanewmultistoreycarparktheLord
Mayorandhiswifehaveaceremonialpeeinthestairwell?It'strue.
Andthat'sjustonetinypartofthedrivingexperience.Therearealltheothermanifold
annoyancesofmotoring,likeNationalExpressdriverswhopulloutinfrontofyouon
motorways,eightmilelongcontraflowsystemserectedsothatsomeguysonacranecan
changealightbulb,trafficlightsonbusyroundaboutsthatneverletyouadvancemore
thantwentyfeetatatime,motorwayserviceareaswhereyouhavetopay4.20fora
minipotofcoffeeandajacketpotatowithasneezeofcheddarinitandthere'snopointin
goingtotheshopbecausethemen'smagazinesareallsealedinplasticandyoudon'tneed
anyWaylonJenningsHighwayHitstapes,moronswithcaravanswhopulloutofside
roadsjustasyouapproach,someguyinaMorrisMinorgoing11mphthroughtheLake
Districtandcollectingathreemilefollowingbecause,apparently,he'salwayswantedto
leadaparade,andotherchallengestoyourpatienceandsanitynearlybeyondendurance.
Motorizedvehiclesareuglyanddirtyandtheybringouttheworstinpeople.Theyclutter
everykerbside,turnancientmarketsquaresintodisorderlyjumblesofmetal,spawn
petrolstations,secondhandcarlots,KwikFitcentresandotherdispiritingblights.They
arehorribleandawfulandIwantednothingtodowiththemonthistrip.Andbesides,my
wifewouldn'tletmehavethecar.
ThusitwasthatIfoundmyselflateonagreySaturdayafternoon,onanexceptionally
longandemptytrainboundforWindsor.Isathighontheseatinanemptycarriage,and

infadingdaylightwatchedasthetrainslidpastofficeblocksandoutintotheforestsof
councilflatsandsnakingterracehousesofVauxhallandClapham.AtTwickenham,I
discoveredwhythetrainwassolongandsoempty.Theplatformwasjammedsolidwith
menandboysinwarmclothesandscarvescarryingglossyprogrammesandlittlebags
withteaflaskspeepingout:obviouslyarugbycrowdfromtheTwickenhamgrounds.
Theyboardedwithpatienceandwithoutpushing,andsaidsorrywhentheybumped.or
inadvertentlyimpingedonsomeoneelse'sspace.Iadmiredthisinstinctiveconsideration
forothers,andwasstruckbywhataregularthingthatisinBritainandhowlittleitis
noticed.NearlyeveryonerodeallthewaytoWindsorIpresumetheremustbesomesort
ofparkingarrangementthere;Windsorcan'tprovidethatmanyrugbyfansandformeda
patientcrushattheticketbarrier.AnAsianmancollectedticketsinfastmotionandsaid
thankyoutoeverypersonwhopassed.Hedidn'thavetimetoexaminetheticketsyou
couldhavehandedhimacornflakesboxtopbuthedidmanagetofindavigoroussalute
forall,andtheyinturnthankedhimforrelievingthemoftheirticketsandlettingthem
pass.Itwasalittlemiracleoforderlinessandgoodwill.Anywhereelsethere'dhavebeen
someoneonaboxbarkingatpeopletoformalineandnotpush.
ThestreetsofWindsorwereshinywithrainandunseasonallydarkandwintry,but
theywerestillfilledwiththrongsoftourists.IgotaroomintheCastleHotelontheHigh
Street,oneofthosepeculiarlyhiggledypiggledyhotelsinwhichyouhavetoembarkon
anepictrekthroughasuccessionofwanderingcorridorsandfiredoors.Ihadtogoup
oneflightofstairsand,somedistancefurtherON,downanotherinordertoreachthe
distantwingofwhichmyroomwastheverylast.Butitwasaniceroomand,Ipresumed,
handyforReadingifIdecidedtoexitthroughthewindow.
IdumpedmypackandhastenedbackthewayIcame,keentoseealittleofWindsor
beforetheshopsshut.IknewWindsorwellbecauseweusedtoshoptherewhenwelived
inVirginiaWaterdowntheroad,andIstrodewithaproprietorialair,notingwhichshops
hadalteredorchangedhandsovertheyears,whichistosaymostofthem.Besidethe
handsometownhallstoodMarketCrossHouse,abuildingsoperilouslyleaningthatyou
can'thelpwonderifitwasbuiltthatwaytoattractJapanesevisitorswithcameras.Itwas
nowasandwichbar,but,likemostoftheothershopsontheprettyjumbleofcobbled
streetsaroundit,ithasbeenaboutamillionthings,usuallytouristconnected.Thelast
timeIwasheremostofthemweresellingeggcupswithlegs;nowtheyseemedto
specializeintweelittlecottagesandcastles.OnlyWoodsofWindsor,acompanythat
managestogetmorecommercialmileageoutoflavenderthanIwouldeverhavethought
possible,isstilltheresellingsoapsandtoiletwater.OnPeascodStreet,Marks&Spencer
hadexpanded,Hammick'sandLauraAshleyhadmovedlocations,andtheGoldenEgg
andWimpywere,notsurprisingly,longgone(thoughIconfessacertainfondnessforthe
oldstyleWimpyswiththeiroddsenseofwhatconstitutedAmericanfood,asiftheyhad
compiledtheirrecipesfromagarbledtelex).ButIwaspleasedtonotethatDaniel's,the
mostinterestingdepartmentstoreinBritain,wasstillthere.
Daniel'sisthemostextraordinaryplace.Ithasallthefeaturesyouexpectofa
provincialdepartmentstorelowceilings,tinyobscuredepartments,frayedcarpetsheld
downwithstripsofelectrician'stape,asensethatthisspacewasonceoccupiedbyabout

elevendifferentshopsanddwellingsallwithslightlydifferentelevationsbutithasthe
oddestassortmentofthingsonsale:knickerelasticandcollarsnaps,buttonsandpinking
shears,sixpiecesofPortmeirionchina,racksofclothingforveryoldpeople,amodest
fewrollsofcarpetwiththesortofpatternsyougetwhenyourubyoureyestoohard,
chestsofdrawerswithahandlemissing,wardrobesonwhichoneofthedoorsquietly
swingsopenfifteensecondsafteryouexperimentallyshutit.Daniel'salwaysputsmein
mindofwhatBritainmighthavebeenlikeunderCommunism.
IthaslongseemedtomeunfortunateandI'mtakingtheglobalviewherethatsuch
animportantexperimentinsocialorganizationwaslefttotheRussianswhentheBritish
wouldhavemanageditsomuchbetter.Allthosethingsthatarenecessarytothe
successfulimplementationofarigoroussocialistsystemare,afterall,secondnatureto
theBritish.Forastart,theylikegoingwithout.Theyaregreatatpullingtogether,
particularlyinthefaceofadversity,foraperceivedcommongood.Theywillqueue
patientlyforindefiniteperiodsandacceptwithrarefortitudetheimpositionofrationing,
blanddietsandsuddeninconvenientshortagesofstaplegoods,asanyonewhohasever
lookedforbreadatasupermarketonaSaturdayafternoonwillknow.Theyare
comfortablewithfacelessbureaucraciesand,asMrsThatcherproved,tolerantof
dictatorships.Theywillwaituncomplaininglyforyearsforanoperationorthedelivery
ofahouseholdappliance.Theyhaveanaturalgiftformakingexcellentjokesabout
authoritywithoutseriouslychallengingit,andtheyderiveuniversalsatisfactionfromthe
sightoftherichandpowerfulbroughtlow.Mostofthoseabovetheageoftwentyfive
alreadydresslikeEastGermans.Theconditions,inaword,areright.
PleaseunderstandI'mnotsayingthatBritainwouldhavebeenahappier,betterplace
underCommunism,merelythattheBritishwouldhavedoneitproperly.Theywould
havetakenitintheirstride,withgoodheart,andwithoutexcessivecheating.Inpointof
fact,untilabout1970itwouldn'thavemadetheslightestdiscernibledifferencetomost
people'slives,andmightatleasthavesparedusRobertMaxwell.
Iroseearlythenextdayandattendedtomymorninghygieneinastateofsmall
excitationbecauseIhadabigdayaheadofme.IwasgoingtowalkacrossWindsorGreat
Park.ItisthemostsplendidparkIknow.Itstretchesoverfortyenchantedsquaremiles
and
Incorporatesintoitsancientfabriceverymannerofsylvancharm:deepprimeval
woodlands,boskydells,wanderingfootpathsandbridleways,formalandinformal
gardensandalong,deeplyfetchinglake.Scatteredpicturesquelyaboutarefarms,
woodlandimages,forgottenstatues,awholevillageoccupiedbyestateworkersand
thingsthattheQueenhasbroughtbackfromtripsabroadandcouldn'tthinkofanywhere
elsetoputobelisksandtotempolesandothercuriousexpressionsofgratitudefrom
distantoutpostsoftheCommonwealth.
"Thenewshadnotyetcomeoutthattherewasoilundertheparkandthatitallsoon
mightturnintoanewSullomVoe(butdon'tbeInarmed;thelocalauthoritywillmake
themscreenthederricks
withshrubs),soIdidn'trealizethatIoughttodrinkthingsincare
fullyincasethenexttimeIcamethiswayitlookedlikeanOklahomaoilfield.Atthis
time,WindsorGreatParkcontinuedtoenjoyamercifulobscurity,whichIfind

mystifyinginanopenspaceso.gloriousontheveryedgeofLondon.OnlyoncecouldI
rememberanyreferencetotheparkinthenewspapers,acoupleofyearsbeforewhen
PrincePhiliphadtakenacuriousdislikingtoanavenueofancienttreesandhad
instructedHerMajesty'sTreeChopperstoremovethemfromthelandscape.Iexpect
theirbrancheshadimperilledtheprogressthroughthe
parkofhishorsesandplusfour,orwhateveritisyoucallthosecreakingcontraptions
hesolikestoroamaroundin.Youoftenseehimandothermembersoftheroyalfamily
inthepark,speedingpastinassortedvehiclesontheirwaytopolomatchesorchurch
servicesintheQueenMother'sprivatecompound,theRoyallodge.Indeed,becausethe
publicaren'tallowedtodriveontheparkroads,asignificantportionofthelittletraffic
thatpassesisgeneratedbyroyals.Once,onBoxingDaywhenIwasamblingalongina
paternalfashionbesideanoffspringonashinynewtricycle,Ibecameawarewithakind
ofsixthsensethatwewereholdinguptheprogressofacarandturnedtofindthatitwas
beingdrivenbyPrincessDiana.AsIhastenedmyselfandmychildoutoftheway,she
gavemeasmilethatmeltedmyheart,andsincethattimeIhaveneversaidaword
againstthedearsweetgirl,howeverpressedbythosewhothinkthatsheisabitoffher
headbecauseshespends28,000ayearonleotardsandmakesoccasionalcrankphone
callstohunkymilitarymen.(Andwhoamongushasn't?ismyunanswerablereply.)
IstrodealongtheaptlynamedLongWalkfromthebaseofWindsorCastletothe
equestrianstatueofGeorgeIE,knowntolocalsastheCopperHorse,atthesummitof
SnowHill,whereIrestedatthebaseandsoakeduponeofthemostcomelyviewsin
England:themajesticsprawlofWindsorCastle3milesawayattheendoftheLong
Walk,withthetownatitsfeetand,beyond,Eton,themistyThamesValleyandlow
ChilternHills.Deergrazedinpicturesqueherdsinaclearingbelowandearlymorning
strollersbegantodotthelongavenueframedbymysplayedfeet.Iwatchedplanestaking
offfromHeathrowandfoundonthehorizonthefaintbutrecognizableshapesof
BatterseaPowerStationandthePostOfficeTower.Icanrememberbeingveryexcitedto
discoverthatIcouldseeLondonfromwayouthere.Itis,Ibelieve,theonlyspotthisfar
outwhereyoucanseeit.HenryVIIIrodetothissummittohearthecannonsannounce
theexecutionofAnneBoleyn,thoughnowallIcouldhearwerethedronesofairliners
bankingtoland,andthestartlingyapofalargeshaggydogthatappearedsuddenlyatmy
elbow,itsownersfollowingupasidehill,andofferedmealargesalivaspecimen,which
Ideclined.
Istruckoffthroughthepark,pastthegroundsoftheRoyalLodge,thepinkGeorgian
housewheretheQueenandPrincessMargaretspenttheirgirlhoods,andthroughthe
surroundingwoodsandfieldstomyfavouritecornerofthepark,Smith'sLawn.Itmust
bethefinestlawninBritain,flatandflawlesslygreenandbuiltonanheroicscale.
There'salmostneverasoulupthere,exceptwhenthere'sapolomatchon.Ittookmethe
betterpartofanhourtocrossit,thoughIwentsomedistanceoutofmywayto
investigateaforlornstatueontheperiphery,whichturnedouttobeofPrinceAlbert,and
anotherhourtofindmywaythroughtheValleyGardensandontoVirginiaWaterLake,
steamingsoftlyinthecoolmorningair.It'salovelypieceofwork,thelake,createdby
theDukeofCumberlandasasomewhatoddwayofcelebratingallthoseScotshe'dleft
inertortwitchingonthebattlefieldofCulloden,anditisintenselypicturesqueand

romanticinthatwaythatonlycreatedlandscapescanbe,withsuddenvistasperfectly
framedbytreesandalongdecorativestonebridge.Atthefarendthereisevenacluster
offakeRomanruins,oppositeFortBelvedere,thecountryhomewhereEdwardVIII
madehisfamousabdicationbroadcastsothathecouldbefreetogofishingwith
GoebbelsandmarrythatsourfacedSimpsonwoman,who,withthebestwillintheworld
andbearinginmindmy
patrioticobligationstoafellowAmerican,hasalwaysstruckmeasafranklyunlikely
choiceofshag.
Ionlymentionthisbecausethenationseemedtobeembarkingonasimilar
monarchicalcrisisatthistime.Imustsay,Ican'tbeginnounderstandtheattitudesofthe
Britishnationtowardstheroyalfamily.ForyearsmayIbecandidhereforamoment?
IthoughttheywereinsupportablyboringandonlymarginallymoreattractivethanWallis
Simpson,buteverybodyinEnglandadoredthem.Thenwhen,byasmallmiracle,they
finallystarteddoingarrestinganderraticthingsandmakingtheNewsoftheWorldon
meritwhen,inaword,theyfinallybecameinterestingthewholenationwassuddenly
saying,'Shocking.Let'sgetridofthem.'Onlythatweek,Ihadwatchedwithopenmouth
aneditionofQuestionTimeinwhichoneofthequestionsseriouslydiscussedbythe
panelhadbeenwhetherthenationshoulddispensewithPrinceCharlesandleapfrogto
littlePrinceWilliam.Puttingasideforthemomentthequestionofthewisdomof
investingalotoffaithintheunmaturedgeneticoutputofCharlesandDiana,whichI
wouldcharitablydescribeastouching,itseemedtometomissthewholepoint.Ifyouare
goingtohaveasystemofhereditaryprivilege,thensurelyyouhavetotakewhatcomes
yourwaynomatterhowponderousthepoorfellowmaybeorhowcurioushistastein
mistresses.
Myownviewsonthematterareneatlyencapsulatedinasongofmyowncomposition
called'I'mtheEldestSonoftheEldestSonoftheEldestSonoftheEldestSonoftheGuy
WhoFuckedNellGwynne',whichIshouldbehappytosendunderseparatecoverupon
receiptof3.50+50ppostandpackaging.
Inthemeantime,youwillhavetoimaginemehummingthischeerydittyasIstepped
smartlythroughtheroaroftrafficalongtheA30andmademywaydownChristchurch
RoadtothesedateandleafyvillageofVirginiaWater.
CHAPTERFIVE
MYFIRSTSIGHTOFVIRGINIAWATERWASONANUNUSUALLYSULTRY
afternoonattheveryendofAugust1973,somefivemonthsaftermyarrivalinDover.I
hadspentthesummertravellingaroundinthecompanyofoneStephenKatz,whohad
joinedmeinParisinAprilandwhomIhadgratefullyseenofffromIstanbulsometen
daysbefore.Iwastiredandroadweary,butverygladtobebackinEngland.Istepped
fromaLondontrainandwascaptivatedinstantly.ThevillageofVirginiaWaterlooked
tidyandbeckoning.Itwasfulloflazylateafternoonshadowsandanimpossiblegreen
lushnesssuchascouldonlybeappreciatedbysomeonefreshlyarrivedfromanarid
clime.BeyondthestationrosetheGothictowerofHollowaySanatorium,amonumental
heapofbricksandgablesinparklikegroundsjustbeyondthestation.

TwogirlsIknewfrommyhometownworkedasstudentnursesatthesanatoriumand
hadofferedmesleepingspaceontheirfloorandtheopportunitytoringtheirbathwith
fivemonthsofaccumulatedmuck.Myintentionwastocatchaflighthomefrom
Heathrowthenextday;Iwasduetoresumemylistlessuniversitystudiesintwoweeks.
ButovermanybeersinacheerypubcalledtheRoseandCrown,itwasintimatedtome
thatthehospitalwasalwayslookingformenialstaffandthatI,asanativespeakerof
English,wasashooin.Thenextday,withamuzzyheadandwithoutbenefitof
reflection,Ifoundmyselffillinginformsandbeingtoldtopresentmyselftothecharge
nurseonTukeWardat7a.m.thefollowingmorning.Akindlylittlemanwiththe
intelligenceofachildwassummonedtotakemetostorestocollectaweightyset
ofkeysandateeteringmountainofneatlyfoldedhospitalclothingtwogreysuits,
shirts,atie,severalwhitelabcoats(whatdidtheyhaveinmindforme?)andtodeliver
metoMaleHostelBacrosstheroad,whereacronewithwhitehairshowedmetoa
spartanroomand,inamannerreminiscentofmyoldfriendMrsSmegma,issuedavolley
ofinstructionsconcerningtheweeklyexchangeofsoiledsheetsforclean,thehoursof
hotwater,theoperationoftheradiator,andothermattersmuchtoonumerousandswiftly
presentedtotakein,thoughIwasratherproudtocatchapassingreferenceto
counterpanes.Beenthere,Ithought.
Icomposedalettertomyparentstellingthemnottowaitsupper;passedahappyfew
hourstryingonmynewclothesandposingbeforethemirror;arrangedmymodest
selectionofpaperbackbooksonthewindowsill;poppedouttothepostofficeandhada
lookaroundthevillage;dinedatalittleplacecalledtheTudorRose;thencalledinata
pubcalledtheTrottesworth,whereIfoundtheambiencesoagreeableandthealternative
formsofamusementsononexistentthatIdrank,Iconfess,anintemperateamountof
beer;andreturnedtomynewquartersbywayofseveralshrubsandonememorably
unyieldinglamppost.
InthemorningIawokefifteenminuteslateandfoundmywayblearilytothehospital.
Amidthemeleeofashiftchange,IaskedthewaytoTukeWardandarrived,hairaskew
andweavingslightly,tenminuteslate.Thechargenurse,afriendlyfellowofearly
middleyears,welcomedmewarmly,toldmewhereI'dfindteaandbiscuitsandcleared
off.Iscarcelyeversawhimafterthat.TukeWardwasinhabitedbylongstaymale
patientsinastateofarrestedinsanitywho,mercifully,seemedtolookentirelyafter
themselves.Theyfetchedtheirownbreakfastsfromatrolley,shavedthemselves,made
theirownbedsafterafashionand,whileIwasmomentarilyengagedinafutilesearchfor
antacidsinthestaffloo,quietlydeparted.Iemergedtofind,tomyconfusionandalarm,
thatIwastheonlypersonleftontheward.Iwanderedpuzzledthroughthedayroom,
kitchenanddormitories,andopenedthewarddoortofindanemptycorridorwithadoor
totheworldstandingopenatitsfarend.Atthatmomentthephoneinthewardoffice
rang.
'Who'sthat?'barkedavoice.
Isummonedenoughpowerofspeechtoidentifymyselfandpeeredouttheoffice
window,expectingtoseethethirtythreepatientsofTukeWarddashingfromtreetotree
inadesperatebidforfreedom.'Smithsonhere,'saidthevoice.Smithsonwasthehead
nursingofficer,anintimidatingfigurewithmuttonchopsandabarrelchest.He'dbeen

pointedouttomethedaybefore.'You'rethenewboy,areyou?'
'Yes,sir.'
'Jollythere?'
Iblinked,confused,andthoughtwhatoddturnsofphrasetheEnglishhad.'Well,
actuallyit'sveryquiet.'
'No,JohnJolly,thechargenurseishethere?'
'Oh.He'sgone.'
'Didhesaywhenhe'dbeback?'
'No,sir.'
'Everythingundercontrol?'
'Wellactually'1clearedmythroat'itappearsthatthepatientshaveescaped,sir.'
'They'vewhat?'
'Escaped,sir.IjustwenttothebathroomandwhenIcameout'
'They'resupposedtobeofftheward,son.They'llbeongardeningdetailorat
occupationaltherapy.Theyleaveeverymorning.'
'Oh,thankChristforthat.'
'Ibegyourpardon?'
'Thankgoodnessforthat,sir.'
'Yes,quite.'Herangoff.
Ispenttherestofthemorningwanderingalonearoundtheward,lookingindrawers
andwardrobesandunderbeds,exploringstorecupboards,tryingtofigureouthowto
maketeafromlooseleavesandasieve,and,whenmyconstitutionproveduptoit,having
aprivateworldskiddingchampionshipalongthewellpolishedcorridorthatranbetween
thepatients'rooms,completewithwhisperedandrespectfulcommentary.Whenitgotto
beonethirtyandnoonehadtoldmetogotolunch,Idismissedmyselfandwenttothe
canteen,whereIsatalonewithaplateofbeans,chipsandamysteriousitemlater
identifiedtomeasaSpamfritter,andnoticedthatMrSmithsonandsomeofhis
colleagues,atatableacrosstheroom,werehavingadiscussionofconsiderablemirth
and,forsomereason,castingmerrylooksinmydirection.
WhenIreturnedtotheward,Idiscoveredthatseveralofthepatientshadreturnedin
myabsence.Mostofthemwereslumpedinchairsinthedayroom,sleepingoffthe
exertionsofamorningspentleaningonarakeorcountingRawlplugsintoboxes,except
foronedapperandwellspokenfellowintweedswhowas
watchingatestmatchonthetelevision.HeInvitedmetojoinhimand,upon
discoveringthatIwasanAmerican,enthusiasticallyexplainedtomethismost
bewilderingofsports.Itookhimtobeamemberofstaff,possiblythemysteriousMr
Jolly'safternoonreplacement,possiblyavisitingpsychiatrist,untilheturnedtome,inthe
midstofadetailedexplicationoftheintricaciesofspinbowling,andsaidsuddenlyand
conversationally:'Ihaveatomicballs,youknow.'
'Excuseme?'Ireplied,mymindstillontheothertypeofballs.
'PortonDown.1947.Governmentexperiments.Allveryhushhush.Youmustn'ttella
soul.'
'Ah...no,ofcourse.'
'I'mwantedbytheRussians.'

'Oh...ah?'
'That'swhyI'mhere.Incognito.'Hetappedhisnosesignificantlyandcastan
appraisingglanceatthedozingfiguresaroundus.'Notabadplacereally.Fullof
madmen,ofcourse.Positivelyteemingwithlunatics,poorsouls.Buttheydoalovelyjam
rolypolyonWednesdays.NowthisisGeoffBoycottcomingup.Lovelytouch.He'll
havenotroublewithBenson'sdelivery,justyousee.'
MostofthepatientsonTukeWardwerelikethatwhenyougottoknowthem
superficiallylucid,but,underneath,crazyasanoverheateddog.Itisaninteresting
experiencetobecomeacquaintedwithacountrythroughtheeyesoftheinsane,and,ifI
maysayso,aparticularlyusefulgroundingforlifeinBritain.
AndsomyfirstpermanentdaysinBritainpassed.AtnightIwenttothepubandby
dayIpresidedoveramostlyemptyward.Eachafternoonaboutfouro'clockaSpanish
ladyinapinkcoverallwouldappearwithaclatteringteatrolleyandthepatientswould
stirtolifetogetacupofteaandasliceofyellowcake,andfromtimetotimetheelusive
MrJollydroppedbytodispensemedicinesorreorderbiscuits,butotherwisethingswere
veryquiet.Idevelopedapassableunderstandingofcricketandmyskiddingcameona
treat.
Thehospital,Icametodiscover,wasitsownlittleuniverse,virtuallycompleteunto
itself.Ithaditsownjoineryshopandelectricians,plumbersandpainters,itsowncoach
andcoachdriver.Ithadasnookerroom,abadmintoncourtandswimmingpool,atuck
shopandachapel,acricketpitchandsocialclub,apodiatristandhairdresser,kitchens,
sewingroomandlaundry.Onceaweektheyshowedmoviesinakindofballroom.It
evenhaditsownmortuary.Thepatientsdidallthegardeningthatdidn'tinvolvesharp
toolsandkeptthegroundsimmaculate.Itwasabitlikeacountryclubforcrazypeople.I
likeditverymuch.
Oneday,duringoneofMrJolly'speriodicvisits1neverdiddiscoverwhathedid
duringhisabsencesIwasdespatchedtoaneighbouringwardcalledFlorence
Nightingaletoborrowabottleofthorazinetokeepthepatientsdocile.Flo,asitwas
knowntothestaff,wasastrangeandgloomyplace,fullofmuchmoreseriously
dementedpeoplewhowanderedaboutorrockedceaselesslyinhighbackedchairs.While
thesisterwentoffwithjanglingkeystosortoutthethorazineIstaredatthejabbering
massesandgavethanksthatIhadgivenupharddrugs.Atthefarendoftheroom,there
movedaprettyyoungnurseofclearandradiantgoodness,caringforthesehelpless
wreckswithboundlessreservesofenergyandcompassionguidingthemtoachair,
brighteningtheirdaywithchatter,wipingdribblefromtheirchinsandIthought:Thisis
fustthesortofpersonIneed.
Weweremarriedsixteenmonthslaterinthelocalchurch,whichIpassednowasI
mademywaydownChristchurchRoad,shufflingalongthroughpaperyleaves,undera
tunnelofloftyboughs,hummingthelasteightbarsof'NellGwynne'.Thebighouses
alongChristchurchRoadwereunchanged,exceptfortheadditiononeachofasecurity
boxandfloodlightsofthesortthatcomeonfornoreasonlateatnight.
VirginiaWaterisaninterestingplace.ItwasbuiltmostlyintheTwentiesandThirties,
withtwosmallparadesofshopsand,surroundingthem,adensenetworkofprivateroads
windingthroughandaroundthefamousWentworthGolfCourse.Scatteredamongthe

treesareramblinghouses,oftenoccupiedbycelebritiesandbuiltinastylethatmightbe
calledOstentatiousEnglishVernacularorperhapsGameStabatLutyens,withbusy
rooflinescrowdedwithgablesandfussychimneypots,spaciousandmultipleverandas,
oddsizedwindows,atleastoneemphaticchimneybreastandacresoftrailingrosesover
atrimlittleporch.Itfelt,whenIfirstsawit,ratherlikewalkingintothepagesofa1937
HouseandGarden.
ButwhatlentVirginiaWateraparticularcharmbackthen,andImeanthisquite
seriously,wasthatitwasfullofwanderinglunatics.Becausemostofthepatientshad
beenresidentatthesanatoriumforyears,andoftendecades,nomatterhowaddledtheir
thoughtsorhesitanttheirgait,nomatterhowmuchthey
mumbledandmuttered,adoptedsuddenposturesofsubmissionordemonstratedany
ofahundredotherindicationsofsomeonecomfortablyouttolunch,mostofthemcould
betrustedtowanderdowntothevillageandfindtheirwaybackagain.Eachdayyou
couldcountonfindingarefreshingsprinklingoflunaticsbuyingfagsorsweets,havinga
cupofteaorjustquietlyremonstratingwiththinair.Theresultwasoneofthemost
extraordinarycommunitiesinEngland,oneinwhichwealthypeopleandlunaticsmingled
onequalterms.Theshopkeepersandlocalswerequitewonderfulaboutit,anddidn'tact
asifanythingwasoddbecauseamanwithwildhairwearingapyjamajacketwas
standinginacornerofthebaker'sdeclaimingtoaspotonthewallorsittingatacorner
tableoftheTudorRosewithswivellingeyesandthemakingsofasmile,droppingsugar
cubesintohisminestrone.Itwas,andI'mstillserious,athoroughlyheartwarmingsight.
Amongthefivehundredorsopatientsatthesanatoriumwasaremarkableidiotsavant
namedHarry.Harryhadthemindofasmall,preoccupiedchild,butyoucouldnameany
date,presentorfuture,andhewouldinstantlytellyouwhatdayoftheweekitwas.We
usedtotesthimwithaperpetualcalendarandhewasneverwrong.Youcouldaskhim
thedateofthethirdSaturdayofDecember1935orthesecondWednesdayofJuly2017
andhewouldtellyoufasterthananycomputercould.Evenmoreextraordinary,thoughit
merelyseemedtiresomeatthetime,wasthatseveraltimesadayhewouldapproach
membersofthestaffandasktheminastrange,bleatingvoiceifthehospitalwasgoingto
closein1980.Accordingtohiscopiousmedicalnotes,hehadbeenobsessedwiththis
questionsincehisarrivalasayoungmaninabout1950.Thethingis,Hollowaywasa
big,importantinstitution,andtherewereneveranyplanstocloseit.Indeedtherewere
nonerightupuntilthestormynightinearly1980whenHarrywasputtobedinastateof
uncharacteristicagitationhehadbeenaskinghisquestionwithincreasingpersistence
forseveralweeksandaboltoflightningstruckabackgable,causingadevastatingfire
thatsweptthroughtheatticsandseveralofthewards,renderingtheentirestructure
suddenlyuninhabitable.
ItwouldmakeanevenbetterstoryifpoorHarryhadbeenstrappedtohisbedand
perishedintheblaze.Unfortunatelyforpurposesofexcitingnarrativeallthepatients
weresafelyevacuatedintothestormynight,thoughIliketoimagineHarrywithhislips
contortedinarapturoussmileashestoodonthelawn,ablanketroundhisshoulders,his
facelitbydancingflames,andwatchedtheconflagrationthathehadsopatientlyawaited
forthirtyyears.
Theinmatesweretransferredtoaspecialwingofageneralhospitaldowntheroadat

Chertsey,wheretheyweresoondeprivedoftheirlibertyonaccountoftheirunfortunate
inclinationtocausehavocinthewardsandalarmthesane.Inthemeantime,the
sanatoriumhadquietlymoulderedaway,itswindowsboardedorbroken,itsgrand
entrancefromStroudeRoadblockedbyaheavydutymetalgatetoppedwithrazorwire.I
livedinVirginiaWaterforfiveyearsintheearlyEightieswhenIwasworkinginLondon
andoccasionallystoppedtopeeroverthewallattheneglectedgroundsandgeneral
desolation.Aseriesofdevelopmentcompanieshadtakenitoverwithambitiousplansto
turnthesiteintoanofficeparkorconferencecentreorcompoundofexecutivehomes.
TheyhadsetupsomePortakabinsandsternsignswarningthatthesitewaspatrolledby
guarddogs,which,iftheillustrationwastobebelieved,werebarelyundercontrol,but
nothingmorepositivethanthiswaseverdone.Forwelloveradecadethisfineold
hospital,probablyoneofthedozenfinestVictorianstructuresstillstanding,hadjustsat,
crumblingandforlorn,andIhadexpectedittobemuchthesameindeed,was
rehearsinganobsequiousrequesttothewatchmantobeallowedtogoupthedrivefora
quickpeeksincethebuildingitselfcouldn'tmuchbeseenfromtheroad.
SoimaginemysurprisewhenIcrestedagentleslopeandfoundaspankingnew
entranceknockedintotheperimeterwall,abigsignwelcomingmetoVirginiaParkand,
flankingapreviouslyunknownvistaofthesanatoriumbuilding,agenerousclutchof
smartnewexecutivehomesbehind.Withmouthagape,Istumbledupafreshlyasphalted
roadlinedwithhousessonewthattherewerestillstickersonthewindowsandtheyards
wereseasofmud.Oneofthehouseshadbeendoneupasashowhomeand,asitwasa
Sunday,itwasbusywithpeoplehavingalook.Inside,Ifoundaglossybrochurefullof
architects'drawingsofhappy,slenderpeoplestrollingaroundamonghandsomehouses,
listeningtoachamberorchestraintheroomwhereIformerlywatchedmoviesinthe
companyoftwitchinglunatics,orswimminginanindoorpoolsunkintothefloorofthe
greatGothichallwhereIhadonceplayedbadmintonandfalteringlyaskedtheyoung
nursefromFlorenceNightingaleforadate,withadistantview,ifshecouldpossibly
sparethetime,ofmarryingme.Accordingtotherathersumptuousaccompanyingprose,
residentsofVirginiaParkcouldchoose
betweenseveraldozendetachedexecutivehomes,ascatteringoftownhousesand
flats,oroneoftwentythreegrandapartmentscarvedoutoftherestoredsan,now
mysteriouslyrenamedCroslandHouse.Themapofthesitewasdottedwithstrange
namesConnollyMews,ChapelSquare,ThePiazzathatowedlittletoitsprevious
existence.Howmuchmoreappropriate,Ithought,iftheyhadgiventhemnameslike
LobotomySquareandElectroconvulsiveCourt.Pricesstartedat350,000.
IwentbackoutsidetoseewhatIcouldgetformy350,000.Theanswerwasa
smallishbutornatehomeonamodestplotwithaninterestingviewofanineteenth
centurymentalhospital.Ican'tsaythatitwaswhatIhadalwaysdreamedof.Allthe
houseswerebuiltofredbrick,witholdfashionedchimneypots,gingerbreadtrimand
othersmallnodstotheVictorianage.Onemodel,rathermundanelyknownasHouse
TypeD,evenhadadecorativetower.Theresultwasthattheylookedasiftheyhad
somehowbeenpuppedbythesanatorium.Youcouldalmostimaginethem,given
sufficienttime,growingintosanatoriathemselves.Insofarassuchathingcanworkatall,
itworkedsurprisinglywell.Thenewhousesdidn'tjaragainstthebackdropoftheold

sanatoriumandatleastsomethingthatsurelywouldn'thavehappenedadozenyearsago
thatgreatoldheapofabuilding,withallitshappymemoriesformeandgenerationsof
theinterestinglyinsane,hadbeensaved.Idoffedmyhattothedevelopersandtookmy
leave.
Ihadintendedtostrolluptomyoldhouse,butitwasamileoffandmyfeetwere
sore.Instead,IheadeddownStroudeRoad,pastthesiteoftheoldhospitalsocialclub,
nowreplacedbyadwellingofconsiderableugliness,andthescatteredbuildingsthathad
oncebeenhostelsfornursinganddomesticstaff,andbetmyself100thatthenexttimeI
passedthiswaytheywouldbegoneandreplacedbybighouseswithdoublegarages.
IwalkedthetwomilestoEgham,andcalledatthehouseofadelightfulladynamed
MrsBillenwhois,amonghermanyotherselflesskindnesses,mymotherinlaw.While
shebustledofftothekitcheninthatcharmingflutterwithwhichallEnglishladiesofa
certainagereceivesuddenguests,Iwarmedmytoesbythefireandreflected(forsuch
wasmystateofmindthesedays)thatthiswasthefirstEnglishhouseIhadeverbeenin,
otherthanasapayingguest.Mywifehadbroughtmehereasheryoungswainone
Sundayafternoonmanyyearsbeforeandwehadsat,sheandIandherfamily,tightly
squeezedintothissnugandwellheatedloungewatchingEullseyeandTheGeneration
Gameandothertelevisualofferingsthatseemedtomeinterestinglylackinginadvanced
entertainmentvalue.Thiswasanewexperienceforme.Ihadn'tseenmyownfamilyin
whatmightbecalledasocialsettingsinceabout1958,apartfromafewawkwardhours
atChristmases,s.otherewasacertaincosynoveltyinfindingmyselfinthemidstofso
muchfamilialwarmth.ItissomethingthatIstillverymuchadmireintheBritish,though
IconfessacertainpassingexultationwhenIlearnedthattheyweretakingBullseyeoff
theair.
MymotherinlawMumappearedwithatrayoffoodsuchasmademewonderfor
amomentifshehadmistakenmeforapartyoflumberjacks.AsIgreedilytuckedintoa
delicious,steamingheapthatbroughttomindtheCairngormsrecreatedincomestible
form,andafterwardssatslumpedwithcoffeeandahappilydistendedstomach,we
chatteredawayaboutthisandthatthechildren,ourimpendingmovetotheStates,my
work,herrecentwidowhood.Lateintheeveninglate,thatis,foracoupleofoldtimers
likeusshewentintobustlingmodeagainandaftermakingagreatdealofindustrious
soundingnoisesfromeveryquarterofthehouse,announcedthattheguestroomwas
ready.Ifoundaneatlyturneddownbedcompletewithhotwaterbottleand,afterthe
mostcursoryofablutions,crawledgratefullyintoit,wonderingwhyitisthatthebedsin
thehousesofgrandparentsandinlawsarealwayssodeliciouslycomfortable.Iwas
asleepinmoments.
CHAPTERSIX
ANDSOTOBOURNEMOUTH.IARRIVEDATFIVETHIRTYINTHE
EVENINGinadrivingrain.Nighthadfallenheavilyandthestreetswerefullofswishing
cars,theirheadlightssweepingthroughbulletsofshinyrain.I'dlivedinBournemouthfor
twoyearsandthoughtIknewitreasonablywell,buttheareaaroundthestationhadbeen
extensivelyrebuilt,withnewroadsandofficeblocksandoneofthosebefuddling

networksofpedestriansubwaysthatcompelyoutosurfaceeveryfewminuteslikea
gophertoseewhereyouare.
BythetimeIreachedtheEastCliff,aneighbourhoodofmediumsizedhotelsperched
highaboveablacksea,Iwassoakedthroughandmuttering.Theonethingtobesaidfor
Bournemouthisthatyouarecertainlyspoiledforchoicewithhotels.Amongthemany
gleamingpalacesofcomfortthatlinedeverystreetforblocksaround,Iselectedan
establishmentonasidestreetfornoreasonotherthanthatIratherlikeditssign:neat
capitalsinpinkneonglowingbeckoninglythroughtheslicingrain.Isteppedinside,
sheddingwater,andcouldseeataglanceitwasagoodchoiceclean,nicelyold
fashioned,attractivelypricedat26B&Baccordingtoanoticeonthewall,andwiththe
kindofsmotheringwarmththatmakesyourglassessteamandbringsonsneezingfits.I
decantedseveralouncesofwaterfrommysleeveandaskedforasingleroomfortwo
nights.
'Isitrainingout?'thereceptiongirlaskedbrightlyasIfilledintheregistrationcard
betweensneezesandpausestowipewaterfrommyfacewiththebackofmyarm.
'No,myshipsankandIhadtoswimthelastsevenmiles.''Oh,yes?'shewentonina
mannerthatmademesuspectshewasnotattendingmywordsclosely.'Andwillyoube
diningwithustonight,Mr'sheglancedatmywatersmearedcard'MrBrylcreem?'I
consideredthealternativealongslogthroughstairrodsofrainandfeltinclinedtostay
in.Besides,betweenhercheerilybeansizedbrainandmysmearedscrawl,therewas
everychancetheywouldchargethemealtoanotherroom.IsaidI'deatin,acceptedakey
anddrippinglyfoundmywaytomyroom.
AmongthemanyhundredsofthingsthathavecomealongwayinBritainsince1973,
andifyoustoptothinkaboutitforevenamomentyou'llseethatthelistisimpressively
long,fewhavecomefurtherthantheaverageEnglishhostelry.Nowadaysyougeta
colourTV,coffeemakingtraywithalittlepacketofmodestlytastybiscuits,aprivate
bathwithfluffytowels,alittlebasketofcottonwoolballsinrainbowcolours,andan
arrayofsachetsorlittleplasticbottlesofshampoo,bathgelandmoisturizinglotion.My
roomevenhadanadequatebedsidelightandtwosoftpillows.Iwasveryhappy.Irana
deepbath,emptiedintoitallthegelsandmoisturizingcreams(don'tbealarmed;I've
studiedthiscloselyandcanassureyouthattheyareallthesamesubstance),and,asa
fiestaofairybubblesbegantheirslowascenttowardsapositionsomethreefeetabove
thetopofthebath,returnedtotheroomandslippedeasilyintotheselfabsorbedhabitsof
thelonetraveller,unpackingmyrucksackwithdeliberativecare,drapingwetclothesover
theradiator,layingoutcleanonesonthebedwithasmuchfastidiousnessasifIwere
abouttogotomyfirsthighschoolprom,arrangingatravelclockandreading,material
withexactingprecisiononthebedsidetable,adjustingthelightingtoalevelof
consideredcosiness,andfinallyretiring,inperkyspiritsandwithagoodbook,foralong
wallowinthesortofluxuriantfoamseldomseenoutsideofJoanCollinsmovies.
Afterwards,freshlyattiredandsmellingbewitchinglyofattarofroses,Ipresented
myselfinthespaciousandemptydiningsalonandwasshowntoatablewherethearray
ofaccoutrementsawineglasscontainingaredpapernapkinshapedintoafloret,
stainlesssteelsaltandpeppershakersrestinginalittlestainlesssteelboat,adish
containingwheelsofbuttercarefullyshapedlikecogs,asmallneckedvasebearinga

sprigofartificialliliesinstantlyinformedmethatthefoodwouldbemediocrebut
presentedwithacertainwellpractisedflourish.Icoveredmyeyes,countedtofourand
extendedmyrighthandknowingitwould
alightonabasketofbreadrollsprofferedbyahoveringwaiteramasteryoftiming
thatimpressedhimconsiderably,ifImaysayso,andlefthiminnodoubtthathewas
dealingwithatravellerwhoknewhiswayaroundcreamygreensoups,vegetablesserved
withnestedspoonsandcircletsoftoughenedrawhideparadingunderthename
medallionsofpork,
Threeotherdinersarrivedarotundmotherandfatherandanevenlargerteenaged
sonwhomthewaiterthoughtfullyseatedinaplacewhereIcouldwatchthemwithout
havingtocranemyneckorrepositionmychair.Itisalwaysinterestingtowatchpeople
eat,butnothingprovidesmoreinterestthanthesightofatablefuloffatpeopletucking
intotheirchow.Itisacuriousthingbuteventhegreediestandmostrapaciousfatpeople
andthetriobeforemecouldclearlyhavewonchampionshipsforrapacityneverlook
asiftheyareenjoyingthemselves.Itisasiftheyaremerelyfulfillingsomekindoflong
standingobligationtomaintaintheirbulk.Whenthereisfoodbeforethemtheylower
theirheadsandhooveritup,andinbetweentimestheysitwithcrossedarmsstaring
uneasilyattheroomandactingasiftheyhaveneverbeenintroducedtothepeoplesitting
withthem.Butrollupasweettrolleyandeverythingchanges.Theybegintomake
rapturouscooingnoisesandsuddenlytheirlittlecorneroftheroomisfullofhappy
conversation.Thusitwastonight.Suchwasthespeedwithwhichmydiningpartners
consumedtheprovendssetbeforethemthattheybeatmebyhalfacourseand,tomy
frankhorror,betweenthemconsumedthelastoftheprofiterolesandBlackForestgateau
fromthesweettrolley.Theboy,Inoticed,hadadoubleheapofboth,thegreedyfatpig.
Iwaslefttochoosebetweenawaterydribbleoftrifle,ameringueconfectionthatI
knewwouldexplodelikeapartypopperassoonasItouchedaspoontoit,oranyof
aboutadozenmodestcupletsofbutterscotchpudding,eachwithadesultorynubbinof
crustyyellowcreamontop.Indimspirits,Ichoseabutterscotchpudding,andasthe
tubbytriowaddledpastmytable,theirchinsglisteningwithchocolate,Iansweredtheir
polite,wellfedsmileswithaflintyhardlookthattoldthemnottotryanythinglikethat
withmeeveragain.Ithinktheygotthemessage.Thenextmorningatbreakfasttheytook
atablewelloutofmylineofvisionandgavemeawideberthatthejuicetrolley.
Bournemouthisaveryfineplaceinalotofways.Foronethingithasthesea,which
willbehandyifglobalwarmingeverreachesitsfullpotential,thoughIcan'tseemuchuse
foritatpresent,andtherearethesinuousparks,collectivelyknownasthePleasure
Gardens,thatneatlydividethetwohalvesofthetowncentreandprovideshopperswitha
tranquilgreenplacetorestontheirlongslogfromonesideofthecentretotheother
though,ofcourse,ifitweren'tfortheparkstherewouldn'tbethelongslog.Suchislife.
TheparksusedtobedescribedonmapsastheUpperPleasureGardensandLower
PleasureGardens,butsomecouncillororotherforceforgoodrealizedtheprofoundand
unhealthyimplicationsofplacingLowerandPleasureinsuchimmediateproximityand
successfullylobbiedtohaveLowerremovedfromthetitle,sonowyouhavetheUpper
PleasureGardensandthemerePleasureGardens,andlexicalpervertshavebeenbanished
tothebeacheswheretheymustfindsuchgratificationastheycanbyrubbingthemselves

onthegroynes.Anyway,that'sthekindofplaceBournemouthisgenteeltoafaultand
proudofit.
Knowingalreadyofthetown'scarefullynurturedreputationforgentility,Imoved
therein1977withtheideathatthiswasgoingtobeakindofEnglishanswertoBadEms
orBadenBadenmanicuredparks,palmcourtswithorchestras,swankhotelswheremen
inwhitegloveskeptthebrassgleaming,bosomyelderlyladiesinminkcoatswalking
thoselittledogsyouachetokick(notoutofcruelty,youunderstand,butfromasimple,
honestdesiretoseehowfaryoucanmakethemfly).Sadly,Ihavetoreportthatalmost
noneofthisawaitedme.Theparkswereveryfine,butinsteadofopulentcasinosand
handsomekursaals,theyofferedasmallbandstandoccupiedonoccasionalSundaysby
brassbandsofmixedtalentdressedlikebusconductors,andsmallwoodenerectionsif
youwillexcusetheterminthecontextoftheLowerPleasureGardensbedeckedwith
colouredglasspotswithacandleinside,whichIwasassuredweresometimeslitoncalm
summereveningsandthusweretransformedintoglowingdepictionsofbutterflies,fairies
andothermagicalvisionsguaranteedtoprovidehoursofhealthynocturnalenjoyment.I
couldn'tsaybecauseIneversawthemlit,andinanycase,ashortageoffundsandthe
unconscionabletendencyofyouthstoyankthepotsfromtheirframesandsmashthemat
eachother'sfeetforpurposesofamusementmeantthatthestructuresweresoon
dismantledandtakenaway.
Istrolledthroughthe(Lower)PleasureGardensandontothetouristinformation
centreonWestoverRoadtoseewhat
alternativeentertainmentswereonoffer,andcouldn'tfindoutonaccountofyounow
hadtopayforeverypieceofprintedinformationthatwasn'tnailedtothewall.Ilaughed
intheirfaces,ofcourse.
Atfirstglance,thetowncentrelookedlargelyunchanged,butinfactprogressandthe
boroughcouncilhadbeenatworkeverywhere.ChristchurchRoad,themainthoroughfare
throughthecentre,hadbeenextensivelypedestrianizedanddecoratedwithacurious
glassandtubularsteeledificethatlookedlikeabusshelterforgiants.Twoofthe
shoppingarcadeshadbeennicelytartedupandtherewasnowaMcDonald's,a
Waterstone'sandaDillons,aswellasoneortwootherestablishmentslessdirectly
connectedtomypersonalrequirements.Mostly,however,thingshadbeensubtracted.
Beale'sdepartmentstorehadcloseditsexcellentbookdepartment,Dingle'shad
intemperatelygotridofitsfoodhall,andBealeson's,yetanotherdepartmentstore,had
gonealtogether.TheInternationalStorehadlikewisevanished,ashad,more
distressingly,anelegantlittlebakery,takingtheworld'sbestsugardoughnutswithit,
alas,alas.Ontheplusside,therewasn'tascrapoflittertobefound,whereasinmyday
ChristchurchRoadwasanopenairlitterbin.
AroundthecornerfromtheoldvanishedbakeryonRichmondHillwerethesplendid,
vaguelyartdecoofficesoftheBournemouthEveningEcho,whereIworkedfortwoyears
asasubeditorinaroomborrowedfromaDickensnoveluntidystacksofpaper,
gloomylighting,tworowsofhunchedfiguressittingatdesks,andallofitbathedina
portentous,exhaustingsilence,theonlynoisesthefretfulscratchingsofpencilsandasoft
butechoingtunksoundeachtimetheminutehandonthewallclockclickedforwarda
notch.Fromacrosstheroad,Ipeeredupatmyoldofficewindowsnowandshivered

slightly.
Afterourmarriage,mywifeandIhadgonebacktotheStatesfortwoyearswhileI
finishedcollege,somyjobattheEchowasnotonlymyfirstrealjobinBritain,butmy
firstrealgrownupjob,andthroughoutthetwoyearsIworkedthereIneverceasedtofeel
likeafourteenyearoldmasqueradingasanadult,doubtlessbecausenearlyallmyfellow
subeditorswereoldenoughtobemyfather,exceptforacoupleofcadaverousfiguresat
thefarendwhowereoldenoughtobetheirfathers.
IsatnexttoapairofkindlyandlearnedmennamedJackStraightandAustinBrooks,
whospenttwoyearspatientlyexplainingtomethemeaningofsubjudiceandthe
importantdistinctioninEnglishlawbetweentakingacarandstealingacar.Formyown
safety,IwasmostlyentrustedwiththejobofeditingtheTownswomen'sGuildand
Women'sInstitutereports.Wereceivedstacksandstacksofthesedaily,allseemingly
writteninthesamefloridhandandallsayingthesamenumbingthings:'Amost
fascinatingdemonstrationwasgivenbyMrArthurSmoatofPokesdownontheArtof
MakingAnimalShadows','MrsEvelynStubbshonouredtheassembledguestswitha
mostfascinatingandamusingtalkonherrecenthysterectomy','MrsThroopwasunable
togiveherplannedtalkondogmanagementbecauseofherrecenttragicmaulingbyher.
mastiff,Prince,butMrsSmethwickgamelysteppedintothebreachwithanhilarious
accountofherexperiencesasafreelancefuneralorganist.'Everyoneofthemwenton
andonwithpageafterpageofvotesofthanks,appealsforfunds,longwindedaccounts
ofsuccessfuljumblesalesandcoffeemornings,anddetailedlistsofwhohadsupplied
whichrefreshmentsandhowdelightfultheyallwere.Ihaveneverexperiencedlonger
days.
Thewindows,Irecall,couldonlybeopenedbymeansofalongpole.Aboutten
minutesafterwearrivedeachmorning,onesubeditorsooldhecouldbarelyholdapencil
wouldbeginscrapinghischairaboutinanefforttogetsomeclearancefromhisdesk.It
wouldtakehimaboutanhourtogetoutofhischairandanotherhourtoshufflethefew
feettothewindowandfinagleitopenwiththepoleandanotherhourtoleanthepole
againstthewallandshufflebacktohisdesk.Theinstanthewasreseated,themanwho
satoppositehimwouldbobup,strideover,shutthewindowwiththepoleandreturnto
hisseatwithachallenginglookonhisface,atwhichpointtheoldboywouldsilentlyand
stoicallybeginthechairscrapingprocessalloveragain.Thiswentoneverydayfortwo
yearsthroughallseasons.
Ineversaweitheroneofthemdoalickofwork.Theolderfellowcouldn't,ofcourse,
becausehespentallbutafewmomentseachdaytravellingtoorfromthewindow.The
otherguymostlysatsuckingonanunlitpipeandstaringatmewithakindofsmirk.
Everytimeourgazeslockedhewouldaskmesomemystifyingquestiontodowith
America.Tellme,'hewouldsay,'isittruethatMickeyRooneyneverconsummatedhis
marriagewithAvaGardner,asI'veread?'or'I'veoftenwondered,andperhapsyoucan
tellme,whyisitthatthenuanuabirdofHawaiisubsistsonlyonpinkshelledmolluscs
whenwhiteshelledmolluscsare
morenumerousandofequalnutritivevalue,orsoI'veread.'
Iwouldlookathim,mymindfoggedwithTownswomen'sGuildandWomen's
Institutereports,andsay,'What?'

'Youhaveheardofthenuanuabird,Itakeit?'
'Er,no.'
Hewouldcockaneye.'Really?Howextraordinary.'Andthenhe'dsuckhispipe.
Itwasaltogetherastrangeplace.Theeditorwasareclusewhohadhismealsbrought
tohischamberbyhissecretaryandseldomventuredout.Ionlysawhimtwiceinallthe
timeIwasthere,oncewhenheinterviewedme,ameetingthatlastedthreeminutesand
seemedtocausehimconsiderablediscomfort,andoncewhenheopenedthedoorthat
connectedhisroomtoours,aneventsounusualthatwealllookedup.Eventheoldboy
pausedinhisendlessshuffletothewindow.Theeditorstaredatusinakindoffrozen
astonishment,clearlydumbfoundedtofindaroomfulofsubeditorsontheothersideof
oneofhisofficedoors,lookedforamomentasifhemightspeak,thenwordlessly
retreated,shuttingthedoorbehindhim.ItwasthelastIeversawofhim.Sixweekslater,
ItookajobinLondon.
SomethingelsethathadchangedinBournemouthwasthatallthelittlecoffeebarshad
gone.Thereusedtobeoneeverythreeorfourdoors,withtheirgaspingespresso
machinesandstickytables.Idon'tknowwhereholidaymakersgoforcoffeenowadays
yesIdo:theCostadelSolbutIhadtowalknearlyallthewaytotheTriangle,adistant
pointwherelocalbusesgotorestbetweenengagements,beforeIwasabletohavea
modestandrefreshingcup.
Afterwards,fancyingabitofanouting,IcaughtabustoChristchurchwithaviewto
walkingback.Igotaseatatthetopfrontofayellowdoubledecker.Thereissomething
awfullyexhilaratingaboutridingonthetopofadoubledecker.Youcanseeintoupstairs
windowsandpeerdownonthetopsofpeople'sheadsatbusstops(andwhentheycome
upthestairsamomentlateryoucanlookatthemwithaknowinglookthatsays:'I'vejust
seenthetopofyourhead')andthere'sthefrissonofexcitementthatcomeswithcareering
roundacornerorroundaboutonthebrinkofcatastrophe.Yougetanentirelyfresh
perspectiveontheworld.Townsgenerallylookmorehandsomefromthetopdeckofa
bus,butnowheremoresothanBournemouth.Atstreetlevel,it'sf
essentiallylikeanyotherEnglishtownlotsofbuildingsocietyofficesandchain
stores,allwithbigplateglasswindowsbutupstairsyousuddenlyrealizethatyouarein
oneofBritain'sgreatVictoriancommunities.Bournemouthdidn'tevenexistbeforeabout
1850itwasjustacoupleoffarmsbetweenChristchurchandPooleandthenit
positivelyboomed,throwinguppiersandpromenadesandmilesofornatebrickoffices
andplump,statelyhomes,mostofthemwithelaboratecornertowersandotherbusy
embellishmentsthataregenerallynowevidentonlytobusridersandwindowcleaners.
WhatashameitisthatsolittleofthisVictoriangloryactuallyreachestheground..
Butthen,ofcourse,ifyoutookoutallthatplateglassandmadethegroundfloorsofthe
buildingslookasiftheybelongedtothefloorsabove,wemightnotbeabletoseeright
intoeverySketchley'sandBootsandLeedsPermanentBuildingSocietyandwhatasad
lossthatwouldbe.ImaginepassingaSketchley'sandnotbeingabletoseeracksof
garmentsinplasticbagsandanassortmentofbatteredcarpetshampooersandaladyat
thecounteridlycleaningherteethwithapaperclip,andthinkhowdrearylifewouldbe.
Why,it'sunthinkable.
Irodethebustotheendoftheline,thecarparkofabignewSainsbury'sattheNew

ForestendofChristchurch,andfoundmywaythroughanetworkofpedestrianflyovers
totheHighclifferoad.Aboutahalfmilefurtheron,downalittlesideroad,stood
HighcliffeCastle,formerlythehomeofGordonSelfridge,thedepartmentstoremagnate,
andnowaruin.
Selfridgewasaninterestingfellowwhoprovidesasalutarymorallessonforusall.An
American,hedevotedhisproductiveyearstobuildingSelfridgesintoEurope'sfinest
shoppingemporium,intheprocessturningOxfordStreetintoLondon'smainshopping
venue.Heledalifeofsternrectitude,earlybedtimesandtirelesswork.Hedranklotsof
milkandneverfooledaround.Butin1918hiswifediedandthesuddenreleasefrom
maritalboundsratherwenttohishead.HetookupwithapairofHungarianAmerican
cutiesknowninmusichallcirclesastheDollySisters,andfellintorakishways.Witha
Dollyoneacharm,hetooktoroamingthecasinosofEurope,gamblingandlosing
lavishly.Hedinedouteverynight,investedfoolishsumsinracehorsesandmotorcars,
boughtHighcliffeCastleandlaidplanstobuilda250roomestateatHengistburyHead
nearby.Intenyearsheracedthrough$8million,lostcontrolofSelfridges,losthiscastle
andLondon
home,hisracehorsesandhisRollsRoyces,andeventuallyendeduplivingaloneina
smallflatinPutneyandtravellingbybus.Hediedpennilessandvirtuallyforgottenon8
May1947.Butofcoursehehadhadtheinestimablepleasureofbonkingtwinsisters,
whichisthemainthing.
TodayHighcliffe'sstatelyGothicshellstandscrowdedbybungalows,anincongruous
sight,exceptatthebackwherethegroundsrundowntotheseathroughapubliccarpark.
I'dliketohaveknownhowthehousehadcometobeinsuchaparlousandneglected
state,buttherewasnoonearounditsbroodingeminenceandtherewerenocarsinthecar
park.Ifollowedsomericketywoodenstepsdowntothebeach.Therainhadstoppedin
thenight,buttheskywasthreateningandtherewasastiffbreezethatmademyhairand
clothesboogieandhadtheseainafrenzyoffroth.Icouldn'thearanythingbutthe
poundingofwaves.Leaningsteeplyintothewind,Itrudgedalongthebeachinthe
postureofsomeoneshoulderingacarupahill,passinginfrontofalongcrescentof
beachhuts,allofidenticaldesignbutpaintedinvaryingbrighthues.Mostwereshutup
forthewinter,butaboutthreequartersofthewayalongonestoodopen,ratherinthe
mannerofamagician'sbox,withalittleporchonwhichsatamanandawomanin
gardenchairs,huddledinarcticclothingwithlapblankets,buffetedbywindthatseemed
constantlytothreatentotipthemoverbackwards.Themanwastryingtoreada
newspaper,butthewindkeptwrappingitaroundhisface.
Theybothlookedveryhappyorifnothappyexactly,atleasthighlycontented,asif
thisweretheSeychellesandtheyweredrinkingginfizzesundernoddingpalmsrather
thansittinghalfperishedinastiffEnglishgale.Theywerecontentedbecausetheyowned
alittlepieceofprizedbeachfrontpropertyforwhichtherewasnodoubtalongwaiting
listandherewasthetruesecretoftheirhappinessanytimetheywantedtheycould
retiretothehutandbefractionallylesscold.Theycouldmakeacupofteaand,ifthey
werefeelingparticularlyrakish,haveachocolatedigestivebiscuit.Afterwards,they
couldspendahappyhalfhourpackingtheirthingsawayandclosinguphatches.Andthis
wasalltheyrequiredintheworldtobringthemselvestoastateofnearrapture.

OneofthecharmsoftheBritishisthattheyhavesolittleideaoftheirownvirtues,
andnowhereisthismoretruethanwiththeirhappiness.Youwilllaughtohearmesayit,
buttheyarethehappiestpeopleonearth.Honestly.WatchanytwoBritons
inconversationandseehowlongitisbeforetheysmileorlaughoversomejokeor
pleasantry.Itwon'tbemorethanafewseconds.Ioncesharedarailwaycompartment
betweenDunkirkandBrusselswithtwoFrenchspeakingbusinessmenwhowere
obviouslyoldfriendsorcolleagues.Theytalkedgeniallythewholejourney,butnotonce
intwohoursdidIseeeitherofthemraiseaflickerofasmile.Youcouldimaginethe
samethingwithGermansorSwissorSpaniardsorevenItalians,butwithBritonsnever.
AndtheBritisharesoeasytoplease.Itisthemostextraordinarything.Theyactually
liketheirpleasuressmall.Thatiswhy,Isuppose,somanyoftheirtreatsteacakes,
scones,crumpets,rockcakes,RichTeabiscuits,fruitShrewsburysaresocautiously
flavourful.Theyaretheonlypeopleintheworldwhothinkofjamandcurrantsas
thrillingconstituentsofapuddingorcake.Offerthemsomethinggenuinelytemptinga
sliceofgateauorachoiceofchocolatesfromaboxandtheywillnearlyalwayshesitate
andbegintoworrythatit'sunwarrantedandexcessive,asifanypleasurebeyondavery
modestthresholdisvaguelyunseemly.
'Oh,Ishouldn'treally,'theysay.
'Oh,goon,'youprodencouragingly.
'Well,justasmallonethen,'theysayanddartinglytakeasmallone,andthengeta
lookasiftheyhavejustdonesomethingterriblydevilish.Allthisiscompletelyaliento
theAmericanmind.ToanAmericanthewholepurposeofliving,theoneconstant
confirmationofcontinuedexistence,istocramasmuchsensualpleasureaspossibleinto
one'smouthmoreorlesscontinuously.Gratification,instantandlavish,isabirthright.
Youmightaswellsay'Oh,Ishouldn'treally'ifsomeonetellsyoutotakeadeepbreath.
IusedtobepuzzledbythecuriousBritishattitudetopleasure,andthattireless,
doggedoptimismoftheirsthatallowedthemtoattachanupbeatturnofphrasetothe
direstinadequacies'well,itmakesachange','mustn'tgrumble','youcoulddoworse',
'it'snotmuch,butit'scheapandcheerful','itwasquitenicereally'butgraduallyIcame
roundtotheirwayofthinkingandmylifehasneverbeenhappier.Irememberfinding
myselfsittingindampclothesinacoldcafeonadrearyseasidepromenadeandbeing
presentedwithacupofteaandateacakeandgoing'Ooh,lovely!',andIknewthenthat
theprocesshadstarted.BeforelongIcametoregardallkindsofactivitiesaskingfor
moretoastinahotel,buyingwoolrichsocksatMarks&Spencer,gettingtwopairsof
trouserswhenIonlyreallyneededoneassomethingdaring,verynearlyillicit.My
lifebecameimmenselyricher.
Iexchangedsmilesnowwiththehappycoupleattheirhut,andtrudgedonalongthe
beachtoMudeford,ahamletstandingonaspitofsandylandbetweentheseaandthe
reedysprawlofChristchurchHarbour,withahandsomeviewacrosstothePriory.
Mudefordwasoncearefugeofsmugglers,buttodayitislittlemorethanasmall,rather
tattyparadeofshopsandaVolvogaragesurroundedbyhouses,allwithjauntynautical
names:Saltings,HoveTo,SickOvertheSide.
IwalkedthroughitandonintoChristchurchbywayofalong,messystreetlinedwith
garages,dustylookingshopsandhalfdeadpubs,thenceontoBournemouththrough

Tuckton,SouthbourneandBoscombe.Timehadnotdonemanyfavourstomostofthese
places.Christchurch'sandSouthbourne'sshoppingprecinctsbothappearedtobelocked
inaslow,untidyspiralofdecline,andatTucktonBridgeaoncelovelypubonthebanks
oftheRiverStourhadhaditslawnssacrificedtomakeroomforalargecarpark.Nowit
wassomethingcalledaBrewersFayre,anoffshootoftheWhitbreadorganization.Itwas
awfulbutclearlyanddepressinglypopular.OnlyBoscombeseemedtohavepickeditself
upalittle.Once,themainroadthroughithadbeenuglyenoughtomakeyougasp,fullof
blownlitter,tackyshopsandcruellyunsympatheticsupermarketsanddepartmentstores
crammedintoVictorianfrontages.Nowthestreethadbeensmartlypedestrianizedalong
partofitslength,theRoyalArcadewasbeingdoneupwithstyleandcareandthewhole
wasgenerouslyscatteredwithantiqueshops,whichwereconsiderablymoreinterestingto
lookatthanthepreviousrangeoftanningsalonsandbeddingcentres.Atthefarend,a
shopcalledtheBoscombeAntiqueMarkethadabigsigninthewindowthatsaid'We
BuyAnything!',whichseemedanunusuallygenerousoffer,soIwentinside,gobbedon
thecounterandbarked,'Howmuchforthatthen?'Ididn't,ofcourseitwasshutbutI'd
havelikedto.
ItwasalonghaulfromHighcliffetoBournemouth,tenmilesorsoaltogether,and
wellintomydailyhappyhourbythetimeIreachedEastOvercliffDriveandthelastleg
totown.Ipausedtoleanonawhitefencerailandtakeintheview.Thewindhaddied
andinthepaleeveninglightPooleBay,astheseaatBournemouthiscalled,was
entrancing:along,majesticcurveofcrumblycliffsandwidegoldenbeachesstretching
frombelowtheIsleofWighttor
thepurplyPurbeckHills.BeforemethelightsofBournemouthandPooletwinkled
invitinglyinthegatheringdusk.Farbelow,thetown'stwopierslookedcheerfuland
dashing,andfaroutatseathelightsofpassingshipsbobbedandblinkedinthedusky
light.Theworld,oratleastthislittlecornerofit,seemedagoodandpeacefulplace,andI
wasimmenselygladtobethere.
Throughoutthistrip,Iwouldhavemomentsofquietpanicatthethoughtofever
leavingthissnugandhomeylittleisle.Itwasamelancholybusinessreally,thistripof
mineabitlikewanderingthroughamuchlovedhomeforalasttime.Thefactis,Iliked
ithere.Ilikeditverymuch.Itonlytookafriendlygesturefromashopkeeper,oraseat
bythefireinacountrypub,oraviewlikethistosetmethinkingthatIwasmakinga
serious,deeplymisguidedmistake.
Whichiswhy,ifyouwereoneofthoseclifftopstrollersinBournemouththatmild
evening,youmayhaveseenamiddleagedAmericanwanderingpastinaselfabsorbed
mannerandmutteringinthetoneofamantra:ThinkofCecilParkinson'shair.Thinkof
VATat17.5percent.Thinkofloadingyourcartooverflowingwithrubbishona
Saturdayanddrivingtothetiponlytofindthatitisshut.Thinkofhosepipebansafterten
monthsofrain.Thinkofthestrange,unshakeablefondnessofBBC1forCagneyand
Laceyrepeats.Thinkof...'
CHAPTERSEVEN
IWENTTOSALISBURYONABIGREDDOUBLEDECKERBUSTHAT

SWAYEDdownwindingcountryroadsandclatteredthroughoverhangingbranchesina
mostexcitingway.IlikeSalisburyverymuch.It'sjusttherightsizeforatownbig
enoughforcinemasandbookshops,smallenoughtofeelfriendlyandlivable.
Ipickedmywaythroughabusymarketinthesquareandtriedtoimaginewhatthe
Britishseeinthesethings.Theyalwayslooksodepressinglytawdry,withtheirupended
cratesandtroddenlettuceleavesandgrubbyplasticawningsheldtogetherwithclips.In
Frenchmarketsyoupickamongwickerbasketsofglossyolivesandcherriesandlittle
wheelsofgoat'scheese,allneatlyarrayed.InBritainyoubuyteatowelsandironing
boardcoversfromplasticbeercrates.Britishmarketsneverfailtoputmeinagloomy
andcriticalframeofmind.
Walkingthroughthebusyshoppingstreetsnow,Ifounditwastheunattractivethings
thatjumpedoutatmeBurgerKingsandProntaprintsandSuperdrugsandalltheother
manifoldEnemiesoftheHighStreet,allofthemwithwindowsclutteredwith
announcementsofspecialoffersandallofthemshoehornedintobuildingswithouteven
themostfleetingnodtotheircharacterorage.Inthecentreoftown,onacornerthat
oughttohavebeenavisualpleasure,therestoodasmallbuildingoccupiedbyaLunn
Polytravelagency.Upstairsthestructurewashalftimberedandquietlyglorious;
downstairs,betweenoutsizedsheetsofplateglasscoveredwithhandwrittennoticesof
cheapflightstoTenerifeandMalaga,thefagadehadbeentiledtiledwithamosaicof
littlemultitonedsquaresthatlookedasiftheyhadbeensalvagedfromaKing'sCross
toilet.Itwasjustawful.Istoodbeforeitandtriedtoimaginewhatcombinationof
architects,corporatedesignersandtownplannerscouldhaveallowedthistobedonetoa
finetimberframedseventeenthcenturybuilding,andcouldnot.Andthethingwasthatit
wasreallynotagreatdealworsethanmanyotherfrontagesalongthestreet.
ItsometimesoccurstomethattheBritishhavemoreheritagethanisgoodforthem.
Inacountrywherethereissoastonishinglymuchofeverything,itiseasytolookonitas
akindofinexhaustibleresource.Considerthenumbers:445,000listedbuildings,12,000
medievalchurches,1,500,000acresofcommonland,120,000milesoffootpathsand
publicrightsofway,600,000knownsitesofarchaeologicalinterest(98percentofthem
withnolegalprotection).DoyouknowthatinmyYorkshirevillagealonetherearemore
seventeenthcenturybuildingsthaninthewholeofNorthAmerica?Andthat'sjustone
obscurehamletwithapopulationcomfortablyunderonehundred.Multiplythatbyallthe
othervillagesandhamletsinBritainandyouseethatthestockpileofancientdwellings,
barns,churches,pinfolds,walls,bridgesandotherstructuresisimmensealmostbeyond
counting.Thereissomuchofiteverywherethatit'seasytobelievethatyoucantake
awaychunksofitahalftimberedfrontagehere,someGeorgianwindowsthere,afew
hundredyardsofancienthedgeordrystonewallandthattherewillstillbeplentyleft.In
fact,thecountryisbeingnibbledtodeath.
Itastoundsmehowcasualaretheplanningregulationsinsuchasensitive
environment.Didyouknowthateveninconservationareasahouseownermayremove
alltheoriginaldoorsandwindows,covertheroofwithhaciendastyletilesandthefacade
withartificialstonecladding,takedownthegardenwall,crazypavethelawnandadda
plywoodporch,andstillbedeemed,intheeyesofthelaw,tobemaintainingthe
carefullypreservedtoneoftheneighbourhood?Justabouttheonlythinghecan'tdo,in

fact,istearthehousedownbuteventhatisalargelyhypotheticallegalnicety.In1992,
adevelopmentcompanyinReadingtoredownfivelistedbuildingsinaconservation
area,wastakentocourtandfinedallof675.
Despiteacertainstirringofconsciousnessinrecentyears,householdersthroughout
thecountrycanstilldoprettymuchanything
theywantwiththeirhomes,farmerscanstillthrowupmammothtinshedsandgrub
uphedges,BritishTelecomcanwhipawayredphoneboxesandreplacethemwith
showerstalls,petrolcompaniescanerecthugeflatcanopiesoneveryforecourt,and
retailerscanimposetheirplastickycorporatestylesonthemostarchitecturallysensitive
ofstructures,andthere'snothingyoucandoaboutit.Actually,thereisonelittlething
youcando:withholdyourcustom.IamproudtotellyouthatIhaven'tgoneinaBootsin
yearsandwon'tuntiltheyrestorethefrontagesoftheirprincipaloutletsinCambridge,
Cheltenham,YorkandsuchothersasImightcaretoaddtothelistfromtimetotime,and
IwouldwillinglygetdrenchedtotheboneifIcouldfindasinglepetrolstationwithin
twentymilesofmyhomethatdidn'thaveaflyingcanopy.
Salisbury,Imustpointoutinfairness,isactuallymuchbetteratlookingafteritself
thanmostothertowns.Indeed,itistheveryhandsomenessoftheplacegenerallythat
makestheodddesecrationssodifficulttobear.Moreover,itappears,littlebylittle,tobe
gettingbetter.Thelocalauthoritieshadrecentlyinsistedthatacinemaownerpreservethe
halftimberedfacadeonasixteenthcenturybuildinginthetowncentreandInoticedtwo
placeswheredevelopersappearedtobeactuallytakingapartbuildingsthathadbeen
despoiledduringthedarkagesoftheSixtiesandSeventiesandrestoringthemwith
diligenceandcare.Oneofthedevelopers'boardsboastedthatitdidthissortofthing
moreorlessalways.Mayitprosperforever.
IwouldprobablyforgiveSalisburyanythingaslongastheynevermesswiththe
CathedralClose.ThereisnodoubtinmymindthatSalisburyCathedralisthesinglemost
beautifulstructureinEnglandandtheclosearounditthemostbeautifulspace.Every
stone,everywall,everyshrubisjustright.Itisasifeverypersonwhohastoucheditfor
700yearshasonlyimprovedit.Icouldliveonabenchinthegrounds.Isatononenow
andgazedhappilyforahalfhouratthisexquisitecompositionofcathedral,lawnsand
solemnhouses.I'dhavestayedlongerexceptthatitbegantodrizzle,soIgotuptohavea
lookaround.IwentfirsttotheSalisburyMuseuminthehopethattherewouldbea
kindlypersonbehindthecounterwhowouldletmeleavemyrucksackwhileIlookedat
themuseumandcathedral.(Therewas,blesshim.)TheSalisburyMuseumisoutstanding
andIurgeyoutogothereatonce.Ihadn'tintendedtolinger,butitwaspackedwith
divertingRomanoddmentsandoldpicturesandlittlescalemodelsofOldSarumandthe
like,forwhichIamalwaysasucker.
IwasparticularlyinterestedintheStonehengeGallerybecauseIwasgoingthereon
themorrow,soIreadalltheinstructivelabelsattentively.Iknowthisgoeswithout
saying,butitreallywasthemostincredibleaccomplishment.Ittook500menjusttopull
eachsarsen,plus100moretodasharoundpositioningtherollers.Justthinkaboutitfora
minute.Canyouimaginetryingtotalk600peopleintohelpingyoudragafiftytonstone
eighteenmilesacrossthecountryside,muscleitintoanuprightpositionandthensaying,
'Right,lads!Anothertwentylikethat,plussomelintelsandmaybeacoupleofdozennice

bluestonesfromWales,andwecanparty'!'WhoeverwasthepersonbehindStonehenge
wasonedickensofamotivator,I'lltellyouthat.
Fromthemuseum,Iwanderedacrossthebroadlawntothecathedral.Inthetragic
eventthatyouhaveneverbeenthere,IwarnyounowthatSalisburyhaslongbeenthe
mostmoneykeenofEnglishcathedrals.Iusedtobeprettygenerallyunsympathetic
aboutecclesiasticalstructureshectoringvisitorsforfunds,butthenImetthevicarofthe
UniversityChurchofStMarytheVirgininOxfordthemostvisitedparishchurchin
Englandandlearnedthatits300,000annualvisitorsbetweenthemdepositamiserly
8,000inthecollectionboxes,sincewhichtimeIhavemellowedconsiderably.Imeanto
say,thesearegloriousstructuresanddeserveourgratefulsupport.ButSalisbury,Imust
say,takesthingsagoodstepbeyondwhatIwouldcalldiscreetsolicitation.
First,youhavetopassacinemastyleticketboothwhereyouareencouragedtopaya
'voluntary'admissionchargeof2.50,thenonceinsideyouarerepeatedlyassaultedwith
furthercallsonyourpocket.Youareaskedtopaytoheararecordedmessageormakea
brassrubbing,toshowyoursupportfortheSalisburyCathedralGirlChoristersandthe
FriendsofSalisburyCathedral,andtohelprestoresomethingcalledtheEisenhowerflag,
aseriouslyfadedandtatteredStarsandStripesthatoncehunginElsenhower'scommand
postatWiltonHousenearby.(IleftlOpandanotesaying:'Butwhydidyouletitgetin
suchastateinthefirstplace?')Altogether,Icountednineseparatetypesofcontributions
boxbetweentheadmissionboothandthegiftshoptenifyouincludetheoneforvotive
candles.Ontopofthat,youcouldhardlymovethroughthenavewithoutbumpingintoan
uprightdisplayintroducingthecathedralstaff(thereweresmilingphotographsofeachof
them,asifthiswereaBurgerKing)ordiscussingtheChurch'svoluntary
workoverseasorglasscaseswithcutawaymodelsshowinghowthecathedralwas
constructeddiverting,Igrantyou,butsurelymoreappropriatetothemuseumacrossthe
close.Itwasamess.Howlong,Iwonder,tillyouclimbintoanelectriccartandare
whirredthroughthe'SalisburyCathedralExperience'completewithanimatronic
stonemasonsandmonkslikeFriarTuck?Igiveitfiveyears.
Afterwards,IcollectedmyrucksackfromthekindlymanattheSalisburyMuseum
andtrudgedofftothecentraltouristoffice,whereIpresentedtheyoungmanbehindthe
counterwithacomplicatedprospectiveitinerarythroughWiltshireandDorset,from
StonehengetoAveburyandontoLacock,StourheadGardensandpossiblySherborne,
andaskedhimifhecouldtellmewhichbusesIneededtocatchthatwouldletmesee
themallinthreedays.HelookedatmeasifIwerewildlyeccentricandsaid:'Haveyou
byanychancetravelledbybusinBritainbefore?'IassuredhimthatIhad,in1973.'Well,
Ithinkyou'llfindthatthingshavechangedabit.'
HefetchedmeaslenderleafletgivingthebustimesbetweenSalisburyandpoints
westandhelpedmelocatethemodestsectiondealingwithjourneystoStonehenge.Ihad
hopedtocatchanearlymorningbustoStonehengewithaviewtoproceedingonto
Aveburyfortheafternoon,butthis,Iinstantlyapprehended,wasanimpossibility.The
firstbustoStonehengedidn'tleaveuntilalmosteleveninthemorning.Igaveasnortof
disbelief.
'Ibelieveyou'llfindthelocaltaxiserviceswilltakeyoutoStonehenge,waitforyou
there,andbringyoubackforabouttwentypounds.AlotofourAmericanvisitorsfind

thisverysatisfactory.'
IexplainedtohimthatthoughIwastechnicallyanAmerican,IhadlivedinBritain
longenoughtobecarefulwithmymoney,and,thoughIhadnotyetreachedthepoint
whereIextractedcoinsoneatatimefromalittleplasticsqueezepouch,Iwouldnot
willinglypartwith20foranygoodorservicethatIcouldn'ttakehomewithmeandget
yearsoffaithfuluseoutofafterwards.Iretiredtoanearbycoffeeshopwithasheafof
bustimetablesand,extractingfrommyrucksackaweightyGreatBritainRailway
PassengerTimetablepurchasedspeciallyforthistrip,beganalengthycrossstudyofthe
variousmodesofpublictravelavailablethroughWessex.
Iwasmildlyastoundedtodiscoverthatmanysubstantialcommunitieshadnorail
servicesatallMarlborough,Devizesandf
Amesburytonamebutthree.Noneofthebustimetablesappearedtointerconnectin
anymeaningfulway.BusestoplaceslikeLacockwerewoefullyinfrequentandgenerally
madethereturnjourneymoreorlessimmediately,leavingyouthechoiceofstayingfor
fourteenminutesorsevenhours.Itwasallmostdiscouraging.
Frowningdarkly,Iwentofftotheofficesofthelocalnewspapertofindthedeskof
onePeterBlacklock,anoldfriendfromTheTimesnowworkinginSalisbury,whohad
oncecarelesslymentionedthatheandhiswifeJoanwouldbedelightedtoputmeupifI
waseverpassingthroughSalisbury.Ihaddroppedhimalineafewdaysbeforetelling
himthatIwouldcallathisofficeat4.30onwhateverdayitwas,butthenotemustnever
havereachedhimbecausewhenIarrivedat4.29hewasjusteasinghimselfoutofaback
window.I'mjoking,ofcourse!Hewaswaitingformewithtwinklingeyesandgave
everyimpressionthatheandthesaintlyJoancouldn'twaitformetoeattheirfood,drink
theirliquor,musstheguestbedandhelpthempassthenightwitharobustsevenhour
versionofmyfamousNasalSymphony.Theywerekindnessitself.Inthemorning,I
walkedwithPeterintotownwhilehepointedoutlocallandmarksthespotwhereAs
YouLikeItwasfirstperformed,abridgeusedbyTrollopeintheBarchesterChronicles
andpartedoutsidethenewspaperoffices.Withtwohourstokill,Ipootledabout
aimlessly,peeringinshopsanddrinkingcupsofcoffee,beforefinallycallingatthebus
station,whereacrowdofpeoplewerealreadywaitingforthe10.55toStonehenge.The
busdidn'tarriveuntilafterelevenandthenittooknearlytwentyminutesforthedriverto
dispenseticketssincethereweremanytouristsfromforeignlandsandfewofthem
seemedable,poorsouls,tograsptheideathattheyneededtohandovermoneyand
acquirealittleslipofpaperbeforetheycouldtakeaseat.Ipaid3.95forareturnticket
onthebus,thenafurther2.80foradmissionatStonehengeitself.'CanIinterestyouina
guidebookattwopoundssixtyfive?'theticketladyaskedmeandreceivedinreplya
hollowlaugh.
ThingshadchangedatStonehengesinceIwaslastthereintheearlySeventies.
They'vebuiltasmartnewgiftshopandcoffeebar,thoughthereisstillnointerpretation
centre,whichisentirelyunderstandable.Thisis,afterall,merelythemostimportant
prehistoricmonumentinEuropeandoneofthedozenmostvisitedtouristattractionsin
England,soclearlythereisnopointinspendingfoolishsumsmakingitinterestingand
instructive.Thebig
changeisthatyoucannolongergorightuptothestonesand"scratch'ILOVE

DENISE'orwhateveronthem,asyouformerlywereable.Nowyouareheldbackbya
discreetropeaconsiderabledistancefromthemightyhenge.Thishadactuallyeffecteda
significantimprovement.Itmeansthatthebroodingstonesaren'tlostamongcrowdsof
daytrippers,butleftinanundisturbedandsingularglory.
ImpressiveasStonehengeis,therecomesamomentsomewhereaboutelevenminutes
afteryourarrivalwhenyourealizeyou'veseenprettywellasmuchasyoucareto,and
youspendanotherfortyminuteswalkingaroundtheperimeterropelookingatitoutofa
combinationofpoliteness,embarrassmentatbeingthefirstfromyourbustoleaveanda
keendesiretoextract2.80worthofexposurefromtheexperience.EventuallyI
wanderedbacktothegiftshopandlookedatthebooksandsouvenirs,hadacupofcoffee
inastyrofoamcup,thenwanderedbacktothebusstoptowaitforthe13.10toSalisbury,
anddividedmytimebetweenwonderingwhytheycouldn'tprovidebenchesandwhere
onearthImightgonext.
CHAPTEREIGHT
AMONGTHEMANYTHOUSANDSOFTHINGSTHATIHAVENEVERBEEN
abletounderstand,oneinparticularstandsout.Thatisthequestionofwhowasthefirst
personwhostoodbyapileofsandandsaid,'Youknow,Ibetifwetooksomeofthisand
mixeditwithalittlepotashandheatedit,wecouldmakeamaterialthatwouldbesolid
andyettransparent.Wecouldcallitglass.'Callmeobtuse,butyoucouldstandmeona
beachtilltheendoftimeandneverwoulditoccurtometotrytomakeitintowindows.
MuchasIadmiresand'smiraculousabilitytobetransformedintousefulobjectslike
glassandconcrete,Iamnotagreatfanofitinitsnaturalstate.Tome,itisprimarilya
hostilebarrierthatstandsbetweenacarparkandwater.Itblowsinyourface,getsinyour
sandwiches,swallowsvitalobjectslikecarkeysandcoins.Inhotcountries,itburnsyour
feetandmakesyougo'Ooh!Ah!'andhoptothewaterinafashionthatpeoplewithbetter
bodiesfindamusing.Whenyouarewet,itadherestoyoulikestucco,andcannotbe
shiftedwithafireman'shose.Butandhere'sthestrangethingthemomentyoustepon
abeachtowel,climbintoacarorwalkacrossarecentlyvacuumedcarpetitallfallsoff.
Fordaysafterwards,youtipastounding,mysteriouslyundiminishingpilesofitonto
theflooreverytimeyoutakeoffyourshoes,andspraythevicinitywithquantitiesmore
whenyoupeeloffyoursocks.Sandstayswithyouforlongerthanmanycontagious
diseases.Anddogsuseitasalavatory.No,youmaykeepsandasfarasIamconcerned.
ButIampreparedtomakeanexceptionforStudlandBeach,
whereIfoundmyselfnow,havinghadaniftybrainstormthepreviousdayonthe
Salisburybus.IhaddredgedmymemorybanksandrememberedasmallpromiseI'd
madetomyselfmanyyearsbefore:thatonedayIwouldwalktheDorsetcoastpath,and
nowhereIwasonthissunnyautumnalmorn,freshofftheSandbanksferry,clutchinga
knobbywalkingstickthatIhadtreatedmyselftoinamomentofimpetuosityinPoole,
andmakingmywayaroundtheregalsweepofthismostfetchingofbeaches.
Itwasagloriousdaytobeabroad.Theseawasblueandcoveredwithdancing
spangles,theskywasfullofdriftingcloudswhiteasbedsheets,andthehousesandhotels
ofSandbanksbehindmelookedradiant,almostMediterranean,intheclearair.Iturned

withalightheartandmademywayalongthemoist,packedsandatthewater'sedge
towardsthevillageofStudlandandbeckoninggreenhillsbeyond.
TheStudlandpeninsulaiswellknownastheonlyplacewhereyoucanseeallseven
Britishreptilesthegrasssnake,smoothsnake,adder,slowworm,commonlizard,sand
lizardandMichaelPortillo.Formuchofitslength,thebeachisreservedfornaturists,
whichalwaysaddsameasureofinteresttoanywalkalongit,thoughtoday,infact,there
wasn'tasoultobeseenalongitsthreefetchingmiles;nothingbeforemebutvirginsand
andbehindonlymyownfootprints.
Studlandvillageisaprettylittleplacescatteredamongtrees,withaNormanchurch
andsomefineviewsoverthebay.Ifollowedthepathroundtheedgeofthevillageand
upthehilltowardsHandfastPoint.Halfwayalong,Imetacoupleoutwalkingtwolarge
blackdogsofuncertaingeneticbackground.Thedogswererompingplayfullyinthetall
grass,but,asalwayshappens,atthefirstsightofmetheirmusclestautened,theireyes
turnedaglowingred,theirincisorsgrewasuddeninchandtheyweretransformedinto
beastsofprey.Inatricetheywereatme,barkingsavagelyandsquabblingoversinew
andnippingatmydancingankleswithhorribleyellowyteeth.
'Wouldyoupleasegetyourfuckinganimalsoffme!'Icriedinavoicethatsounded
uncannilylikethatofMinnieMouse.
Theownerlopedupandbeganattachingleads.Hehadonsomestupidlyjauntyflat
caplikeAbbottandCostellowouldwearinagolfingsketch.'It'syourstick,'hesaid
accusingly.'Theydon'tlikesticks.'
'What,theyonlyattackcripples?'f
'Theyjustdon'tlikesticks.'
'Well,thenmaybeyourstupidwifeshouldwalkaheadwithasignsaying:"LookOut!
StickCrazyDogsComing."'Iwas,youmaygather,atrifleupset.
'Lookhere,sunshine,there'snoneedtogetpersonal.'
'Yourdogsattackedmefornoreason.Youshouldn'thavedogsifyoucan'tcontrol
them.Anddon'tyoucallmesunshine,bub."
Westoodgloweringateachother.Foronemoment,itlookedasifwemightactually
grappleandenduprollingaroundinthemudinanunseemlyfashion.Irestrainedawild
impulsetoreachoutandfliphiscapfromhishead.Butthenoneofthedogswentformy
anklesagainandIretreatedafewstepsupthehill.Istoodonthehillside,shakingmy
stickatthemlikesomewildhairedlunatic.'Andyourhat'sstupid,too!'Ishoutedasthey
huffedoffdownthehill.Thatdone,Ismootheddownmyjacket,composedmyfeatures
andproceededonmyway.Well,honestly.
HandfastPointisagrassycliffthatendsinasuddendropofperhaps200feetto
seriouslyfrothyseas.Ittakesaspecialblendofnerveandfoolishnesstocreepuptothe
edgeandhavealook.Justbeyonditstandtwostrandedpinnaclesoflimestoneknownas
OldHarryandOldHarry'sWife,allthatremainsofalandbridgethatonceconnected
DorsettotheIsleofWight,eighteenmilesawayacrossthebayandjustvisiblethrougha
cloakofsaltymists.
Beyondtheheadland,thepathclimbedsteeplytoBallardDown,ataxingslogforan
oldpuffedoutflubbawubbalikeme,butworthitfortheview,whichwassensational
likebeingontopoftheworld.Formilesaround,theDorsethillsrolledandbillowed,like

ashakenoutblanketsettlingontoabed.Countrylaneswanderedamongplump
hedgerowsandthehillsideswereprettilydottedwithwoodlands,farmsteadsandcreamy
flecksofsheep.Inthedistancethesea,brightandvastandsilveryblue,stretchedawayto
amountainoftumblingcumulus.Atmyfeetfarbelow,Swanagehuddledagainstarocky
headlandontheedgeofahorseshoebay,andbehindmelayStudland,themarshyflatsof
PooleHarbourandBrownseaIsland,andbeyondthatahazyinfinityofmeticulously
workedfarmland.Itwasbeautifulbeyondwords,oneofthoseraremomentswhenlife
seemsperfect.AsIstoodthere,spellboundandquitealone,abankofclouddriftedin
frontofthesun,andthroughittherepouredmagnificentspearsofshimmerylight,like
escalatorstoheaven.Oneofthemfellatmyfeetandfor
onemomentIwouldalmostswearIheardcelestialmusic,anarpeggioofharps,anda
voicespeaktome:'I'vejustsentthosedogsintoanestofadders.Haveaniceday.'
Iwentovertoastonebenchthathadbeenthoughtfullyconveyedtothisloftysummit
forthebenefitofwearychapslikemeitreallyisextraordinaryhowoftenyouencounter
somelittlekindlygesturelikethisinBritainandtookoutmyOrdnanceSurvey1:25,000
mapofPurbeck.Asarule,Iamnotterriblycomfortablewithanymapthatdoesn'thavea
YouAreHerearrowonitsomewhere,buttheOrdnanceSurveymapsareinaleagueof
theirown.Comingfromacountrywheremapmakerstendtoexcludeanylandscape
featuresmallerthan,say,Pike'sPeak,Iamconstantlyimpressedbytherichnessofdetail
ontheOS1:25,000series.Theyincludeeverywrinkleanddivotonthelandscape,every
barn,milestone,windpumpandtumulus.Theydistinguishbetweensandpitsandgravel
pitsandbetweenpowerlinesstrungfrompylonsandpowerlinesstrungfrompoles.This
oneevenincludedthestoneseatonwhichIsatnow.Itastoundsmetobeabletolookata
mapandknowtothesquaremetrewheremybuttocksaredeployed.
Inmyidleperusal,Inoticedthatamileorsotothewesttherestoodahistoricobelisk.
Wonderingwhyanyonewoulderectamonumentinsucharemoteandchallengingspot,I
struckoffalongthecrestofthehilltohavealook.ItwasthelongestmileIcanremember
walking.Ipassedthroughgrassyfields,throughflocksofskittishsheep,overstilesand
throughgates,withoutanysignofmygoaldrawingnearer,butIdoggedlypressedon
becausewell,becauseifyouarestupidyoudo.Eventually,Iarrivedatamodest,wholly
unremarkablegraniteobelisk.Theweatheredinscriptionrevealedthatin1887theDorset
WaterBoardhadrunapipepastthispoint.Well,yippee,Ithought.Pursingmylipsand
referringoncemoretomymap,Inoticedthatjustabitfurtheronwassomethingcalled
theGiant'sGrave,andIthought:Well,thatsoundsinteresting.
SoIploddedofftoseeit.That'sthetrouble,yousee.There'salwayssomeintriguing
landmarkjustoverthenextcontourline.Youcouldspendyourlifemovingfromstone
circletoRomansettlement(remainsof)toruinedabbeyandneverseebutafractionof
themeveninasmallarea,particularlyif,likeme,youseldomactuallyfindthem.Inever
foundtheGiant'sGrave.IthinkIwasclose,butIcan'tbesure.Theonenotabledrawback
oftheseOSmapsisthatsometimesperhapstheygiveyoutoomuchdetail.Withsomany
possiblelandscapefeaturestochooseamong,it'seasytoconvinceyourselfthatyouare
prettymuchwhereveryouwanttobe.Youseeagroveoftreesandyoustrokeyourchin
andthink,Well,now,let'ssee,thatmustbeHangingSnotWood,whichmeansthatthat
oddlookinghillockisalmostcertainlyJumpingDwarfLongBarrow,inwhichcasethat

placeonthefarhillmustbeDesperationFarm.Andsoyoustrikeoffconfidentlyuntil
youcomeupagainstsomeobviouslyunexpectedlandscapefeaturelikePortsmouthand
realizethatyouhavegonesomewhatastray.
ThusitwasthatIspentaquiet,sweatilyperplexedafternoontrampingthrougha
large,forgotten,butverygreenandprettycornerofDorset,lookingforaninlandrouteto
Swanage.ThemoreIplungedon,thelessdefineddidthefootpathsbecome.Bymid
afternoon,Ifoundmyselfincreasinglycrawlingunderbarbedwire,fordingstreamswith
mypackonmyhead,wrenchingmylegfrombeartraps,fallingdown,andlongingtobe
elsewhere.Occasionally,Iwouldpausetorestandtrytoidentifysomesmallpointof
congruencebetweenmymapandthesurroundinglandscape.EventuallyIwouldrise,
peelacowpatfrommyseat,pursemylipsandstrikeoffinanentirelynewdirection.By
suchmeansdidIfindmyself,lateintheafternoonandsomewhattomysurprise,arriving
footsore,travelsoiledanddecoratedabouttheextremitieswithinterestingrivuletsof
driedblood,inCorfeCastle.
Tocelebratemygoodfortuneatfindingmyselfanywhereatall,Iwenttothebest
hotelintown,anElizabethanmanoronthemainstreetcalledMortonsHouse.Itlookeda
thoroughlyagreeableplaceandmyspiritsswelled.Moreover,theycouldaccommodate
me.
'Comefar?'askedthegirlatthedeskasIfilledintheregistrationcard.Thefirstrule
ofwalkingis,ofcourse,toliethroughyourteeth.
'Brockenhurst,'Isaid,noddinggravely.'Goodness,that'salongway!'
Isniffedinafranklymanfulway.'Yeah,well,I'vegotagoodmap.'
'Andwhereareyouofftotomorrow?'
'Cardiff.'
'Gosh!Onfoot?'
'Nevergoanyotherway.'Ihoistedmypack,pickedupmyroomkeyandgavehera
manoftheworldwinkthatwould,Ifancy,havemadeherswoonhadIbeenbuttwenty
yearsyounger,
considerablybetterlookingandnothadalargedabofcowshitontheendofmynose.
Ispentafewminutesturningalargewhitetowelblack,thenhurriedouttoseethe
villagebeforeeverythingshut.Corfeisapopularandprettyplace,aclusterofstone
cottagesdominatedbythelofty,jaggedwallsofitsfamousandmuchphotographed
castleeveryone'sfavouriteruinafterPrincessMargaret.Itreatedmyselftoapotoftea
andacakeatthebusyandcheerfullittleNationalTrustTeaRoom,thenhastenednext
doortothecastleentrance.Admissionwas2.90whichIthoughtabitsteepforaheap
ofrubbleandtheplacewasclosingintenminutes,butIboughtaticketanywaybecause
Ididn'tknowwhenImightpassthiswayagain.Thecastlewasprettythoroughly
dismantledbyantiroyalistsduringtheCivilWarandthenthetownspeoplehelped
themselvestomostofwhatwasleft,sothereisn'tagreatdealtolookatbutsomeragged
fragmentsofwall,buttheviewsacrossthesurroundingvalleywereexceedingly
becoming,withthefadingsunlightthrowinglongshadowsonthehillsidesandahintof
eveningmistcreepinginamongthehollows.
Ihadalong,hotbathatthehotelandthen,feelinghappilyknackered,decidedto
contentmyselfwithsuchpleasuresasMortonsHousecouldprovide.Ihadacoupleof

drinksinthebar,thenwassummonedtothediningroom.Therewereeightotherdiners,
allwhitehaired,welldressedandnearlysilent.Whyarethe.Englishsoquietinhotel
diningrooms?Therewasn'tasoundintheroombutforthequietscrapingsofcutleryand
murmuredtwosecondconversationslike:
'Supposedtobefineagaintomorrow.'
'Oh?That'sgood.'
'Mmm.'
Andthensilence.
Or:
'Soup'snice.'
'Yes.'
Andthensilence.
GiventhenatureofthehotelI'dexpectedthemenutofeatureitemslikebrown
WindsorsoupandroastbeefandYorkshirepudding,butofcoursethingshavemovedon
inthehoteltrade.Themenunowwasrichlyendowedwithtenguineawordsthatyou
wouldn'thaveseenonamenutenyearsago'noisettes','tartare','duxelle','coulis',
'timbale'andwritteninacuriousinflatedlanguagewitheccentriccapitalizations.Ihad,
andIquote,'FannedGaliaMelonandCumbrianAirDriedHamservedwithaMixedleaf
Salad'followedby'FilletSteakservedwithacrushedBlackPeppercornSauceflamedin
BrandyandfinishedwithCream',whichtogetherwerenearlyaspleasurabletoreadasto
eat.
Iwasgreatlytakenwiththisnewwayoftalkingandderivedconsiderablepleasure
fromspeakingittothewaiter.Iaskedhimforalustreofwaterfreshlydrawnfromthe
housetapandpresentedaunatureinacylinderofglass,andwhenhecameroundwith
thebreadrollsIentreatedhimtopresentmeatongedrondelofblanchedwheatoven
bakedandmaskedinapoppyseedcoating.Iwasjustgettingwarmeduptothisand
abouttoaskforafannedlapcoverlet,freshlylaunderedandscentedwithadelicatehint
ofOmo,toreplacetheonethathadslippedfrommylapandnowlayrecumbentonthe
horizontalwalkingsurfaceanteriortomyfeetwhenhehandedmeacardthatsaid
'SweetsMenu'andIrealizedthatwewerebackinthenononsenseworldofEnglish.
It'safunnythingaboutEnglishdiners.They'llletyoudazzlethemwithpiddly
duxellesofthisandfussylittlenoisettesofthat,butdon'tfuckwiththeirpuddings,which
ismythinkingexactly.AllthedessertentrieswereforgooeydisheswithgoodEnglish
names.Ihadstickytoffeepuddinganditwassplendid.AsIfinished,thewaiterinvited
metowithdrawtotheloungewhereacaissonoffreshroastedcoffee,complementedby
thechef'sownselectionofmintwafers,awaited.Idressedthetabletopwithasmall
circletofcopperspeciecraftedattheRoyalMintand,suppressingasmalleructionof
gastrointestinalair,effectedmyegress.
BecauseIhadstrayedfromthecoastpath,myfirstorderofbusinessthenextmorning
wastofindmywaybacktoit.IleftCorfeandlumberedgaspinglyupaferociouslysteep
hilltothenearbyvillageofKingston.Itwasanothergloriousdayandtheviewsfrom
KingstonoverCorfeanditscastlesuddenlydistantandminiaturewerememorable.
Ipickedupamercifullylevelfootpathandfolloweditfortwomilesthroughwoods
andfieldsalongthecrestofahangingvalleytorejointhecoastpathatalonelyand

dramaticeminencecalledHounstoutCliff.Theviewonceagainwasstunning:
whalebackhillsandradiantwhitecliffs,dottedwithsmallcovesandhiddenbeaches
washedbyablueandinfinitesea.Icouldseealltheway
toLulworth,mydestinationfortheday,sometenmilesandmanydaunting
whalebackstothewest.
Ifollowedthepathupsteephillsanddown.Itwasonlyteninthemorning,but
alreadyitwasunseasonablywarm.MostoftheDorsetcoasthillsarenomorethanafew
hundredfeethigh,buttheyaresteepandnumerousandIwassoonsweaty,shaggedout
andthirsty.ItookoffmypackanddiscoveredwithagroanthatIhadleftmyfancynew
waterbottle,boughtinPooleanddiligentlyfilledthatmorning,backatthehotel.There's
nothinglikehavingnothingtodrinktobringonatoweringthirst.Iploddedon,hoping
againsthopethattherewouldbeapuborcafeinKimmeridge,butasIapproachedfroma
highpathaboveitslovelybayIcouldseethatitwastoosmalltobelikelytooffer
anything.TakingoutmybinocularsIsurveyedthevillagefromafaranddiscoveredthat
therewasaPortakabinofsometypebythecarpark.Alittletearoomonwheels,perhaps.
Ihastenedalongthepath,pastasadlyneglectedfollycalledtheClavelTower,anddown
asteeppathtothebeach.Suchwasthedistanceinvolvedthatittookthebetterpartofan
hour.Crossingmyfingers,Ipickedmywayoverthebeachandwentuptothe
Portakabin.ItwasaNationalTrustrecruitmentpointanditwasclosed.
Imadeananguishedface.Ihadathroatlikesandpaper.Iwasmilesfromanywhere
andtherewasnoonearound.Atthatmoment,byakindofmiracle,anicecreamvan
cametrundlingdownthehillplayingatwinklytuneandsetupattheedgeofthecarpark.
Iwaitedanimpatienttenminuteswhiletheyoungmaninchargeunhurriedlyopenedup
varioushatchesandsetoutthings.TheinstantthewindowslidopenIaskedhimwhathe
hadtodrink.HerootedaroundandannouncedthathehadsixsmallbottlesofPanda
Cola.Iboughtthemallandretiredtotheshadysideofthevan,whereIfeverishly
removedtheplasticlidfromoneandpoureditslifesavingcontentsdownmygullet.
NowIdon'twantyoutothinkforamomentthatPandaColaisinanywayinferiorto
Coke,Pepsi,DrPepper,SevenUp,Sprite,oranyoftheothermanyflavoureddrinksthat
unaccountablyenjoyalargerpatronage,orthatservingasoftdrinkwarmstrikesmeas
remotelyeccentric,buttherewassomethingcuriouslyunsatisfyingaboutthedrinksIhad
justacquired.Idrankoneafteranotheruntilmystomachwastautandsloshing,butI
couldn'tsaythatIactuallyfeltrefreshed.Sighing,Iputthetworemainingbottlesinmy
rucksack,incaseIhadasyrupcrisislateron,andcontinuedonmyway.Acoupleof
milesbeyondKimmeridge,atthefarsideofamonumentallysteephill,standsthelittle
lostvillageofTyneham,orwhat'sleftofit.In1943,theArmyorderedTyneham's
inhabitantstoleaveforabitastheywantedtopractiselobbingshellsintothesurrounding
hillsides.ThevillagersweresolemnlypromisedthatonceHitlerWaslickedtheycould
allcomeback.Fiftyoneyearslatertheywerestillwaiting.Forgivemydisrespectful
tone,butthisseemstomedisgraceful,notsimplybecauseit'saterribleinconvenienceto
theinhabitants(especiallythosethatmighthaveforgottentocanceltheirmilk),butalso
forpoorsodslikemewhohavetohopethatthefootpaththroughthefiringrangeisopen,
whichitisbutoccasionally.Infact,onthisdayitwasopen1hadprudentlychecked
beforesettingoffsoIwasabletowanderupandoverthesteephilloutofKimmeridge

andhavealookroundtheclutchofrooflesshousesthatisaboutallthatremainsof
Tyneham.WhenIwaslastthereinthelate1970s,Tynehamwasforlorn,overgrownand
practicallyunknown.Nowit'sbecomesomethingofatouristattraction.Thecounty
councilhasputupabigcarparkandtheschoolandchurchhavebeenrestoredassmall
museums,withphotographsshowingwhatitwaslikeinTynehamintheolddays,which
seemskindofashame.Ilikeditmuchbetterwhenitwasaproperghosttown.
IknowtheArmyneedssomeplaceforgunnerypractice,butsurelytheycouldfind
somenewandlessvisuallysensitivelocationtoblowupKeighley,say.Theoddthing
wasthatIcouldn'tseeanysignofdevastationonthehillsides.Bigrednumberedsigns
werescatteredstrategicallyabout,buttheywereuniformlyunblemished,aswasthe
landscapearoundthem.PerhapstheArmyshootsNerfballsorsomething.Whocansay?
CertainlynotIbecausemydiminishingphysicalresourceswereentirelyconsumedbythe
challengeofhaulingmyselfupakillerslopethatledtothesummitofRingsHill,high
aboveWorbarrowBay.TheviewwassensationalIcouldseeallthewaybacktoPoole
Harbourbutwhatcommandedmyattentionwasthecrueldiscoverythatthepath
immediatelyplungedbackdowntosealevelbeforestartingbackupanevenmore
formidableflankinghill.IfortifiedmyselfwithaPandaColaandplungedon.
Theneighbouringeminence,calledBindonHill,wasawhopper.Itnotonlyrose
straightuptothelowerreachesofthetropospherebutthenpresentedaloftyupanddown
ridgethatranonmoreorlessforever.BythetimethestragglyvillageofWestLulworth
hove
intoviewandIbeganalong,stumblingdescent,mylegsseemedabletobendin
severalnewdirectionsandIcouldfeelblistersbubblingupbetweenmytoes.Iarrivedin
Lulworthinthedeliriousstaggerofsomeonewanderinginoffthedesertinanadventure
movie,sweatstreaked,mumblingandfrothinglittlenoseringsofPandaCola.
ButatleastIhadsurmountedthemostchallengingpartofthewalkandnowIwas
backincivilization,inoneofthemostdelightfulsmallseasideresortsinEngland.Things
couldonlygetbetter.
CHAPTERNINE
ONCEMANYYEARSAGO,INANTICIPATIONOFTHECHILDRENWE
WOULDonedayhave,arelativeofmywife'sgaveusaboxofLadybirdBooksfromthe
1950sand'60s.TheyallhadtitleslikeOutintheSunandSunnyDaysattheSeaside,and
containedmeticulouslydrafted,richlycolouredillustrationsofaprosperous,contented,
litterfreeBritaininwhichthesunalwaysshone,shopkeeperssmiled,andchildrenin
freshlypressedclothesderivedhappinessandpleasurefrominnocentpastimesridinga
bustotheshops,floatingamodelboatonaparkpond,chattingtoakindlypoliceman.
MyfavouritewasabookcalledAdventureontheIsland.Therewas,infact,precious
littleadventureinthebookthehighpoint,Irecall,wasfindingastarfishsuckeredtoa
rockbutIloveditbecauseoftheillustrations(bythegiftedandmuchmissedJ.H.
Wingfield),whichportrayedanislandofrockycovesandlongviewsthatwas
recognizablyBritish,butwithaMediterraneanclimateandatidyabsenceofpayand
displaycarparks,bingoparloursandthetackiersortofamusementarcades.Here

commercialactivitywaslimitedtotheoddcakeshopandtearoom.
Iwasstrangelyinfluencedbythisbookandforsomeyearsagreedtotakeourfamily
holidaysattheBritishseasideontheassumptionthatonedaywewouldfindthismagic
placewheresummerdayswereforeversunny,thewateraswarmasasitzbathand
commercialblightunknown.
Whenatlastwebegantoaccumulatechildren,itturnedoutthattheydidn'tlikethese
booksatallbecausethecharactersinthem
neverdidanythingmorelivelythanvisitapetshoporwatchafishermanpainthis
boat.ItriedtoexplainthatthiswassoundpreparationforlifeinBritain,butthey
wouldn'thaveitandinstead,tomydismay,attachedtheiraffectionstoapairofirksome
littleclotscalledTopsyandTim.
Imentionthisherebecauseofallthelittleseasideplaceswewenttoovertheyears,
LulworthseemedtheclosesttothisidealizedimageIhadinmyhead.Itwassmalland
cheerfulandhadaniceoldfashionedfeel.Itslittleshopssoldseasidetypethingsthat
harkedbacktoamoreinnocentagewoodensailboats,toynetsonpoles,colourful
beachballsheldinlongstringbagsanditsfewrestaurantswerealwaysfullofhappy
trippersenjoyingacreamtea.Theintenselypretty,almostcircularcoveatthevillage's
feetwasstrewnwithrocksandbouldersforchildrentoclamberoveranddottedwith
shallowpoolsinwhichtosearchforminiaturecrabs.Itwasaltogetheradelightfulspot.
Soimaginemysurprise,whenIemergedfreshscrubbedfrommyhotelinsearchof
drinkandahearty,wellearneddinner,todiscoverthatLulworthwasn'tanythinglikeI
remembered.Itscentralfeaturewasavastandunsightlycarpark,whichIhadquite
forgotten,andtheshops,pubsandguesthousesalongthestreettothecoveweredusty
andlookedhardup.Iwentinalargepubandalmostimmediatelyregrettedit.Ithadthat
sickly,stalesmellofsloppedbeerandwasfullofflashingfruitmachines.Iwasalmost
theonlycustomerintheplace,butnearlyeverytablewascoveredwithemptypint
glassesandashtraysoverflowingwithfagends,crisppacketsandotherdisorderly
detritus.Myglasswasstickyandthekgerwaswarm,Idrankupandtriedanotherpub
nearby,whichwasmarginallylessgrubbybutscarcelymorecongenial,withbattered
decorandloudmusicoftheKylieMinogueShoutLoudandWiggleYourLittleTits
schoolofmusicalentertainment.It'ssmallwonder(andIspeakasanenthusiast)thatso
manypubsarelosingtheirtrade.
Discouraged,Irepairedtoanearbyrestaurant,aplacewheremywifeandIusedto
havecrabsaladsandfancyourselvesgenteel.Thingshadchangedhere,too.Themenu
hadplungeddownmarkettothescampi,chipsandpeaslevel,andthefoodwasheartily
mediocre.Butthetrulymemorablethingwastheservice.Ihaveneverseensuch
resplendentineptitudeinarestaurant.Theplacewaspacked,anditsoonbecameevident
thatnotonepartywashappy.Almosteverydishthatappearedfromthekitchenhad
somethingonitthathadn'tbeenorderedorlackedsomethingthathad.Somepeoplesat
foodlessforageswhileothersattheirtablewerepresentedalltheircoursesmoreorless
atonce.Iorderedaprawncocktail,waitedthirtyminutesforitandthendiscoveredthat
severaloftheprawnswerestillfrozen.Isentitbackandneversawitagain.Forty
minuteslaterawaitressappearedwithaplateofplaice,chipsandpeasandcouldn'tfinda
takersoIhadit,althoughI'dorderedhaddock.WhenIfinished,Icalculatedmybillfrom

themenu,lefttherightmoney,minusasmallreckoningforthefrozenprawns,and
departed.
ThenIwentbacktomyhotel,aplaceofdeepanddepressingcheerlessness,with
nylonsheetsandcoldradiators,wenttobedandreadbythelightofa7wattbulband
madeasmall,heartfeltvownevertoreturntoLulworthsolongasImightlive.
InthemorningIawoketofindrainfallingoverthehillsingreatblownsheets.I
breakfasted,settledthebillandspentaprotractedperiodstrugglingintowaterproofsin
thefronthallway.It'safunnything.Idressmyselfmostdayswithoutincident,butgive
meapairofwaterprooftrouserstoputonandit'sasifI'veneverstoodunaided.Ispent
twentyminutescrashingintowallsandfurniture,fallingintopotplantsand,inone
particularlynotableoutburst,hoppingononelegforsomefifteenfeetbeforewrapping
myneckaroundanewelpost.
WhenatlastIwasfullykittedout,Icaughtaglimpseofmyselfinafulllengthwall
mirrorandrealizedIlookeduncannilylikealargebluecondom.Thusattiredand
accompaniedwitheachstepbyanirritatingrustleofnylon,Ipickedupmyrucksackand
walkingstickandtooktothehills.IproceededupHamburyTout,pastDurdleDoorand
thesteepsidedvalleyengaginglycalledScratchyBottom,andonupasteep,muddy,
zigzaggingpathtoalonely,fogshroudedeminencecalledSwyreHead.Theweatherwas
appallingandtherainmaddening.
Indulgemeforamoment,ifyouwill.Drumonthetopofyourheadwiththefingers
ofbothhandsandseehowlongittakesbeforeeitheritgetsseriouslyonyournervesor
everyoneinthevicinityisstaringatyou.Ineithercase,youwillfindthatyouarehappy
tostopit.Nowimaginethosedrummingfingersareraindropsendlesslybeatingonyour
hoodandthatthere'snothingyoucandoaboutit,andmoreoverthatyourglassesaretwo
circlesofsteamyuselessness,thatyouareslippingaroundonarainslickenedpatha
singlemisstepfromalongfalltoarockybeach
afallthatwouldreduceyoutolittlemorethanasmearonapieceofrock,likejamon
bread.Iimaginedtheheadline'Americanwriterdiesinfall;wasleavingcountry
anyway'andploddedon,squintingMagoolike,withfeelingsofforeboding.
ItistwelvemilesfromLulworthtoWeymouth.InKingdombytheSea,PaulTheroux
givestheimpressionthatyoucanwalkitinaneasylopeandstillhavetimeforacream
teaandtoslagoffthelocals,butItrusthehadbetterweatherthanI.Ittookmemostof
theday.ThewalkingbeyondSwyreHeadwasmostlyalongmercifullyflat,iflofty,cliffs
highaboveacadaverousgreysea,butthefootingwastreacherousandthegoingslow.At
RingsteadBaythehillsabruptlyendedinafinalsteepdescenttothebeach.Irodean
oozeofflowingmuddownthehilltothebay,pausingonlylongenoughtobellyinto
bouldersandcarryoutafewtreeresiliencytests.AtthebottomIpulledoutmymapand,
makingcalipersofmyfingers,workedoutthatIhadonlycoveredaboutfivemiles.Ithad
takenmostofthemorning.Frowningatmylackofprogress,Ishovedthemapintoa
pocketandmoodilytrudgedon.
Therestofthedaywasadreary,wettrampalonglowhillsaboveapoundingsurf.
TheraineasedoffandturnedintoaninsidiousdrizzlethatspecialEnglishkindof
drizzlethathangsintheairandsapsthespirit.Aboutoneo'clockWeymouthmaterialized
fromthemists,faroffacrossalongcurveofbay,andIgaveasmallcryofjoy.Butits

seemingnearnesswasacrueldeception.Ittookmealmosttwohourstoreachthetown's
outskirts,andanotherhourtowalkalongthefronttothecentre,bywhichtimeIwastired
andlimping.Igotaroominasmallhotelandspentalongtimelyingonthebed,booted
andstillcondomed,beforeIcouldsummonthestrengthtochangeintosomethingless
obviouslymirthmaking,havealightwashandhitthetown.
IlikedWeymouthagooddealmorethanI'dexpectedto.Ithastwoclaimstofame.In
1348itwastheplacewheretheBlackDeathwasintroducedintoEnglandandin1789it
becametheworld'sfirstseasideresortwhenthattediouslunaticGeorgeIIIstarteda
fashionforseabathingthere.TodaythetowntriestomaintainanairofGeorgian
eleganceandgenerallynearlysucceeds,thoughlikemostseasideresortsithadaboutita
whiffofterminaldecline,atleastasfarastourismgoes.TheGloucesterHotel,where
Georgeandhisretinuestayed(itwasaprivatehousethen),hadrecentlyclosedandnow
Weymouthdidn'thaveasingledecentlargehotel,asadomissioninanoldseasidetown.
ButI'mhappytoreportthatitdoeshavemanygoodpubsandoneoutstandingrestaurant,
Perry's,allofthemintheharbourfrontdistrict,atartedupneighbourhoodwithfishing
smacksbobbingonthewaterandajauntynauticalairthatmakesyouhalfexpecttosee
PopeyeandBlutocomelopingroundthecorner.Perry'swascrowdedandcheerfulanda
joytothespiritsafterLulworth.IhadlocalmusselsfromPooleafterthreedaysofhard
walkingitcameasashocktorealizethatPoolewasstilllocalandahighlycreditable
seabass,andafterwardsretiredtothekindofdarkandlowceilingedpubwhereyoufeel
asifyououghttobewearingabulkyAransweaterandacaptain'scap.Ienjoyedmyself
verymuchanddranksomuchmyfeetstoppedaching.
TothewestofWeymouthstandsthefiftymilelongarcofLymeBay.Sincethe
landscapejustwestofWeymouthisnotparticularly,orevenfractionally,memorable,I
tookataxitoAbbotsbury,andbeganmywalkmidwayalongChesilBeach.Idon'tknow
whatChesilBeachisliketowardstheWeymouthend,butalongthisstretchitconsisted
ofgreatdriftsofsmall,kidneyshapedpebblesworntoauniformsmoothnessbyeonsof
waveaction.Theyarenearlyimpossibletowalkonsinceyousinktoyourankletops
witheachstep.Thecoastpathisonfirmergroundimmediatelybehindthebeach,but
leavesyouunabletoseeoverthestonydunes.Instead,youjusthearthesea,crashinginto
theshoreontheothersideandsendingendlesssuccessionsofpebblesclatteringalong
thewater'sedge.ItwasthemostboringwalkI'veeverhad.Myblisterssoonbeganto
throb.Icanstandmostkindsofpain,evenwatchingJeremyBeadle,butIdofindblisters
particularlydisagreeable.BythetimeIreachedWestBay,earlyintheafternoon,Iwas
readyforagoodsitdownandsomethingtoeat.
WestBayisanoddlittleplace,spreadoutinahiggledypiggledyfashionacrossa
duneylandscape.Ithadsomethingoftheairofagoldrushtown,asifithadsprungup
hurriedly,anditlookedpoorandgreyandspraybattered.Ihuntedaroundforsomeplace
toeatandhappenedonanondescriptlookingestablishmentcalledtheRiversideCafe.I
openedthedoorandfoundmyselfinthemostextraordinarysetting.Theplacewas
heaving.TheairwasthickwithshrillLondonstylechatterandallthecustomerslooked
asiftheyhadjuststeppedoutofaRalphLaurenadvertisement.Theyallhadjumpers
slungcasuallyroundtheirshouldersandsunglassesperchedontheirheads.Itwasasifa
littlepieceofFulhamor

ChelseahadbeenmagicallywaftedtothisGodforsakencorneroftheDorsetcoast.
CertainlyIhadneverseenthiskindoftempooutsidearestaurantinLondon.Waiters
andwaitressesdashedeverywheretryingtofulfilwhatappearedtobeaninexhaustible
demandtokeepthecustomersfedand,aboveall,suppliedwithwine.Itwasquite
extraordinary.AsIstoodthere,tryingtomaintainmybearings,KeithFloyd,thefood
johnny,wobbledpast.Iwasimpressed.
Itallratherwenttomyhead.I'mnotusuallymuchofoneforlunch,butthefood
smelledsowonderfulandtheambiencewassoextraordinarythatIfoundmyselfordering
likeatrencherman.Ihadastarterofscallopandlobsterterrine,anexquisitefilletofsea
basswithgreenbeansandamountainofchips,twoglassesofwine,androundeditoff
withcoffeeandagenerousslabofcheesecake.Theproprietor,ajollynicemannamed
ArthurWatson,wanderedamongthetablesandevencalledonme.Hetoldmethatuntil
tenyearsbeforetheplacehadoncebeenjustanormalcafedoingroastlunchesand
burgerandchips,andlittlebylittletheyhadbegunintroducingfreshfishandfancier
foodsandfoundtherewasaclamourforit.Nowitwaspackedouteverymealtimeand
hadjustbeennamedtheGoodFoodGuide'srestaurantoftheyearforDorset,butthey
stilldidburgersandtheystilldidchipswitheverything,andIthoughtthatwasjust
wonderful.
ItwasgonethreewhenIemergedfromtheRiversidewithalightheadandheavy
everythingelse.Takingaseatonabench,Ipulledoutmymapandrealizedwithasnort
ofdismaythatIwasstilltenmilesfromLymeRegis,withthe626feetofGoldenCap,
thehighesthillonthesouthcoast,standingbetweenmeandit.Myblistersthrobbed,my
legsached,mystomachwasgrotesquelydistendedandalightrainwasbeginningtofall.
AsIsatthere,abuspulledup.Igotupandputmyheadintheopendoor.'Going
west?'Isaidtothedriver.Henodded.Impulsively,Ilumberedaboard,boughtaticket
andtookaseattowardstheback.Thetrickofsuccessfulwalking,Ialwayssay,is
knowingwhentostop.
CHAPTERTEN
ISPENTTHENIGHTINLYMEREGISANDPASSEDTHEFOLLOWING
morningpokingaboutinthetownbeforecatchingabustoAxminsterandatrainonto
Exeter,aprocessthatconsumedconsiderablymoretimethanIhadexpected.Daylight
wasfadingbythetimeIsteppedfromExeterStDavid'sintoalightbutannoyingrain.
Iwanderedthroughthecityexamininghotelsfromthestreet,buttheyallseemedabit
grandforme,andeventuallyendedupatthecentraltouristoffice,feelingmildlylostand
farfromhome.Iwasn'tquitesurewhatIwasdoinghere.Ilookedthroughracksof
leafletsforshirehorsecentres,pettingzoos,falconrycentres,miniatureponycentres,
modelrailways,butterflyfarms,andsomethingcalledIjestnotTwiggyWinkie'sFarm
andHedgehogHospital,noneofwhichseemedtoaddressmyleisurerequirements.
Nearlyalltheleafletsweredepressinglyilliterate,particularlywithregardtopunctuation
1sometimesthinkthatifIseeonemoretouristleafletthatsays'EnglandsBest'or
'BritainsLargest'Iwillgoandtorchtheplaceandtheyallseemedsopathetically
modestinwhattheyhadtooffer.Nearlyallofthempaddedouttheirlistsoffeatured

attractionswiththingslike'FreeCarPark','GiftShopandTeaRoom'andtheinevitable
'AdventurePlayground'(andthenwerewitlessenoughtoshowyouinthephotograph
thatitwasjustaclimbingframeandacoupleofplasticanimalsonsprings).Whogoesto
theseplaces?Icouldn'tsay,I'msure.
Therewasanoticeonthecountersayingthattheofficebookedrooms,soIaskedthe
helpfulladyifshewouldsecuremelodgings.
SheinterviewedmecandidlywithregardtohowmuchIwaspreparedtopay,whichI
alwaysfindembarrassingandfranklyunEnglish,andbyaprocessofattritionwe
establishedthatIfellintoacategorythatcouldbecalledcheapbutdemanding.It
happenedthattheRoyalClarencewasdoingaspecialdealwithroomsat25anightif
youpromisednottostealthetowels,andIleaptatthatbecauseI'dpasseditonthewayin
anditlookedawfullynice,abigwhiteGeorgianplaceonthecathedralsquare.Andsoit
provedtobe.TheroomwasnewlydecoratedandbigenoughforhotelroomOlympics
wastebinbasketball,furnituresteeplechase,jumpingontothebedbymeansofaswing
onthebathroomdoorandawelltimedleap,andotherperennialfavouritesofthelone
traveller.Ihadashortbutvigorousworkout,showered,changedandhitthestreets
famished.
Exeterisnotaneasyplacetolove.Itwasextensivelybombedduringthewar,which
gavethecityfathersawonderfulopportunity,enthusiasticallyseized,torebuildmostofit
inconcrete.Itwasonlyalittleaftersixintheevening,butthecitycentrewaspractically
dead.Iwanderedaroundbeneathgloomystreetlights,lookinginshopwindowsand
readingthosestrangepostersbills,astheyareknowninthetradethatyoualwaysfind
forprovincialnewspapers.Ihaveanoddfascinationwiththesebecausetheyarealways
eitherwhollyunfathomabletononlocals('LetterBoxRapistStrikesAgain','BeulahFlies
Home')orsoboringthatyoucan'timaginehowanyonecouldpossiblyhavethoughtthey
wouldboostsales('CouncilStormOverBinsContract','PhoneBoxVandalsStrike
Again').Myfavouritethisisarealone,whichIsawmanyyearsagoinHemel
Hempsteadwas'Woman,81,Dies'.
PerhapsItookallthewrongstreets,butthereseemedtobenorestaurantsanywherein
centralExeter.Iwasonlylookingforsomethingmodestthatdidn'thave'Fayre','Vegan'
or'CopperKettle'inthetitle,butallthathappenedwasIkeptwanderingdown
restaurantlessstreetsandcomingupagainstmonstrousreliefroadswithmassive
roundaboutsandcomplicatedpedestriancrossingsthatclearlyweren'tdesignedtobe
negotiatedonfootbyanyonewithlessthansixhourstospare.Finally,Ihappenedona
hillystreetwithafewmodesteateriesandplungedrandomlyintoaChineserestaurant.I
can'tsaywhyexactly,butChineserestaurantsmakemeoddlyuneasy,particularlywhenI
amdiningalone.Ialwaysfeelthatthewaitressissaying:'Onebeefsatayandfriedrice
fortheimperialistdogattablefive.'AndIfindchopsticksfranklydistressing.AmIalone
inthinkingitoddthatapeopleingeniousenoughtoinventpaper,gunpowder,kitesand
anynumberofotherusefulobjects,andwhohaveanoblehistoryextendingback3,000
years,haven'tyetworkedoutthatapairofknittingneedlesisnowaytocapturefood?I
spentaperplexedhourstabbingatrice,dribblingsauceacrossthetableclothandlifting
finelypoisedpiecesofmeattomymouthonlytodiscoverthattheyhadmysteriously
vanishedandweren'ttobefoundanywhere.BythetimeIfinished,thetablelookedasif

ithadbeenatthecentreofaviolentargument.Ipaidmybillinshameandslunkoutthe
doorandbacktothehotelwhereIwatchedalittleTVandsnackedonthecopious
leftoversthatIfoundinsweaterfoldsandtrouserturnups.
Inthemorning,Iroseearlyandwentoutforalookroundthetown.Exeterwaslocked
inafoggygloomthatdidn'tdoanythingforitsappearance,thoughthecathedralsquare
wasveryhandsomeandthecathedral,Iwasimpressedtofind,wasopenevenateightin
themorning.Isatforsometimeatthebackandlistenedtothemorningchoirpractice,
whichwasquitewonderful.ThenIwandereddowntotheoldquayareatoseewhatI
mightfindthere.Ithadbeenartilyrenovatedwithshopsandmuseums,butallofthem
wereclosedatthistimeofdayorperhapsthistimeofyearandtherewasn'tasoul
about.
BythetimeIreturnedtotheHighStreet,theshopswereopening.Ihadn'thad
breakfastbecauseitwasn'tincludedinmyspecialroomrate,soIwasfeeling
immoderatelypeckishandbeganahuntforcafes,butagainExeterseemedstrangely
lacking.Intheend,IwentintoMarks&Spencertobuyasandwich.
Althoughthestorehadonlyjustopened,thefoodhallwasbusyandtherewerelong
queuesatthetills.Itookaplaceinalinebehindeightothershoppers.Theywereall
womenandtheyalldidthesamemystifyingthing:theyactedsurprisedwhenitcame
timetopay.Thisissomethingthathasbeenpuzzlingmeforyears.Womenwillstand
therewatchingtheiritemsbeingrungup,andthenwhenthetillladysays,That'sfour
twenty,love,'orwhatever,theysuddenlylookasifthey'veneverdonethissortofthing
before.Theygo'Oh!'andstartrootinginaflusteredfashionintheirhandbagfortheir
purseorchequebook,asifnoonehadtoldthemthatthismighthappen.
Men,foralltheirmanyshortcomings,likewashinglargepiecesofoilymachineryin
thekitchensinkorforgettingthatapainted
doorstayswetformorethanthirtyseconds,aregenerallyprettygoodwhenitcomes
topaying.Theyspendtheirtimeinlinedoingawalletinventoryandsortingthroughtheir
coins.Whenthetillpersonannouncesthebill,theyimmediatelyhandoveran
approximatelycorrectamountofmoney,keeptheirhandextendedforthechange
howeverlongittakesorfoolishtheymaybegintolookifthereis,say,aproblemwith
thetillroll,andthenmarkthispockettheirchangeastheywalkawayinsteadof
decidingthatnowisthetimetosearchforthecarkeysandreorganizesixmonths'worth
ofreceipts.
Andwhilewe'reonthisratherdaringsexistinterlude,whyisitthatwomennever
pushtoothpastetubesupfromthebottomandalwaystrytogetsomebodyelsetochange
alightbulb?Howaretheyabletosmellandhearthingsthataresoclearlybeyondthe
rangeofhumanacuity,andhowdotheyknowfromanotherroomthatyouareaboutto
dipafingerintotheicingofafreshlymadecake?Why,aboveall,dotheyfinditso
unsettlingifyouspendmorethanfourminutesadayonthetoilet?Thislastisanother
longstandingmysterytome.AwomanofmycloseacquaintanceandIregularlyhave
surrealconversationsthatrunsomethinglikethis:
'Whatareyoudoinginthere?'(Thissaidinanedgytone.)'I'mdescalingthekettle.
WhatdoyouthinkI'mdoinginhere?''You'vebeenintherehalfanhour.Areyou
reading?''No.'

'You'rereading,aren'tyou?Icanhearthepages.''Honestly,I'mnot.'Thatistosay,I
wasreadinguntilaminuteagobutnow,ofcourse,I'mtalkingtoyou,dear.
'Haveyoucoveredupthekeyhole?Ican'tseeanything.''Pleasetellmethatyou'renot
downonyourhandsandkneestryingtolookthroughthekeyholeatyourhusbandhaving
abowelmovementinhisownbathroom.Please.'
'Youcomeoutoftherenow.You'vebeenintherefornearlythreequartersofanhour
justreading.'
Assheretreats,yousittherethinking,DidallthatreallyjusthappenorhaveI
wanderedintoaDadaexhibition?Andthen,shakingyourhead,youreturntoyour
magazine.
Still,itmustbesaidthatwomenaregreatwithchildren,vomitandpainteddoors
threemonthsafterapainteddoorhasdriedtheywillstillbetouchingitasifsuspectingit
mightturnonthemwhichmakesupforalot,soIsmiledbenignlyattheparade
offlusteredladiesaheadofmeuntilitwasmyturntodemonstratetotheonesfollowing
howtodothissortofthingproperly,butfranklyIdon'tthinktheytookitin.
Iatemysandwichonthestreet,thenreturnedtothehotel,gatheredupmythings,
settledthebill,steppedbackoutdoorsandthought:Nowwhat?Iwanderedbacktothe
railstationandhadalookattheflickeringtelevisionscreens.Ithoughtaboutcatchinga
traintoPlymouthorPenzancebutthenextonewasn'tforacoupleofhours.Therewas,
however,atraintoBarnstapleleavingshortly.ItoccurredtomethatIcouldgothereand
thenmakemywaybybusalongthenorthDevoncoasttoTauntonorMinehead.Icould
stopenrouteatLyntonandLynmouth,andpossiblyPorlockandDunster.Itseemeda
capitalidea.
IaskedthemanintheticketwindowforasingletoBarnstaple.Hetoldmeasingle
was8.80,buthecoulddomeareturnfor4.40.
'Youwouldn'tcaretoexplainthelogicofthattome,wouldyou?'Iasked.
'IwouldifIcould,sir,'herespondedwithcommendablefrankness.
Itookmypackandtickettotherequisiteplatform,whereIsatonabenchandpassed
thetimewatchingthestationpigeons.Theyreallyarethemostamazinglypanickyand
dopeycreatures.Icouldn'timagineanemptier,lesssatisfyinglife.Hereareinstructions
forbeingapigeon:1.Walkaroundaimlesslyforawhile,peckingatcigarettebuttsand
otherinappropriateitems.2.Takefrightatsomeonewalkingalongtheplatformandfly
offtoagirder.3.Haveashit.4.Repeat.
Theplatformtelevisionsweren'tworkingandIcouldn'tunderstandthe
announcementsittookmeagestoworkoutthat'Eczema'wasactuallyExmouthso
everytimeatraincamein,Ihadtogetupandmakeenquiries.Forreasonsthatelude
rationalexplanation,BritishRailalwaysputsthedestinationsonthefrontofthetrain,
whichwouldbeawfullyhandyifpassengerswerewaitingonthetracks,butnotperhaps
idealforthoseboardingitfromtheside.Mostoftheotherpassengersevidentlycouldn't
heartheannouncementsbecausewhentheBarnstapletraineventuallycamein,halfa
dozenofusformedapatientqueuebesideaBRemployeeandaskedhimifthiswasthe
Barnstapletrain.
Forthebenefitofforeignreaders,Ishouldexplainthatthereisacertainritual
involvedinthis.Eventhoughyouhaveheardthe

conductortellthepersonaheadofyouthatthisistheBarnstapletrain,youstillhaveto
say,'Excuseme,isthistheBarnstapletrain?'Whenheacknowledgesthatthelargelinear
objectthreefeettoyourrightisindeedtheBarnstapletrain,youhavetopointtoitand
say,'Thisone?'Thenwhenyouboardthetrainyoumustadditionallyaskthecarriage
generally,'Excuseme,isthistheBarnstapletrain?'towhichmostpeoplewillsaythat
theythinkitis,exceptforonemanwithalotofparcelswhowillgetapanickedlookand
hurriedlygatheruphisthingsandgetoff.
Youshouldalwaystakehisseatsinceyouwillgenerallyfindthathehasleftbehinda
foldednewspaperandanuneatenbarofchocolate,andpossiblyanicepairofsheepskin
gloves.
ThusitwasthatIfoundmyselfslidingoutofExeterStDavid'sStationwhileaman
ladenwithparcelstrottedalongbesidemywindowmouthingsentimentsIcouldn't
decipherthroughthethickglass,andtakingstockofmynewpossessionsaDailyMirror
andaKitKat,butunfortunatelynogloves.WerattledoutthroughtheExetersuburbsand
intothelushDevoncountryside.IwasonwhatwascalledtheTarkaLinesomethingto
dowiththatstoryaboutanotter,whichevidentlywaswrittensomewhereinthevicinity.
Thecountrysideroundaboutwasgorgeousandextravagantlygreen.Youcouldbe
excusedforthinkingthattheprincipalindustryofBritainisthemanufactureof
chlorophyll.Wechunteredalongbetweenwoodedhills,scatteredfarms,churcheswith
squaretowersthatmadethemlooklikeleftoverpiecesfromaverylargechessset.Isoon
settledintothathappydeliriumthatthemotionofatrainalwaysinducesinme,andonly
halfnotedthenamesofthelittlevillageswepassedthroughPinhead,WestStuttering,
Bakelite,HamHocks,Sheepshanks.
IttookoveranhourandahalftocoverthethirtyeightmilestoBarnstaple,whereI
alightedandheadedintotownacrossalongbridgeovertheswiftflowingRiverTaw.I
wanderedaroundforahalfanhourthroughnarrowshoppingstreetsandalarge,cheerless
coveredmarketthinlyarrayedwithpeoplesellinghandicraftitems,andfeltcontentthat
therewasnoneedtolingerhere.Barnstapleusedtobeamajorrailinterchange,with
threestations,butnowthereisjusttheonewithitsinfrequentpootlingservicestoExeter,
andabusstationoverlookingtheriver.Iwentintothebusstationandfoundtwowomen
sittinginanofficebeyondanopendoor,talkingtogetherinthatquaint'Oibedrinkin
zoider'accentofthispartoftheworld.IaskedthemaboutbusestoMinehead,aboutthirty
milestotheeastalongthecoast.TheylookedatmeasifI'daskedforconnectionsto
TierradelFuego.
'Oh,youwon'tbegittintoMoinheadthistoimofyear,youwon'tbe,'saidone.
'NobusestoMoinheadarterfirrrrstofOctobaaarrrr,'chimedinthesecondone.
'WhataboutLyntonandLynmouth?'
Theysnortedatmynaivety.ThiswasEngland.Thiswas1994.
'Porlock?'
Snort.
'Dunster?'
Snort.
ThebesttheycouldsuggestwasthatItakeabustoBidefordandseeifIcouldcatch
anotherbusonfromthere.TheymayberunnintheScarrrrrrletLoinoutofBideforrrrrd,

theymaybe,oitheymay,theymaybutcan'tbesartin.'
'Willtherebemorepeoplelikeyouthere?'Iwantedtosaybutdidn't.Theonlyother
optiontheycouldsuggestwasabustoWestwardHo!buttheredidn'tseemmuchpoint
sinceIcouldn'tgoanywhereelsefromthereandanywayIcouldn'tfacespendingthe
nightinanejaculation,asitwere.Ithankedthemanddeparted,
Istoodoutsideinafrothofuncertaintyandtriedtothinkwhattodonext.Allmy
carefullylaidplanswerecomingunravelled.IretiredtothecuriouslynamedRoyaland
FortescueHotel,whereIorderedatunasandwichandacupofcoffeefromamuteand
charmlesswaitress,androotedinmypackformytimetable,whereIdiscoveredthatIhad
twentythreeminutestoeatmysandwich,drinkmycoffee,andwaddlethemilebackto
therailwaystationtocatchatraintoExeter,whereIcouldstartagain.
Iswallowedmysandwichnearlywholewhenitcame,gulpedtwosipsofcoffee,
threwsomemoneyonthetableandfledforthestation,terrifiedthatIwouldmissthe
trainandhavetospendthenightinBarnstaple.Ijustmadeit.WhenIgottoExeter,I
marchedstraightuptotheTVscreens,determinedtotakethefirsttraintoanywhere.
ThusitwasthatIfoundmyselfinthehandsoffateandboundforWestonsuper
Mare.
CHAPTERELEVEN
THEWAYISEEIT,THEREARETHREEREASONSNEVERTOBEUNHAPPY.
First,youwereborn.Thisinitselfisaremarkableachievement.Didyouknowthateach
timeyourfatherejaculated(andfranklyhediditquitealot)heproducedroughly25
millionspermatozoaenoughtorepopulateBritaineverytwodaysorso?Foryoutohave
beenborn,notonlydidyouhavetobeamongthefewbatchesofspermthathadevena
theoreticalchanceofprosperinginitselfquitealongshotbutyouthenhadtowina
raceagainst24,999,999orsootherwrigglingcontenders,allrushingtoswimtheEnglish
Channelofyourmother'svaginainordertobethefirstashoreatthefertileeggof
Boulogne,asitwere.Beingbornwaseasilythemostremarkableachievementofyour
wholelife.Andthink:youcouldjustaseasilyhavebeenaflatworm.
Second,youarealive.Forthetiniestmomentinthespanofeternityyouhavethe
miraculousprivilegetoexist.Forendlesseonsyouwerenot.Soonyouwillceasetobe
oncemore.Thatyouareabletosithererightnowinthisonenevertoberepeated
moment,readingthisbook,eatingbonbons,dreamingabouthotsexwiththat
scrumptiouspersonfromaccounts,speculativelysniffingyourarmpits,doingwhatever
youaredoingjustexistingisreallywondrousbeyondbelief.
Third,youhaveplentytoeat,youliveinatimeofpeaceand'TieaYellowRibbon
RoundtheOldOakTree'willneverbenumber
oneagain.
Ifyoubearthesethingsinmind,youwillneverbetrulyunhappythoughinfairnessI
mustpointoutthatifyoufindyourselfaloneinWestonsuperMareonarainyTuesday
eveningyoumaycomeclose.
ItwasonlyalittleaftersixwhenIsteppedfromtheExetertrainandventuredintothe
town,butalreadythewholeofWestonappearedtobeindoorsbeyonddrawncurtains.

Thestreetswereempty,darkandfullofslantingrain.Iwalkedfromthestationthrougha
concreteshoppingprecinctandoutontothefrontwhereablackunseenseamaderestless
whooshingnoises.Mostofthehotelsalongthefrontweredarkandempty,andthefew
thatwereopendidn'tlookparticularlyenticing.Iwalkedamileorsotoaclusterofthree
brightlylitestablishmentsatthefarendofthepromenadeandrandomlyselectedaplace
calledtheBirchfield.Itwasfairlybasic,butcleanandreasonablypriced.Youcoulddo
worse,andIhave.
Igavemyselfacursorygroomingandwanderedbackintotowninsearchofdinner
anddiversion.IhadanoddsensethatIhadbeenherebefore,whichpatentlyIhadnot.
MyonlyacquaintancewithWestonwasthatJohnCleesehadoncetoldme(I'mnotreally
droppingnames;Iwasinterviewinghimforanewspaperarticle;heisajollynicefellow,
bytheway)thatheandhisparentslivedinaflatinWeston,andthatwhentheymoved
outJeffreyArcherandhisparentsmovedin,whichIthoughtwaskindofremarkable
theideaofthesetwoboysinshorttrouserssayinghelloandthenoneofthemgoingonto
greatness.WhatmadeWestonfeelfamiliarwas,ofcourse,thatitwasjustlike
everywhereelse.IthadBootsandMarks&SpencerandDixonsandW.H.Smithandall
therestofit.Irealizedwithakindofdullachethattherewasn'tasinglethingherethatI
hadn'tseenamilliontimesalready.
IwentintoapubcalledtheBritanniaInn,whichwasunfriendlywithoutbeing
actuallyhostile,andhadacoupleoflonelypints,thenateataChineserestaurant,not
becauseIcravedChinesebutbecauseitwastheonlyplaceIcouldfindopen.Iwasthe
onlycustomer.AsIquietlyscatteredriceandsweetandsoursauceacrossthetablecloth,
thereweresomerumblesofthunderand,amomentlater,theheavensopenedandI
meanopened.IhaveseldomseenitrainsohardinEngland.Therainspatteredthestreet
likeashowerofballbearingsandwithinminutestherestaurantwindowwaswholly
obscuredwithwater,asifsomeonewererunningahoseoverit.BecauseIwasalong
walkfrommyhotel,Ispunoutthemeal,hopingtheweatherwouldeaseoff,butitdidn't,
andeventuallyIhadnochoicebuttostepoutintotherainynight.
Istoodbeneathashopawningnextdoorandwonderedwhattodo.Rainbattered
madlyontheawningandrushedintorrentsthroughthegutters.Allalongtheroadit
pouredoverthesidesofoverstretchedguttersandfelltothepavementinanendless
clatter.WithmyeyescloseditsoundedlikeIwasinthemidstofsomevast,insanetap
dancingcompetition.Pullingmyjacketabovemyhead,Iwadedoutintothedeluge,then
sprintedacrossthestreetandimpulsivelytookrefugeinthefirstbright,openthingI
cametoanamusementarcade.Wipingmyglasseswithabandanna,Itookmybearings.
Thearcadewasalargeroomfullofbrightlypulsatingmachines,someofthemplaying
electronictunesormakingunbiddenkerboomnoises,butapartfromanoverseersittingat
acounterwithadroopingfagandamagazine,therewasnooneintheplacesoitlooked
eerilyasifthemachineswereplayingthemselves.
Withtheexceptionofpennyfallsandthosecranethingsthatgiveyouthree
microsecondstotrytosnatchastuffedanimalandinwhichthecontrolsdon'tactually
correspondtothemovementsofthegrabberbucket,Idon'tunderstandarcadegamesat
all.GenerallyIcan'tevenfigureoutwheretoinsertthemoneyor,onceinserted,howto
makethegamestart.IfbysomemiracleImanagetosurmountthesetwoobstacles,I

invariablyfailtorecognizethatthegamehascometolifeandthatIamwastingprecious
secondsfeelinginremotecoinreturnslotsandsearchingforabuttonthatsays'Start'.
ThenIhavethirtyconfusedsecondsofbeingimmersedinsomefranticmayhemwithout
havingthefaintestideawhat'sgoingon,whilemychildrenshout,'You'vejustblownup
PrincessLeila,youstupidshit!'andthenitsays'GameOver'.
Thisismoreorlesswhathappenedtomenow.FornoreasonthatIcanpossibly
attacharationalexplanationto,Iput50pinagamecalledKillerKickboxerorKickHis
FuckingBrainsOutorsomethinglikethat,andspentaboutaminutepunchingared
buttonandwagglingajoystickwhilemycharacteramuscularblondfellowkickedat
drapesandthrewmagicdiscsintothinairwhileaseriesofequallymuscularbut
unscrupulousOrientalsassaultedhimwithkidneychopsandflunghimtothecarpet.
IhadastrangehourinwhichIwanderedinakindoftrancefeedingmoneyinto
machinesandplayinggamesIcouldn'tfollow.Idroveracingcarsintobalesofhayand
obliteratedfriendlytroopswithlasersandunwittinglyhelpedzombiemutantsdo
unspeakablethingstoachild.EventuallyIranoutofmoneyandsteppedoutintothe
night.Ihadjustamomenttonotethattherainhadeasedalittleandthatthestreetwas
flooded,evidentlyfromacloggeddrain,whenaredFiestaspedthroughthepuddleat
greatspeedandunusuallyclosetothekerb,transferringnearlyallthewaterfromthe
puddleandontome.
TosaythatIwasdrenchedbarelyhintsatmycondition.IwasassoakedasifIhad
fallenintothesea.AsIstoodtheresplutteringandgasping,thecarslowed,threeclose
croppedheadspoppedoutthewindows,shoutedsomehappygreetingalongthelinesof
'Nyaanyaa,nyaanyaa!'andspedoff.Glumly,Iwalkedbackalongtheprom,squelching
witheachstepandshiveringwithcold.Idon'twishtoreducethischeerychronicleto
pathos,butIhadonlyrecentlyrecoveredfromafairlyseriousboutofpneumonia.Iwon't
saythatInearlydied,butIwasillenoughtowatchThisMorningwithRichardandJudy,
andIcertainlydidn'twanttobeinthatconditionagain.Toaddtomyindignity,theFiesta
camepastonavictorylapanditspleasurestarvedoccupantsslowedtooffermeanother
triumphal'Nyaanyaa'beforespeedingoffintothenightwithascreechandabrief,
uncontrolledfishtailslidethatunfortunatelyfailedtoburytheminalamppost.
BythetimeIreachedmydistanthotel,Iwasfeelingthoroughlychilledandwretched.
Soimaginemyconsternation,ifyouwill,whenIdiscoveredthatthereceptionareawas
insemidarknessandthedoorwaslocked.Ilookedatmywatch.Itwasonlynineo'clock,
forChristsake.Whatkindoftownwasthis?Thereweretwodoorbells,andItriedthem
bothbutwithoutresponse.Itriedmyroomkeyinthedoorandofcourseitdidn'twork.I
triedthebellsagain,leaningonthembothformanyminutesandgrowingincreasingly
angry.Whenthiselicitednosatisfaction,Ibangedontheglassdoorwiththeflatofmy
hand,thenwithafistandfinallywithastoutbootandatouchoffrenzy.IbelieveImay
alsohavefilledthequietstreetswithshouting.
Eventuallytheproprietorappearedatthetopofsomebasementstairs,looking
surprised.'I'msosorry,sir,'hesaidmildlyasheunlockedthedoorandletmein.'Have
ypubeenouttherelong?'Well,IblushtothinkathowIrantedatthepoorman.Iused
immoderatelanguage.IsoundedlikeGrahamTaylorbeforetheyledhimoffandtook
awayhiswarmupsuit.Iaccusedhimandhisfellowtownspeopleofappallingshortages

ofintelligenceandcharm.ItoldhimthatIhadjustpassedthedreariesteveningofmy
lifeinthisGodforsakenhellholeofaresort,thatIhadbeen
soakedtotheskinbyaearfulofyoungmenwhobetweenthemweretenIQpoints
shortofamoron,thatIhadwalkedamileinwetclothes,andhadnowspentnearlyhalf
anhourshiveringinthecoldbecauseIhadbeenlockedoutofmyownhotelatnine
o'clockinthefuckingevening.
'MayIremindyou,'Iwentoninashrillvoice,'thattwohoursagoyousaidgoodbye
tome,watchedmegooutthedooranddisappeardownthestreet.DidyouthinkIwasn't
comingback?ThatIwouldsleepinaparkandreturnformythingsinthemorning?Oris
itmerelythatyouareatotalimbecile?PleasetellmebecauseIwouldverymuchliketo
know.'
Theproprietorflinchinglysoakedupmyabuseandrespondedwithflutteringhands
andafloodofapologies.Heofferedmeatrayofteaandsandwiches,todryandpressmy
wetclothes,toescortmetomyroomandturnonmyradiatorpersonally.Hedid
everythingbutfalltomyfeetandbegmetorunhimthroughwithasabre.Hepositively
imploredmetolethimbringmesomethingwarmingonatray.
'Idon'twantanythingbuttogotomyroomandcounttheminutesuntilIgetoutof
thisfuckingdump!'Ishouted,perhapsatrifletheatricallybuttogoodeffect,andstalked
upthestairstothefirstfloorwhereIploddedaboutheatedlyinthecorridorforsome
minutesandrealizedthatIdidn'thavethefaintestideawhichwasmyroom.Therewas
nonumberonthekey.
Ireturnedtothereceptionarea,nowoncemoreinsemidarkness,andputmyheadby
thebasementdoor.'Excuseme,'Isaidinasmallvoice,'couldyoupleasetellmewhat
roomI'min?'
'Numbertwentyseven,sir,'cameavoicefromthedarkness.
Istoodforsometimewithoutmoving.'Thankyou,'Isaid.
'It'squiteallright,sir,'camethevoice.'Haveagoodnight.'
Ifrownedandclearedmythroat.Thankyou,'Isaidagainandretiredtomyroom,
wherethenightpassedwithoutfurtherincident.
Inthemorning,Ipresentedmyselfinthesunnydiningroomand,asIhadfeared,the
proprietorwaswaitingtoreceiveme.NowthatIwasdryandwarmandwellrestedIfelt
terribleaboutmyoutburstofthenightbefore.
'Goodmorning,sir!'hesaidbrightlyasifnothinghadhappened,andshowedmetoa
windowtablewithaniceviewofthesea.'Sleepallright,didyou?'
Iwastakenabackbyhisfriendliness.'Uh,yes.Yes,Ididasamatteroffact.''Good!
Splendid!Juiceandcerealonthetrolley.Pleasehelpyourself.CanIgetyouthefull
Englishbreakfast,sir?'
Ifoundthisunmeritedbonhomieunbearable.Ituckedmychinintomychestandina
furtivegrumblesaid:'Lookhere,I'mverysorryforwhatIsaidlastnight.Iwasinabitof
atemper.'
'It'squiteallright,sir.'
'Noreally,I'm,um,verysorry.Bitashamed,infact.'
'Consideritforgotten,sir.SofullEnglishbreakfast,isit?'
'Yes,please.'

'Verygood,sir!'
I'veneverhadsuchgoodorfriendlyserviceanywhere,orfeltmorelikeaworm.He
broughtmyfoodpromptly,chatteringawayabouttheweatherandwhatagloriousdayit
promisedtobe.Icouldn'tunderstandwhyhewassoforgiving.Onlygraduallydidit
occurtomewhatastrangesightImusthavepresentedamiddleagedmanwitha
rucksack,visitingaplacelikeWestonoutofseasonfornoevidentreason,fetchingupat
theirhotelandbellowingandstompingaboutoveratriflinginconvenience.Hemusthave
thoughtIwasmad,anescapedlunaticperhaps,andthatthiswasthesafestwayto
approachme.Eitherthat,orhewasjustanextremelyniceperson.Ineithercase,Isalute
himnow.
Westonwassurprisinglylovelyinmorningsunshine.Outinthebayanislandcalled
FlatHolmbaskedintheclear,cleanairandbeyonditrosethegreenhillsofWales,
twelvemilesorsoacrossthewater.EventhehotelsthatIhaddisdainedthenightbefore
didn'tlookhalfbad.
IwalkedtothestationandtookatraintoChepstowandabusontoMonmouth.The
WyeValleywasasbeautifulasIremembereditfromyearsbeforedarkwoods,winding
river,lonelywhitefarmhouseshighuponsteepslopesbutthevillagesbetweenwere
ratherastonishinglycharmlessandseemedtoconsistmostlyofpetrolstations,pubswith
bigcarparksandgiftshops.IwatchedoutforTinternAbbey,madefamous,ofcourse,by
thewellknownWordsworthpoem,'ICanBeBoringOutsidetheLakeDistrictToo',and
wasdisappointedtofindthatitdidn'tstandoutinthecountryasIrecalledbutontheedge
ofanunmemorablevillage.
Monmouth,however,seemedtobeafine,handsometownwithaslopingHighStreet
andanimposingtownhall.InfrontofitstoodastatueofCharlesStewartRolls,sonof
LordandLadyLlangattock,'pioneerofballooning,motoringandaviation,whodiedina
crashatBournemouthinJuly1910',accordingtothe
inscription.Hewasshownholdingamodelofanearlybiplane,whichmadehimlook
ratherlikeKingKongswattingawayattackingcraft.Therewasnoindicationofwhathis
localconnectionmightbe.TheMonmouthBookshoponChurchStreethadabookof
mineinthewindow,andsoofcoursegetsamentionhere.
Ihaditinmindtodoanotherlittlewalkwhiletheweatherwasfine,soIdidn'tlinger.
Iboughtapastyinabaker'sandateitasIfoundmywaytotheWye.Ipickedupa
riversidepathbythetown'shandsomestonebridgeandfolloweditnorthalongtheWelsh
bank.Forthefirstfortyminutes,Iwasaccompaniedbytheceaselessroaroftrafficonthe
A40,butataplacecalledGoldsmith'sWoodtheriverbentsharplyawayfromtheroad
andIwassuddenlyinanother,infinitelymoretranquilworld.Birdsfussedandtwittered
inthetreesaboveandsmall,unseencreaturesplinkedintothewateratmyapproach.The
river,sparklingandlanguidandframedbyhillsofautumncolouredtrees,wasvery
beautifulandIhaditalltomyself.Amileortwofurtheron,Ipausedtostudythemap
andnoticedaspotonanearbyhillcalledKingArthur'sCave.Icouldn'tpassthatup,soI
lumberedupthehillandpokedaroundamonglikelyspots.Afteraboutanhourof
clamberingoverbouldersandfallentrees,Ifoundit,tomymildastonishment.Itwasn't
muchjustashallowchamberhewnbynaturefromalimestoneclifffacebutIhada
pleasingsenseofbeingitsfirstvisitorinyears.Atanyrate,therewerenoneoftheusual

signsofvisitationgraffitiandabandonedbeercanswhichmaymakeituniquein
Britain,ifnottheworld.
Becausetimewasgettingon,Idecidedtotakeashortcutthroughthehillywoods,but
IneglectedtonotethatIwasattheuppermostofaverytightbandofcontourlines.In
consequence,Ifoundmyselfamomentlaterdescendingamoreorlessperpendicularhill
inanentirelyinvoluntaryfashion,boundingthroughthewoodswithgreatleapsand
outflungarmsinamanneroddlyreminiscentofGeorgeChakirisinWestSideStory,
exceptofcoursethatthiswasWalesandGeorgeChakirisdidn'tshithimselfwithterror,
beforeeventually,afterseveralbouncingsomersaultsandanepochaleightyyardslideon
mystomach,endingupontheverylipofagiddyprecipice,withagoggleeyedviewof
theglitteryWyeahundredfeetbelow.Icastmygazebackalongmysuddenlymotionless
bodytofindthatmyleftfoothadfortuitouslysnaggedonasapling.Hadthesaplingnot
beenthereIwouldnotbehere.
Muttering,'Thankyou,Lord,Ioweyouone,'Ihauledmyselftomyfeet,dustedtwigs
andleafmouldfrommyfront,andclamberedlaboriouslybackupthehilltothepathI
hadsointemperatelyforsaken.BythetimeIreachedtheriverbankanotherhourhad
gone.IttookanotherhourorsotohikeontoSymondsYat,aspaciouswoodedbluffat
thetopofaformidablehill,withlongviewsinmanydirections.Itwasexceedingly
fetchingahangglider'svistaoverthemeanderingriverandanArcadianlandscapeof
fieldsandwoodlandstretchingofftothedistantBlackMountains.
'Notbad,'Isaid,'notbadatall,'andwonderediftherewasanywherenearbywhereI
couldgetacupofteaandpossiblychangemypants.
CHAPTERTWELVE
THEREARECERTAINTHINGSTHATYOUHAVETOBEBRITISHORAT
LEASTolderthanme,orpossiblyboth,toappreciate:Sooty,TonyHancock,Billand
BentheFlowerpotMen,Marmite,skifflemusic,thatMorecambeandWisesegmentin
whichAngelaRipponshowsoffherlegsbydancing,GracieFieldssinging'Sally',
GeorgeFormbydoinganything,DixonofDockGreen,HPsauce,saltcellarswitha
singlelargehole,travellingfunfairs,makingsandwichesfrombreadyou'vesliced
yourself,reallymilkytea,allotments,thebeliefthathouseholdwiringisaninteresting
topicforconversation,steamtrains,toastmadeunderagasgrill,thinkingthatgoingto
choosewallpaperwithyourmateconstitutesareasonablygooddayout,winemadeoutof
somethingotherthangrapes,unheatedbedroomsandbathrooms,seasiderock,erecting
windbreaksonabeach(why,pray,areyouthereifyouneedawindbreak?)andtakingan
interestinbyelections.Theremaybeoneortwoothersthatdon'toccurtomeatthe
moment.
I'mnotsayingthatthesethingsarebadorboringormisguided,merelythattheirfull
valueandappealyeteludesme.Intothiscategory,IwouldalsotentativelyinsertOxford.
Ihavethegreatestrespectfortheuniversityandits800yearsoftirelessintellectual
toil,butImustconfessthatI'mnotentirelyclearwhatit'sfor,nowthatBritainnolonger
needscolonialadministratorswhocanquipinLatin.Imeantosay,youseeallthesedons
andscholarsstridingpast,absorbedindeepdiscussionsabouttheLeibnizClarke

controversyorpostKantianaestheticsandyouthink:Mostimpressive,butperhapsatad
indulgentinacountrywherethereare3millionunemployedandthelastgreatinvention
wascat'seyes?OnlythenightbeforetherehadbeenanitemonNewsatTeninwhich
TrevorMcDonaldhadbeenradiantwithjoytoannouncethattheSamsungCorporation
wasbuildinganewfactoryinTynesidewhichwouldprovidejobsfor800peoplewho
werewillingtowearorangeboilersuitsanddot'aichiforahalfhoureverymorning.
Nowcallmeanunreconstructedphilistine,butitseemstomeandIofferthis
observationinaspiritoffriendshipthatwhenanation'sindustrialprowesshasplunged
solowthatitisreliantonKoreanfirmsforitsfutureeconomicsecurity,thenperhapsitis
timetoreaddressone'seducationalprioritiesandmaybegivealittlethoughttowhat's
goingtoputsomefoodonthetableinabout2010.
IrememberonceyearsagowatchingaspecialinternationaleditionofUniversity
ChallengebetweenateamofBritishscholarsandateamofAmericanscholars.The
BritishteamwonsohandilythattheyandBamberGascoigneandthestudioaudience
weredeeply,palpablyembarrassed.Itreallywasthemostdazzlingdisplayofintellectual
superiority.Thefinalscorewassomethinglike12,000to2.Buthere'sthething.Iam
certainbeyondthetiniestmeasureofdoubtthatifyoutrackeddownthecompetitorsto
seewhathasbecomeofthemsince,youwouldfindthateveryoneoftheAmericansis
pullingdown$350,000ayeartradingbondsorrunningcorporationswhiletheBritishare
studyingthetonalqualitiesofsixteenthcenturychoralmusicinLowerSilesiaand
wearingjumperswithholesinthem.
Butdon'tworry.OxfordhasbeenpreeminentsincetheMiddleAges,andIamsure
thatitwillremainsolongafterithasbecometheUniversityofOxford(SonyUK)Ltd.
Theuniversity,itmustbesaid,hasbecomeinfinitelymorecommercialminded.Atthe
timeofmyvisit,itwasjustfinishingasuccessful,fiveyear,340millionfundraising
campaign,whichwasmostimpressive,andithadlearnedthevalueofcorporate
sponsorship.Ifyoulookthroughtheprospectusyou'llfinditlitteredwithreferencesto
thingslikeTheAllNewShreddedWheat(NoAddedSugarorSalt)ChairofEastern
PhilosophyandtheHarrisCarpetsWhyPayMoreThousandsofRollsinStockat
EverydayLowPricesSchoolofBusinessManagement.
Thisbusinessofcorporatesponsorshipissomethingthatseemstohavecreptinto
Britishlifegenerallyinrecentyearswithoutbeingmuchremarkedupon.Nowadaysyou
havetheCanonLeague,the
CocaColaCup,theEverReadyDerby,theEmbassyWorldSnookerChampionships.
Thedaycan'tbefaroffwhenwegetthingsliketheKellogg'sPopTartQueenMother,
theMitsubishiCorporationProudlyPresentsRegentsPark,andSamsungCity(formerly
Newcastle).
ButIdigress.MygripewithOxfordhasnothingtodowithfundraisingorhowit
educatesitsscholars.MygripewithOxfordisthatsomuchofitissougly.Comewith
medownMertonStreetandIwillshowyouwhatImean.Note,aswestrollpastthe
backsofChristChurch,thestudiedcalmofCorpusChristi,thesoftgoldenglowof
Merton,thatweareimmersedinanarchitecturaltreasurehouse,oneofthedensest
assemblagesofhistoricbuildingsintheworld,andthatMertonStreetpresentsuswithan
unquestionablybecomingprospectofgabledbuildings,elaboratewroughtirongatesand

fineseventeenthandeighteenthcenturytownhouses.Severalofthehouseshavebeen
mildlydisfiguredbythecarelessadditionofelectricalwirestotheirfacades(something
thatotherlessintellectuallydistractednationswouldputinside)butnevermind.Theyare
easilyoverlooked.Butwhatisthisinescapableintrusionatthebottom?Isitanelectrical
substation?Ahalfwayhousedesignedbytheinmates?No,itistheMertonCollege
Warden'sQuarters,alittledashofmindlessSixtiesexcrescencefoistedonanotherwise
largelyflawlessstreet.
NowcomewithmewhilewebacktracktoKybaldStreet,aforgottenlanelostamida
warrenofpicturesquelittlebywaysbetweenMertonStreetandtheHigh.Atitseastern
extremityKybaldStreetendsinapocketsizedsquarethatpositivelycriesoutforasmall
fountainandmaybesomebenches.Butwhatwefindinsteadisamessyjumbleof
doubleandtripleparkedcars.NowontoOrielSquare:anevenmessierjumbleof
abandonedvehicles.ThenonupCornmarket(avertyourgaze;thisistrulyhideous),past
BroadStreetandStGiles(stillmoreautomotivemessiness)andfinallyletusstop,
exhaustedanddispirited,outsidetheunconscionableconcreteeyesorethatisthe
UniversityOfficesontheabsurdlynamedWellingtonSquare.No,let'snot.Let'spass
backdownCornmarket,throughthehorrible,lowceilinged,illlitdrabnessofthe
ClarendonShoppingCentre,outontoQueenStreet,pasttheequallyunadorable
WestgateShoppingCentreandcentrallibrarywithitsheartless,staringwindowsand
cometorestattheoutsizedpustulethatistheheadofficeofOxfordshireCountyCouncil.
WecouldgoonthroughStEbbes,pastthebrutalistcompoundofthemagistrates'courts,
alongthebleaksweepofOxpensRoad,withitstyreandexhaustcentresandpathetically
underlandscapedicerinkandcarparks,andoutontothebusysqualorofParkEnd
Street,butIthinkwecansafelystophereattheCountyCouncil,andsaveourwearylegs.
Nownoneofthiswouldbothermeagreatdealexceptthateveryone,buteveryone,
youtalktoinOxfordthinksthatitisoneofthemostbeautifulcitiesintheworld,withall
thatthatimpliesintermsofcarefulpreservationandgeneralliveability.NowIknowthat
Oxfordhasmomentsofunutterablebeauty.ChristChurchMeadow,RadcliffeSquare,the
collegequads,CatteStreetandTurlStreet,QueensLaneandmuchoftheHighStreet,the
botanicgarden,PortMeadow,UniversityParks,ClarendonHouse,thewholeofnorth
Oxfordallveryfine.Ithasthebestcollectionofbookshopsintheworld,someofthe
mostsplendidpubsandthemostwonderfulmuseumsofanycityofitssize.Ithasa
terrificindoormarket.IthastheSheldonianTheatre.IthastheBodleianLibrary.Ithasa
scatteringofprospectsthatmelttheheart.
Butthereisalsosomuchthatissowrong.Howdidithappen?Thisisaserious
question.Whatsortofmadseizurewasitthatgrippedthecity'splanners,architectsand
collegeauthoritiesinthe1960sand1970s?Didyouknowthatitwasonceseriously
proposedtoteardownJericho,adistrictoffineartisans'homes,andtorunabypassright
acrossChristChurchMeadow?Theseideasweren'tjustmisguided,theywerecriminally
insane.Andyetonalesserscaletheywererepeatedoverandoverthroughoutthecity.
JustlookattheMertonCollegeWarden'sQuarterswhichisnotbyanymeanstheworst
buildinginthecity.Whataremarkableseriesofimprobabilitieswerenecessarytoits
construction.First,somearchitecthadtodesignit,hadtowanderthroughacitysteeped
in800yearsofarchitecturaltradition,andwithgreatcareconceiveofastructurethat

lookedlikeatoasterwithwindows.ThenacommitteeoffinelyeducatedmindsatMerton
hadtoshowthemostextraordinaryindifferencetotheirresponsibilitiestoposterityand
saytothemselves,'Youknow,we'vebeenputtinguphandsomebuildingssince1264;
let'shaveanuglyoneforachange.'Thentheplanningauthoritieshadtosay,'Well,why
not?PlentyworseinBasildon.'Thenthewholeofthecitystudents,dons,shopkeepers,
officeworkers,membersoftheOxfordPreservationTrusthadtoacquiesceandnotkick
upafuss.Multiplythisby,say,200or300or400andyouhavemodern
Oxford.Andyoutellmethatitisoneofthemostbeautiful,wellpreservedcitiesin.
theworld?I'mafraidnot.Itisabeautifulcitythathasbeentreatedwithgross
indifferenceandlamentableincompetenceforfartoolong,andeverylivingpersonin
Oxfordshouldfeelalittlebitashamed.
Goodnessme!Whatanoutburst!Let'slightenupandgolookatsomegoodthings.
TheAshmolean,forinstance.Whatawonderfulinstitution,theoldestpublicmuseumon
PlanetEarthandcertainlyoneofthefinest.Howisitthatitisalwayssoempty?Ispenta
longmorningtherepolitelyexaminingtheantiquities,andhadtheplacealltomyselfbut
forapartyofschoolchildrenwhocouldoccasionallybesightedracingbetweenrooms
pursuedbyaharriedlookingteacher,thenstrolledovertothePittRiversandUniversity
museums,whicharealsoveryagreeableintheirquaint,welcometothe1870ssortof
way.ItrawledthroughBlackwell'sandDillon's,pokedaboutatBalliolandChrist
Church,ambledthroughUniversityParksandChristChurchMeadow,rangedout
throughJerichoandthestolid,handsomemansionsofnorthOxford.
PerhapsI'mtoohardonpooroldOxford.Imean,itisbasicallyawonderfulplace,
withitssmokypubsandbookshopsandscholarlyair,aslongasyoufixyourgazeonthe
goodthingsandnevergoanywherenearCornmarketorGeorgeStreet.Iparticularlylike
itatnightwhenthetrafficdiesawayenoughthatyoudon'tneedanoxygenmaskandthe
HighStreetfillsupwiththosemysteriouslypopulardonerkebabvans,whichtemptme
not(howcananyoneeatsomethingthatlookssouncannilyasifithasbeencarvedfroma
deadman'sleg?)butdohaveakindofseductiveHopperishglowaboutthem.Ilikethe
darknessofthebacklanesthatwanderbetweenhighwalls,whereyouhalfexpecttobe
skeweredanddismemberedbyJacktheRipperorpossiblyadonerkebabwholesaler.I
likewanderingupStGilestoimmersemyselfinthebusyconvivialityofBrown's
Restaurantawonderful,friendlyplacewhere,perhapsuniquelyinBritain,youcanget
anexcellentCaesarsaladandabaconcheeseburgerwithouthavingtositamong
poundingmusicandalotofersatzRoute66signs.Aboveall,Iliketodrinkinthepubs,
whereyoucansitwithabookandnotbelookedonasasocialmiscreant,andbeamong
laughing,livelyyoungpeopleandloseyourselfinreveriesofwhatitwaslikewhenyou
toohadenergyandaflatstomachandthoughtofsexassomethingmorethanawelcome
chanceforaliedown.I'dimpetuouslysaidIwouldstayforthreenightswhenIbooked
intomyhotel,andbymidmorningofthethirddayIwasbeginningtofeelalittle
restless,soIdecidedtohaveawalktoSuttonCourtenayfornoreasonotherthanthat
GeorgeOrwellisburiedthereanditseemedabouttherightdistance.Iwalkedoutofthe
citybywayofawatermeadowtoNorthHinkseyandonwardstowardsBoar'sHill
throughanareacalled,withcuriousindecisiveness,ChilswellValleyorHappyValley.It
hadrainedinthenightandtheheavyclaysoilstucktomybootsandmadethegoing

arduous.SoonIhadanaccumulationofmudthatdoubledthesizeofmyfeet.Abit
furtheronthepathhadbeencoveredwithloosechippings,presumablytomakethegoing
easier,butinfactthechippingsstucktomymuddybootssothatitlookedasifIwere
walkingaroundwithtwoverylargecurrantbunsonmyfeet.AtthetopofBoar'sHillI
stoppedtosavourtheviewit'stheonethatledMatthewArnoldtospoutthat
overwroughtnonsenseabout'dreamingspires',andithasbeencruellydespoiledbythose
marchingelectricitypylonswhichOxfordshirehasingreaterabundancethananycounty
Iknowandtoscrapethemudfrommybootswithastick.
Boar'sHillhassomeappealingbighousesbutIdon'tthinkIcouldhappilysettlethere.
Inotedthreedrivewayswithsignssaying'NoTurning'.Nowtellme,justhowpettydo
youhavetobe,howludicrouslypossessiveofyourlittlepieceofturf,toputupasign
likethat?Whatharmcantherepossiblybeinsomelostormisdirectedpersonturninga
carroundintheedgeofyourdriveway?Ialwaysmakeapointofturningroundinsuch
driveways,whetherIneedtoornot,andIurgeyoutojoinmeinthispractice.Itisalways
agoodideatotootyourhorntwoorthreetimestomakesurethattheownerseesyou.
Also,whileIthinkofit,canIaskyoutotearupyourjunkmail,particularlywhenthat
mailinvitesyoutotakeonmoredebt,andreturnittothesenderinthepostpaid
envelope?Itwouldmakeafarmoreeffectivegestureiftherewerethousandsofusdoing
it.
IreachedAbingdonbywayofabacklanefromSunningwell.Abingdonhadoneof
thebestkeptcouncilestatesIthinkI'veeverseenhugesweepsoflawnandneathouses
andahandsometownhallbuiltonstiltsasifsomebodywasexpectingafortydayflood,
butthat'sasmuchasI'mpreparedtosayforAbingdon.Ithasthemostappalling
shoppingprecinct,whichIlaterlearnedhadbeencreatedbysweepingawayaraftof
medievalhouses,andakindofdoggedcommitmenttouglinessarounditsfringes.
SuttonCourtenayseemedconsiderablyfurtheronthanIrecalleditfromthemap,but
itwasapleasantwalkwithfrequentviewsoftheThames.Itisacharmingplace,with
somefinehomes,threeagreeablelookingpubs,andalittlegreenwithawarmemorial,
besidewhichstandsthechurchyardwherenotonlyGeorgeOrwelllies,butalsoH.H.
Asquith.CallmeaperennialIowafarmboy,but1neverfailtobeimpressedbyhow
denselypackedwithworthiesisthislittleisland.Howremarkableitisthatinasingle
villagechurchyardyoufindthegravesoftwomenofglobalstature.WeinIowawould
beproudofeitheroneofthemindeed,wewouldbeproudofTriggertheWonderHorse
ortheguywhoinventedtrafficconesorprettymuchanyoneatall.
IwalkedintothegraveyardandfoundOrwell'sgrave.Ithadthreestragglyrose
bushesgrowingoutofitandsomeartificialflowersinaglassjar,beforeasimplestone
withacuriouslyterseinscription:
HereLiesEricArthurBlairBornJune25th1903DiedJanuary21st1950
Notmuchsentimentthere,what?NearbywasthegraveofHerbertHenryAsquith.It
wasoneofthoseteacaddytombs,anditwassinkingintothegroundinanalarming
manner.Hisinscriptiontoowasmysteriouslytothepoint.Itsaidsimply:
EarlofOxfordandAsquith
PrimeMinisterofEngland
April1908toDecember1916

Born12September1852
Died15February1928
Noticeanythingoddthere?IbetyoudidifyouareScottishorWelsh.Thewhole
placewasabitstrange.Imeantosay,herewasacemeterycontainingthegraveofa
famousauthorthatwasmadeasanonymousasifhehadbeenburiedapauper,and
anotherofamanwhosedescendantshadapparentlyforgottenexactlywhathewasPrime
Ministerofandwhichlookedseriouslyindangerofbeingswallowedbytheearth.Next
toAsquithlayoneRubenLoveridge'whofellasleep29thApril1950'andnearbywas
agravesharedbytwomen:'SamuelLewis18811930'and'AlanSlater19241993'.What
anintriguinglittlecommunitythiswasaplacewheremenareentombedtogetherand
theyburyyouifyoufallasleep.
Onsecondthought,IthinkwelowanswouldbecontenttoletyoukeepOrwelland
Asquithaslongaswecouldhavetheguywhowasburiedalive.
CHAPTERTHIRTEEN
ISUSPENDEDMYPRINCIPLESANDHIREDACARFORTHREEDAYS.
WELL,Ihadto.IwantedtoseetheCotswoldsanditdoesn'ttakelongtoworkoutthat
youcan'tseetheCotswoldsunlessyouhaveyourownmotivepower.Aslongagoas
1933,J.B.PriestleywasnotinginEnglishJourneythateventhen,inthosegoldenpre
Beechingdays,therewasjustonelinethroughtheCotswolds.Nowthereisn'teventhat,
exceptforonethatrunsuselesslyalongtheedges.
SoIhiredacarinOxfordandsetoffwiththatgiddyingsenseofunbounded
possibilitythatcomeswhenIfindmyselfinchargeoftwotonsofunfamiliarmetal.My
experiencewithhirecarsisthatgenerallytheywon'tletyouleaveacityuntiltheyhave
hadachancetosaygoodbyetomostofit.MinetookmeonalongtourthroughBotley
andHinkley,onanostalgicswingpasttheRoverworksatCowleyandoutthrough
BlackbirdLeysbeforeconveyingmetwicearoundaroundaboutandflingingme,likea
spacecraftinplanetaryorbit,backtowardstown.Iwaspowerlesstodoanythingabout
this,largelybecausemyattentionwaspreoccupiedwithtryingtoturnofftheback
windscreenwiper,whichseemedtohaveamindofitsown,andfiguringouthowto
removeanopaquecloudoffoamywashingfluidfromthefrontwindscreen,whichshot
outingreatobscuringstreamsirrespectiveofwhichswitchIpushedorstalkIwaggled.
AtleastitgavemeachancetoseethelittleknownbutintriguingPotatoMarketing
BoardbuildingatCowley,intowhosecarparkIpulledtoturnaroundwhenIrealizedI
wasutterlylost.Thebuildingwasasubstantial1960sedifice,fourstoreyshighand
largeenough,Iwouldhaveguessed,toaccommodate400or500workers.Igotoutto
wipethewindscreenwithsomepagestornfromanowner'smanualIfoundintheglove
box,butwassoonstaringatthearrestinggrandeurofthePotatoMarketingBoardHQ.
Thescaleofitwasquiteastounding.Howmanypeopledoesittaketomarketpotatoes,
forgoodness'sake?Theremustbedoorsintheremarked'DepartmentofKingEdwards'
and'UnusualToppingsDivision',peopleinwhiteshirtssittingaroundlongtableswhile
someguywithaflipchartistellingthemaboutexcitingplansfortheautumncampaign
forPentlandSquires.Whatastrangecircumscribeduniversetheymustlivein.Imagine

devotingthewholeofyourworkinglifetoedibletubers,losingsleepbecausesomebody
elsewasmadeNo.2inCrispsandReconstitutedsorbecausetheMarisPipergraphisina
tailspin.Imaginetheircocktailparties.Itdoesn'tbearthinkingabout.
Ireturnedtothecarandspentsometimeexperimentingwiththecontrolsandthinking
howmuchIhatedthesethings.Somepeoplearemadeforcarsandsomepeoplearen't.
It'sassimpleasthat.IhatedrivingcarsandIhatethinkingaboutcarsandIhatetalking
aboutcars.Iespeciallyhateitwhenyougetanewcarandgointhepubbecause
somebodywillalwaysstartquizzingyouaboutit,whichIdreadbecauseIdon'teven
understandthequestions.
'Soyou'vegotanewcar,huh?'they'llsay.'How'sitdrive?'
Yousee,I'mlostalready.'Well,likeacar.Why,haveyouneverbeeninone?'
Andthentheystartpepperingyouwithquestions.'Whatsortofmileageyouget?How
manylitres?What'sthetorque?Gottwinoverheadcamsordoublebarrelledalternator
cumcarburettorwithafullpikeandadoubletwistdismount?'Ican'tforthelifeofme
understandwhyanyonewouldwanttoknowallthisshitaboutamachine.Youdon'ttake
thatkindofinterestinanythingelse.Ialwayswanttosay:'Hey,Ihearyou'vegotanew
refrigerator.Howmanygallonsoffreondoesthatbabyhold?What'sitsBTUrating?
How'sitcoo/?'
Thiscarhadtheusualarrayofswitchesandtoggles,eachillustratedwithasymbol
designedtoconfound.Reallynow,whatisonetomakeofaswitchlabelled101?How
cananyonebeexpectedtoworkoutthatarectanglethatlookslikeatelevisionsetwith
poorreceptionindicatestherearwindowheater?Inthemiddleofthisdashboardwere
twocirculardialsofequalsize.Oneclearlyindicatedspeed,buttheothertotally
mystifiedme.Ithad
twopointersonit,oneofwhichadvancedveryslowlyandtheotherofwhichdidn't
appeartomoveatall.Ilookedatitforagesbeforeitfinallydawnedonmethisistrue
thatitwasaclock.
BythetimeIfoundmywaytoWoodstock,tenmilesnorthofOxford,Iwasquite
exhaustedandveryhappytobumptoahaltagainstakerbandabandonthethingfora
fewhours.ImustsayIlikeWoodstockverymuch.I'mtoldthatitcanbesomethingofa
nightmareinsummer,butI'veonlyseenitoutofseasonandithasalwaysbeensplendid.
ItsGeorgianhouseshaveaconfident,almostregalair,itspubsarenumerousandsnug,
itsshopsinterestingandvariedandtheirfrontagesuniformlyunspoiled.Thereisn'ta
pieceofbrassintownthatdoesn'tgleam.ThePostOfficehadanoldfashionedblack
andsilversign,farmoreelegantandclassythanthatredandyellowlogotheyusenow,
andevenBarclaysBankhadsomehowmanagedtoresisttheurgetocoverthefrontofits
buildingwithlotsofaquablueplastic.
TheHighStreetwasbusywithshuntingVolvosandtweedyshopperswithraffia
basketsslungovertheirarms.Iambledalongtheshops,pausingnowandagaintopeerin
windows,andpasttheproudGeorgianhousesbeforecomingabruptlytotheentranceto
BlenheimPalaceandPark.Beneathanimposingornamentalarchtherewasaticketbooth
andasignsayingthatadmissionforanadultwas6.90,thoughcloserinspection
revealedthatthisincludedentrancetothepalacetour,butterflyhouse,miniaturetrain,
adventureplaygroundandawholecornucopiaofotherculturaldiversions.Lowerdown,

thesignnotedthatadmissiontothegroundsalonewas90p.Imaybeeasilyfooled,but
nobodytakes90pfrommewithoutgoodreason.IhadatrustyOrdnanceSurveymapand
couldseethatthiswasapublicrightofway,soIstrodethroughthegatewithasneerand
myhandonmywallet,andthemanintheticketboothwiselydecidednottotamperwith
me.
Thetransformationwhenyoupassthroughthegateisbothimmediateandstunning.
Ononesideyouareinabusyvillage,andontheotheryouaresuddenlythrustintoa
ruralArcadiaofthesortthatseemsincompletewithoutacoupleofGainsboroughfigures
amblingby.Beforemespread2,000acresofcarefullycomposedlandscapestout
chestnutsandgracefulsycamores,billiardtablelawns,anornamentallakebisectedbyan
imposingbridge,andinthecentreofitallthemonumentalbaroquepileofBlenheim
Palace.Itwasveryfine.
Ifollowedthecurvingroadthroughthegrounds,pastthepalaceandbusyvisitors'car
park,andonaroundtheperipheryofthePleasureGardens.Iwouldcomebacktocheck
thisout,butatthemomentIwasheadedacrosstheparkandtoanexitontheotherside
ontheBladonroad.Bladonisanondescriptlittleplacetremblingundertheweightof
passinggoodstraffic,butinitscentreisthechurchyardwhereWinstonChurchilllies
buried.Ithadbeguntorainandasitwasabitofahikeupabusyroad,Ibegantowonder
ifthiswasworththeeffort,butwhenIreacheditIwasgladIhad.Thechurchyardwas
lovelyandsecludedandChurchill'sgravesomodestthatittooksomefindingamongthe
tumblinggravestones.Iwastheonlyvisitor.ChurchillandClemmiesharedasimpleand
seeminglyforgottenplot,whichIfoundbothsurprisinglytouchingandimpressive.
ComingasIdofromacountrywhereeventhemostobscureandworthlessofpresidents
getahugememoriallibrarywhentheypoptheirclogsevenHerbertHoover,wayoutin
Iowa,hasaplacethatlooksliketheheadquartersoftheWorldTradeOrganizationit
wasremarkabletothinkthatBritain'sgreatesttwentiethcenturystatesmanwas
commemoratedwithnothingmorethanamodeststatueinParliamentSquareandthis
simplegrave.Iwasimpressedbythiscommendableshowofrestraint.
IretracedmystepstoBlenheimandhadanosearoundthePleasureGardensandother
outdoorattractions.'PleasureGardens'apparentlywasshortfor'It'saPleasuretoTake
YourMoney',sinceitseemedlargelydedicatedtohelpingvisitorstopartwithfurther
sumsinagiftshopandtearoomorbybuyinggardengates,benchesandothersuchitems
producedbytheBlenheimestatesawmill.Dozensofpeoplepokedaroundhappily,
seeminglyundisturbedbythethoughtthattheyhadpaid6.90fortheprivilegeof
lookingatthesortofitemstheycouldseeforfreeatanydecentgardencentre.AsIleft
thegardensandwalkedbacktowardsthepalace,Itooktheopportunitytostudythe
miniaturesteamtrain.Itranoveradecidedlymodestlengthoftrackacrossonecornerof
thegrounds.ThesightoffiftyEnglishpeoplecrouchedonalittletraininacoldgrey
drizzlewaitingtobetaken200yardsandthinkingtheywerehavingfunisonethatIshall
notforgetinahurry.
IfollowedapavedpathtothefrontofthepalaceandoverVanbrugh'sgrandbridgeto
themighty,absurdlyegocentriccolumnthatthefirstDukeofMarlborougherectedatthe
topofahilloverlookingthepalaceandlake.Itreallyisthemostextraordinaryedifice,
notonlybecauseitisloftyandimpressive,butbecauseitdominatestheviewfromat

leastahundredpalacewindows.What
kindofperson,Iwondered,woulderecta100foothighcolumntohimselfinhisown
grounds?HowstrikingwasthecontrastwiththesimplegraveofdearoldWinnie.
MaybeI'mabitsimple,butithasalwaysseemedtomethatthescaleofBlenheim
PalaceandthescaleofMarlborough'sachievementarecuriouslydisproportionate.Ican
understandhowinamomentofmadrejoicingagratefulnationmighthaveawardedturn,
say,atwoweektimeshareforlifeintheCanariesandmaybeasetofcutleryora
Teasmade,butIcan'tforthelifeofmecomprehendhowascatteringoftriumphsin
obscureplaceslikeOudenardandMalplaquetcouldbedeemedtohaveentitledthe
connivingoldfarttooneofthegreathousesofEuropeandadukedom.More
extraordinarystilltomymindisthethoughtthatnearly300yearslatertheduke'sheirs
canlitterthegroundswithminiaturetrainsandbouncingcastles,chargeadmissionand
enjoyunearnedpositionsofrankandprivilegesimplybecauseadistantgrandsire
happenedtohaveapassingtalentforwinningbattles.Itseemsamosteccentric
arrangementtome.
IrememberoncereadingthatthetenthDukeofMarlborough,onavisittooneofhis
daughter'shomes,announcedinconsternationfromthetopofthestairsthathis
toothbrushwasn'tfoamingproperly.Itturnedoutthathisvalethadalwaysputtoothpaste
onhisbrushforhim,andasaconsequencethedukewasunawarethatdentalimplements
didn'tfoamupspontaneously.Irestmycase.
AsIwasstandingtheretakingintheviewandreflectingonthecuriouspracticeof
primogeniture,somewellgroomedyoungwomanonabayhorseboundedpastverynear
towhereIwasstanding.I'venoideawhoshewas,butshelookedrichandprivileged.I
gaveheralittlesmile,suchasonehabituallygivesstrangersinanopenplace,andshe
staredflatlybackatmeasifIwasnotimportantenoughtosmileat.SoIshother.ThenI
returnedtothecaranddroveon.
IspenttwodaysdrivingthroughtheCotswoldsanddidn'tlikeitatallnotbecause
theCotswoldswereunlovelybutbecausethecarwas.Youaresosealedofffromthe
worldinamovingvehicle,andthepaceisallwrong.Ihadgrownusedtomovingabout
atwalkingspeedoratleastatBritishRailspeed,whichisoften,ofcourse,muchthe
samething.Soitwaswithrelief,afteradayspentdashingaboutthroughvarious
ChippingsandSlaughtersandTweenessupontheWaters,thatIabandonedthecarina
carparkinBroadwayandtooktomyfeet.
ThelasttimeIhadseenBroadway,onanAugustafternoonsomeyearsbefore,ithad
beenanightmareofsclerotictrafficandflocksofshufflingdaytrippers,butnow,outof
season,itseemedquietandforgotten,itsHighStreetnearlyempty.It'sanalmost
absurdlyprettyplacewithitssteeplypitchedroofs,mullionedwindows,prolificgables
andtrimlittlegardens.ThereissomethingaboutthatgoldenCotswoldstone,thewayit
absorbssunlightandthenfeedsitbacksothatevenonthedullestdaysvillageslike
Broadwayseemtobebaskinginaperennialglow.Thisday,infact,wassunnyand
gorgeous,withjustatangofautumncrispnessintheairwhichgavetheworlda
marvellousclean,freshlaunderedfeel.HalfwayalongtheHighStreetIfoundasignpost
fortheCotswoldWayandplungedoffdownatrackbetweenoldbuildings.Ifollowed

thepathacrossasunnymeadowandupthelongslopetowardsBroadwayTower,an
outsizedfollyhighabovethevillage.TheviewfromthetopoverthebroadValeof
Eveshamwas,asalwaysfromsuchpoints,sensationalgentlyundulatingtrapezoidsof
farmlandrollingofftoahazeofdistantwoodedhills.Britainstillhasmorelandscapethat
lookslikeanillustrationfromachildren'sstorybookthananyothercountryIknowa
remarkableachievementinsuchadenselycrowdedandindustriallymindedlittleisland.
AndyetIcouldn'thelpfeelingthattheviewmayhavebeenmorebucolicandrewarding
tenorperhapstwentyyearsago.
Itiseasytoforget,inalandscapesotimelessandfetching,socompanionablyrooted
toanancientpast,howeasilyitislost.Thepanoramabeforemeincorporatedelectricity
pylons,scatteredhousingestatesandthedistantsunnyglintsofcashandcarry
warehouses.Farworse,thedense,carefullyknittednetworkofhedgerowswasshowing
distinctsignsofbecomingfrayedanddisjointed,likethepatternonacandlewick
bedspreadthathasbeenpickedoffbyidlefingers.Hereandtherefragmentsof
overgrownhedgestoodstrandedandforlorninthemidstofotherwisefeaturelessfields.
Didyouknowthatbetween1945and1985Englandlost96,000milesofhedgerows
enoughtogirdletheearthfourtimes?Somuddledhasbeengovernmentpolicytowards
thecountrysidethatforaperiodoftwentyfouryearsfarmerscouldactuallygetonegrant
toplanthedgerowsandanothertogrubthemup.Between1984and1990,despitethe
withdrawalofgovernmentmoneytoploughuphedgerows,afurther53,000mileswere
lost.Youoftenhearitsaid(andIknowbecauseIoncespentthreedaysata
symposiumonhedgerows;thethingsIdotokeepmychildreninReeboks)that
hedgerowsare,infact,atransitoryfeatureofthelandscape,arelicoftheenclosure
movements,andthattryingtosavethemmerelythwartsthenaturalevolutionofthe
countryside.Indeed,increasinglyyouheartheviewthatconservationofalltypesisfussy,
retrogradeandanimpedimenttoprogress.IhavebeforemeasIwriteaquotefromLord
Palumboarguingthatthewholevaguenotionofheritage'carriesthebaggageofnostalgia
foranonexistentgoldenagewhich,haditexisted,mightwellhavebeenthedeathof
invention',whichissofatuousitbreaksmyheart.
Quiteapartfromtheconsiderationthatifyoufollowedthatargumenttoitslogical
conclusionyouwouldteardownStonehengeandtheTowerofLondon,inpointoffact
manyhedgerowshavebeenthereforavery,verylongtime.InCambridgeshire,Iknow
ofaparticularlylovelyhedge,calledJudith'sHedge,thatisolderthanSalisbury
Cathedral,olderthanYorkMinster,olderindeedthanallbutahandfulofbuildingsin
Britain,andyetnostatutestandsbetweenitanditsdestruction.Iftheroadneeded
wideningortheownersdecidedtheypreferredtheproperlytobeboundedbyfenceposts
andbarbedwire,itwouldbetheworkofbutacoupleofhourstobulldozeaway900
yearsoflivinghistory.That'sinsane.AtleasthalfthehedgerowsinBritainpredatethe
enclosuremovementsandperhapsasmanyasafifthdatebacktoAngloSaxontimes.
Anyway,thereasonforsavingthemisn'tbecausetheyhavebeenthereforeverandever,
butbecausetheyclearlyandunequivocallyenhancethelandscape.Theyareacentralpart
ofwhatmakesEnglandEngland.Withoutthem,itwouldjustbeIndianawithsteeples.
Itgetsmealittlewildsometimes.Youhaveinthiscountrythemostcomely,themost
parklike,themostflawlesslycomposedcountrysidetheworldhaseverknown,aproduct

ofcenturiesoftireless,instinctiveimprovement,andyouarehalfagenerationfrom
destroyingmostofitforever.We'renottalkinghereabout'nostalgiaforanonexistent
goldenage'.We'retalkingaboutsomethingthatisgreenandlivingandincomparably
beautiful.Soifonemorepersonsaystome,'Hedgerowsaren'treallyanancientfeatureof
thelandscape,youknow,'Ishallverylikelypunchhiminthehooter.I'magreatbeliever
inVoltaire'sfamousmaxim,'Sir,Imaynotagreewithwhatyousay,butIshalldefendto
thedeathyourrighttobeacompleteasshole,'buttherecomesatimewhenalinemustbe
drawn.IstruckoffdownawoodedbacklanetoSnowshill,threemilesaway.Theleaves
weregoldenandrustlyandtheskyvastandblueandemptybutforanoccasionalslow
movingwedgeofmigratingbirds.Itwasawonderfuldaytobeabroadthekindofday
thathasyoupuffingyourchestandsinging'ZippityDooDah'inthevoiceofPaul
Robeson.Snowshilldrowsedinthesunshine,aclusterofstonecottagesgatheredrounda
slopinggreen.IboughtanentrancetickettoSnowshillManor,nowinthehandsofthe
NationalTrustbutfrom1919to1956thehomeofaneccentriccharacternamedCharles
Wade,whodevotedhislifetoaccumulatingavastandunfocusedassortmentofstuff,
someofitverygood,someofitlittlemorethanjunkclavichords,microscopes,Flemish
tapestries,snuffandtobaccoboxes,mapsandsextants,samuraiarmour,pennyfarthing
bicycles,younameituntilhehadfilledhishousesofullthattherewasnoroomleftfor
him.Hespenthislastyearslivinghappilyinanoutbuilding,which,likethehouse,has
beenpreservedasitwasonthedayhedied.Ienjoyeditverymuch,andafterwards,asthe
sunsankinthewestandtheworldfilledwithlongshadowsandavague,entrancing
smellofwoodsmoke,Ihikedbacktomycarahappyman.
IspentthenightinCirencesterandthenextday,afterapleasantlookaroundthelittle
CoriniumMuseumwithitsoutstandingbutcuriouslylittleknowncollectionofRoman
mosaics,coinsandotherartefacts,droveontoWinchcombetoseetherealthinginsitu.
OnahillaboveWinchcombe,yousee,thereisalittlevisitedsitesosingularand
wonderfulthatIhesitateeventomentionit.Mostoftherelativelyfewvisitorswho
intrudeuponthistranquilcorneroftheCotswoldsgenerallycontentthemselveswitha
lookaroundSudeleyCastleorahiketotheremotehumpofthefamousBelasKnaplong
barrow.ButIheadedstraightforagrassyhillsidepathcalledtheSaltWay,sonamed
becauseinmedievaltimessaltwasconveyedalongit.Itwasanenchantingwalkthrough
opencountryside,withlongviewsacrosssharplydefinedvalleysthatseemedneverto
haveseenacarorheardthesoundofachainsaw.
AtaplacecalledCole'sHillthepathplungedabruptlyintoaseriouslyovergrown
wood,darkandprimevalinfeelandallbutimpenetrablewithbrambles.Somewherein
here,Iknew,wasmygoalasitelistedonthemapas'Romanvilla(remainsof)'.For
perhapshalfanhour,IhackedthroughthegrowthwithmystickbeforeIcameuponthe
foundationsofanoldwall.Itlookedlike
nothingmuchtheremainsofanoldpigstyperhapsbutafewfeetfurtheron,allbut
obscuredbywildivy,weremorelowwalls,awholeseriesofthem,onbothsidesofthe
path.Thepathitselfwaspavedwithflagstonesunderneathacarpetofwetleaves,andI
knewthatIwasinthevilla.Inoneoftherelictchambers,thefloorhadbeencarefully
coveredwithplasticfertilizerbagsweightedwithstonesateachcorner.ThisiswhatIhad
cometosee.Ihadbeentoldaboutthisbyafriendbuthadneverreallybelievedit.For

underneaththosebagswasavirtuallycompleteRomanmosaic,aboutfivefeetsquare,
exquisitelypatternedandflawlesslypreservedbutforatinybitoffracturingaroundthe
edges.
Icannottellyouhowodditfelttobestandinginaforgottenwoodinwhathadonce
been,inaninconceivablydistantpast,thehomeofaRomanfamily,lookingatamosaic
laidatleast1,600yearsagowhenthiswasanopensunnyspace,longbeforethisancient
woodgrewuparoundit.Itisonethingtoseethesethingsinmuseums,quiteanotherto
comeupononeonthespotwhereitwaslaid.Ihavenoideawhyithadn'tbeengathered
upandtakenawaytosomeplaceliketheCoriniumMuseum.Ipresumeitisaterrible
oversight,butIamsogratefultohavehadthechancetoseeit.Isatforalongtimeona
stone,rivetedwithwonderandadmiration.Idon'tknowwhatseizedmemore,the
thoughtthatpeopleintogashadoncestoodonthisfloorchattinginvernacularLatinor
thatitwasstillhere,flawlessandundisturbed,amidthistangleofgrowth.
Thismaysoundawfullystupid,butforthefirsttimeitdawnedonmeinakindof
profoundwaythatallthoseRomanantiquitiesIhadgazedatovertheyearsweren't
createdwithaviewtoendinguponedayinmuseums.Becausethemosaicwasstillinits
originalsetting,becauseithadn'tbeenropedoffandplacedinsideamodernbuilding,it
wasstillclearlyandradiantlyafloorandnotmerelysomedivertingartefact.Thiswas
somethingmeanttobewalkedonandused,somethingthathadunquestionablyfeltthe
shuffleofRomansandals.Ithadastrangekindofspellaboutitthatleftmequietlyagog.
Afteralongtime,Igotupandcarefullyputbackallthefertilizerbagsandreweighted
themwithstones.Ipickedupmystick,surveyedmyworktomakesureallwasinorder,
thenturnedandbeganthelongprocessofhackingmywaybacktothatstrangeand
carelessplacethatisthetwentiethcentury.
CHAPTERFOURTEEN
IWENTTOMILTONKEYNES,FEELINGTHATIOUGHTTOATLEAST
HAVEalookatanew.town.MiltonKeynestakessomegettingtofromOxford,whichis
alittleoddbecauseit'sonlyjustuptheroad.Iselecteditasmydestinationonthebasisof
aquicklookataroadmap,assumingthatIwould,atworst,havetotakeatrainto
Bicesterorsomesuchplaceandthenanotherfromthere.Infact,Ihadtogoalltheway
backtoLondon,catchanUndergroundtraintoEustonandthenfinallyatraintoMilton
Keynesanoveralljourneyofperhaps120milesinordertotravelbetweentwotowns
aboutthirtymilesapart.
Itwascostlyandtimeconsumingandleftmefeelingatinybitfractious,notleast
becausethetrainfromEustonwascrowdedandIendedupsittingfacingableating
womanandhertenyearoldson,whokeptknockingmyshinswithhisdanglinglegsand
irritatingmebystaringatmewithpiggyeyeswhilepickinghisnoseandeatingthe
bogies.Heappearedtoregardhisnoseasakindofmidfacedsnackdispenser.Itriedto
absorbmyselfinabook,butIfoundmygazerepeatedlyrisingagainstmywishestofind
himstaringatmewithasmuglookandabusyfinger.ItwasquiterepellentandIwas
verypleased,whenthetrainfinallypulledintoMiltonKeynes,togetmyrucksackdown
fromtheoverheadrackanddragitacrosshisheadasIdeparted.

Ididn'thateMiltonKeynesimmediately,whichIsupposeisasmuchasyoucould
hopefortheplace.Youstepoutofthestationandintoabigopensquarelinedonthree
sideswithbuildingsofreflectiveglass,andhaveaninstantsenseofspaciousnesssuchas
youalmostnevergetinEnglishtowns.Thetownitselfstoodontheslopeofasmall
hillagoodhalfmileawaybeyondanetworkofpedestriantunnelsandoveralargeopen
spacesharedbycarparksandthosestrangenewtowntreesthatneverseemtogrow.I
hadthedistinctfeelingthatthenexttimeIpassedthisexpanseofgrassandasphaltit
wouldbecoveredwithbrickofficebuildingswithcopperywindows.
ThoughIhavespentmuchtimewanderingthroughnewtownstryingtoimaginewhat
theircreatorscouldpossiblyhavebeenthinking,IhadneverbeentoMiltonKeynes.In
manyways,itwasmuchsuperiortoanynewtownIhadseenbefore.Theunderpasses
werefacedwithpolishedgraniteandwerelargelyfreeofgraffitiandthepermanent
murkypuddlesthatseemtobeadesignfeatureofBasingstokeandBracknell.
Thetownitselfwasastrangeamalgamofstyles.Thegrassless,shadystripsalongthe
centresofthemainboulevardsgavethemavaguelyFrenchair.Thelandscapedlight
industrialparksaroundthefringeslookedGerman.Thegridplanandnumberedstreet
namesrecalledAmerica.Thebuildingswereofthefeaturelesssortyoufindaroundany
internationalairport.Inshort,itlookedanythingbutEnglish.
Theoddestthingwasthattherewerenoshopsandnooneabout.Iwalkedforsome
distancethroughthecentralcoreofthetown,uponeavenueanddownanotherand
throughtheshadowystreetsthatconnectedthem.Everycarparkwasfullandtherewere
signsoflifebehindthegapingofficewindows,butalmostnopassingtrafficandnever
morethanoneortwootherpedestriansalongtheendlessvistasofroad.Iknewtherewas
avastshoppingmallinthetownsomewherebecauseIhadreadaboutitinMark
Lawson'sTheBattleforRoomService,butIcouldn'tforthelifeofmefindit,andI
couldn'tevenfindanyonetoask.Theannoyingthingwasthatnearlyallthebuildings
lookedliketheymightbeshoppingmalls.Ikeptspottinglikelylookingcontendersand
goinguptoinvestigateonlytodiscoverthatitwastheheadquartersforaninsurance
companyorsomething.
Iendedupwanderingsomedistanceoutintoaresidentialareaakindofendless
Bovisvilleofneatyellowbrickhomes,windingstreets,andpedestrianwalkwayslined
withnevergrowtreesbuttherewasstillnooneabout.FromahilltopIspiedasprawl
ofblueroofsaboutthreequartersofamileoffandthoughtthatmightbetheshopping
mallandheadedoffforit.Thepedestrianwalkways,whichhadseemedratheragreeable
tomeatfirst,begantobecomeirritating.Theywanderedlazilythroughsubmerged
cuttings,nicelylandscapedbutwithafeelingofbeinginnohurrytogetyouanywhere.
Clearlytheyhadbeenlaidoutbypeoplewhohadthoughtofitasatwodimensional
exercise.Theyfollowedcircuitous,seeminglypurposelessroutesthatmusthavelooked
pleasingonpaper,butgavenoconsiderationtotheideathatpeople,facedwithalong
walkbetweenhousesandshops,wouldmostlyliketogetthereinareasonablydirect
way.Worsestillwasthesenseofbeinglostinasemisubterraneanworldcutofffrom
visiblelandmarks.IfoundmyselffrequentlyscramblingupbanksjusttoseewhereIwas,
onlytodiscoverthatitwasnowherenearwhereIwantedtobe.
Eventually,attheendofoneofthesemutteredscrambles,IfoundthatIwasbesidea

busydualcarriagewayexactlyoppositetheblueroofedsprawlIhadbegunsearchingfor
anhourearlier.IcouldseesignsforTexasHomecareandaMcDonald'sandothersuch
places.ButwhenIreturnedtothefootwayIcouldn'tbegintoworkouthowtogetover
there.The.pathsforkedoffinavarietyofdirections,disappearingroundlandscaped
bends,noneofwhichprovedremotelyrewardingwhenlookedinto.IntheendIfollowed
oneslopingpathbackuptostreetlevel,whereatleastIcouldseewhereIwas,and
walkedalongitallthewaybacktothetrainstation,whichnowseemedsoabsurdly
remotefromtheresidentialareasthatclearlyonlyatotalidiotcouldpossiblyhave
thoughtthatMiltonKeyneswouldbeaparadiseforwalkers.ItwasnowonderthatI
hadn'tpassedasinglepedestrianallmorning.
Ireachedthestationfarmoretiredthanthedistancewalkedwouldwarrantand
gaspingforacupofcoffee.Outsidethestationtherewasamapofthetown,whichI
hadn'tnoticedonthewayin,andIstudieditnow,dyingtoknowwheretheshopping
mallwas.ItturnedoutthatIhadbeenaboutahundredfeetfromitonmyinitial
reconnoitreofthetowncentre,buthadfailedtorecognizeit.
Sighing,andfeelinganunaccountabledeterminationtoseethisplace,Iheadedback
throughthepedestriansubways,overtheopengroundandbackthroughthelifelesscore
ofofficebuildings,reflectingasIwentwhatanextraordinarypieceofworkitwasfora
planner,confrontedwithablanksheetofpaperandanearinfinityofpossibilitiesfor
erectingamodelcommunity,todecidetoputtheshoppingcentreamilefromtherailway
station.
Itseemsalmostimpossibletobelieve,buttheshoppingcentrewasevenworse
designedthanthetownaroundit.Indeed,itmust
beasourceofmirthwherevershoppingmalldesignersgather.Itwasabsolutely
enormousmorethanamillionsquarefeetanditcontainedeverychainstorethatthere
haseverbeenorwilleverbe.Butitwasdarkanddeterminedlyunlovelyandbuiltalong
twostraight,featurelessparallelavenuesthatmustrunforhalfamile.Unlessinmy
deliriumIoverlookedthem,andIthinknot,therewasnofoodx:ourt,nocentralgathering
place,nowheremuchtosit,nodesignfeaturetoencourageyoutowarmtothisplaceto
eventhemostfractionaldegree.Itwaslikebeingintheworld'slargestbusstation.The
toiletswerefewandhardtofind,andinconsequencewereascrowdedwithusersasifit
werehalftimeatafootballmatch.IhadalwaysthoughtoftheMetroCentreatGateshead
asmyworstnightmaremadewhole,butitisaplaceofinfinitecharmandendlessdelight
comparedwiththemallatMiltonKeynes.
IhadacupofcoffeeinthegrubbiestMcDonald'sIeverhopetovisitand,clearinga
spaceamongtheaccumulatedlitterleftbyearlierusersofmytable,satwithmyrailway
timetableandaccompanyingroutemapandfeltastabofdespairatthediscoverythatthe
optionsbeforemeweretogobacktoLondonoronwardtoRugby,Coventryor
Birmingham.Ihadnodesiretodoanyofthese.Itseemedlikedaysratherthanmere
hourssinceIhaddroppedoffmyhirecarinOxfordandsetoffforthestationwiththe
simplemindedplanoftravellingfromOxfordtoCambridgebywayofalunchtimebreak
atMiltonKeynes.
Timewasleakingaway.Ihad,insomeremote,halfforgottenlife,satatakitchen
tableinahouseintheYorkshireDalesandworkedoutthatIcouldcomfortablycoverthe

wholecountryinsixor,attheoutside,sevenweeks.Andthatincludedairyplanstogo
practicallyeverywheretotheChannelIslands,Lundy,Shetland,FairIsle,virtuallyall
thecities.IhadreadJohnHillaby'sJourneyThroughBritainandhehadwalkedfrom
Land'sEndtoJohnO'Groatsineightweeks.Surelywiththeassistanceofafleetmodern
publictransportsystemIcouldseemostofBritaininsixorsevenweeks.ButnowhereI
was,havingusedupnearlyhalfmyallottedtime,andIhadn'tevenpenetratedasfaras
theMidlands.
So,inadimframeofmind,Igatheredupmythings,walkedtothestationandcaught
atrainbacktoLondonwhere,ineffect,Iwouldhavetostartalloveragain.Icouldn't
thinkwheretogo,soIdidwhatIoftendo.Asthetrainmarchedthroughtherolling,
autumnbarefarmlandsofBuckinghamshire,Ispreadoutamapandlostmyselfinthe
names.Thisis,tome,oneofthedeepandabidingpleasuresoflifeinBritain.
Iwonderifotherpeoplenoticehowmuchcomparativepleasurethereisindrinkingin
apubcalledTheEagleandChildorLambandFlagratherthan,say,Joe'sBar.
Personally,Ifindendlesssatisfactioninit.Ilovetolistentothefootballresultsandthe
lullingrollcallofteamnamesSheffieldWednesday,WestBromwichAlbion,Partick
Thistle,QueenoftheSouth;whatglorythereisinthosenamesandIfindstrange
comfortintheexoticandmystifyinglitanyoftheshippingforecasts.Ihavenoideawhat
theymean'Vikingrisingfive,backingfour;Doggerblowingstrong,steadyasshegoes;
Minchesgaleforcetwelve,jeezLouise'buttheyexertapowerfulsoothingeffectonme.
IgenuinelybelievethatoneofthereasonsBritainissuchasteadyandgraciousplaceis
thecalminginfluenceofthefootballresultsandshippingforecasts.
ThereisalmostnoareaofBritishlifethatisn'ttouchedwithakindofgeniusfor
names.Justlookatthenamesoftheprisons.Youcouldsitmedownwithalimitless
supplyofblankpaperandapenandcommandmetocomeupwithamorecherishably
ridiculousnameforaprisonandinalifetimeIcouldn'timproveonWormwoodScrubsor
Strangeways.Eventhecommonnamesofwildflowersstitchwort,lady'sbedstraw,blue
fleabane,feverfewhaveaninescapableenchantmentaboutthem.
Butnowhere,ofcourse,aretheBritishmoregiftedthanwithplacenames.Thereare
some30,000placenamesinBritain,agoodhalfofthem,Iwouldguess,notableor
arrestinginsomeway.Therearevillageswithoutnumberwhoseverynamessummon
forthanimageoflazysummerafternoonsandbutterfliesdartinginmeadows:
WinterbourneAbbas,WestonLullingfields,TheddlethorpeAllSaints,LittleMissenden.
Therearevillagesthatseemtohidesomeancientandpossiblydarksecret:Husbands
Bosworth,RimeIntrinseca,WhiteladiesAston.Therearevillagesthatsoundliketoilet
cleansers(Potto,Sanahole,Durno)andvillagesthatsoundlikeskincomplaints
(Scabcleuch,Whiterashes,Scurlage,Sockburn).Inabrieftrawlthroughanygazetteer
youcanfindfertilizers(Hastigrow),shoedeodorizers(Powfoot),breathfresheners
(Minto),dogfood(Whelpo)andevenaScottishspotremover(Sootywells).Youcanfind
villagesthathaveanattitudeproblem(Seething,Mockbeggar,Wrangle)andvillagesof
strangephenomena(Meathop,Wigtwizzle,Blubberhouses).Andtherearevillagesalmost
withoutnumberthatarejustendearinglyinane
Prittlewell,LittleRollright,ChewMagna,Titsey,WoodstockSlop,LickeyEnd,
Stragglethorpe,YonderBognie,NetherWallopandtheunbeatableThorntonleBeans.

(Burymethere!)Youhaveonlytocastaglanceacrossamaporloseyourselfinanindex
toseethatyouareinaplaceofinfinitepossibility.
Somepartsofthecountryseemtospecializeincertainthemes.Kenthasapeculiar
fondnessforfoodstuffs:Ham,Sandwich.DorsetgoesinforcharactersinaBarbara
Cartlandnovel:BradfordPeverell,ComptonValence,LangtonHerring,Wootton
Fitzpaine.Lincolnshirelikesyoutothinkit'salittleoffitshead:ThimblebyLangton,
TumbyWoodside,Snarford,FishtoftDrove,SotsHoleandthetrulyarrestingSpitallin
theStreet.
It'snotablehowoftentheseplacesclustertogether.Inonecompactareasouthof
Cambridge,forinstance,youcanfindBioNorton,RickinghallInferior,Hellions
Bumpstead,Ugleyand(apersonalfavourite)ShellowBowells.Ihadanimpulsetogo
therenow,tosniffoutShellowBowells,asitwere,andfindwhatmakesNortonBioand
RickinghallInferior.ButasIglancedoverthemapmyeyecaughtalineacrossthe
landscapecalledtheDevil'sDyke.Ihadneverheardofit,butitsoundedawfully
promising.Idecidedonanimpulsetogothere.
ThusitwasthatIfoundmyselflatethenextmorningwanderingabacklaneoutside
theCambridgeshirehamletofReachlookingforthedike'sstart.Itwasarottenday.A
steamroomfogfilledtheairandvisibilitywasnexttonothing.Thedikeroseup
suddenly,almostalarmingly,outofthesoupygreyness,andIclambereduptoitstop.It
isastrangeandbroodingeminence,particularlyinthickfogandoutofseason.Built
duringthedarkestoftheDarkAgessome1,300yearsago,theDevil'sDykeisanearthen
embankmentthatrisesuptosixtyfeetabovethesurroundinglandscapeandrunsina
straightlinefor7VimilesbetweenReachandDittonGreen.Disappointingly,noone
knowswhyitiscalledtheDevil'sDyke.Thenameisn'trecordedbeforethesixteenth
century.Standingasitdoesinthemidstofflatfenlands,ithasakindofmenacing,
palpablyancientair,butalsoafeelingofmonumentalfolly.Itrequiredanimmense
commitmentoflabourtoconstruct,butitdidn'ttakeawholelotofmilitarygeniusto
realizethatallaninvadingarmyhadtodowasgoaroundit,whichiswhatallofthem
did,andwithinnotimeatalltheDevil'sDykehadceasedtohaveanyuseatallexceptto
showpeopleinthefencountrywhatitfeltliketobesixtyfeethigh.Still,itoffersan
agreeable,easystrollalongitsgrassysummit,andonthisbleakmorningIhaditallto
myself.NotuntilIreachedtheapproximatemidwaypointdidIbegintoseeotherpeople,
mostlyexercisingtheirdogsonthebroadswardofNewmarketHeathandlookingghostly
intheunearthlyfog.ThedikerunsrightthroughthegroundsofNewmarketRacecourse,
whichIthoughtratherjollythoughIcouldn'tseeadamnthing,andthenceonthrough
prosperouslookinghorsecountry.Graduallythefogbegantothinandbetweenthe
skeletaltreesIglimpsedasuccessionoflargestudfarms,eachwithawhitefenced
paddock,abighouseandasprawlofornatestableblockswithcupolasandweather
vanesthatmadethemlookuncannilylikeamodernAsdaorTesco's.Pleasantasitwasto
haveaneasy,flatramblealongsuchawelldefinedroute,itwasalsoatrifledull.I
walkedforacoupleofhourswithoutpassinganyoneandthenabruptlythedikeendedin
afieldoutsideDittonGreen,andIwasleftstandingtherewithanunsettlingsenseof
anticlimax.ItwasonlyalittleaftertwointheafternoonandIwasnowhereneartired.I
knewthatDittonhadnorailwaystation,butIhadpresumedIcouldcatchabusto

Cambridge,andindeedIdiscoveredinthelocalbusshelterthatIcouldifIwaitedtwo
days.SoItrudgedfourmilestoNewmarketdownabusyroad,hadanidlelookaround
there,thencaughtatraintoCambridge.
Oneofthesustainingpleasuresofalongtrampinthecountry,particularlyoutof
season,isthethoughtthateventuallyyouwillfindaroominasnughostelry,havea
seriesofdrinksbeforeablazingfireandthendineonheartyviandstowhichtheday's
exerciseandfreshairhaveclearlyentitledyou.ButIarrivedinCambridgefeelingfresh
anduntaxedandentitledtonothing.Worsestill,presumingthatthewalkwouldbemore
challengingthanitwasandthatImightarrivelate,IhadbookedaroomintheUniversity
ArmsHotelintheexpectationthatitwouldhavetherequisiteblazingfire,thehearty
viandsandsomethingoftheairofaseniorcommonroom.Infact,asIdiscoveredtomy
quietdismay,itwasanoverpricedmodernblockandmygloomyroomwaslamentablyat
oddswithitsdescriptioninmyguidebook.
Ihadalistlesslookroundthecity.NowCambridge,Iknow,isaveryfinecityanda
greatplacefornamesChrist'sPiecesalonetakessomebeatingbutIcouldn'tmake
myselfwarmtoitthisday.Thecentralmarketwasatattymess,thereseemeda
discouragingsurfeitofconcretestructuresaroundthecentre,andbylate
afternooneverythingwasdrenchedinacheerlessdrizzle.I.endedupnosingaroundin
secondhandbookshops.Iwaslookingfornothinginparticular,butinoneIcameacross
anillustratedhistoryofSelfridgesDepartmentStoreandItookiteagerlyfromtheshelf,
hopingforanexplanationofhowHighcliffeCastlehadfallenintoderelictionand,better
still,forprurientanecdotesinvolvingSelfridgeandthelibidinousDollySisters.
Alas,thisappearedtobeasanitizedversionoftheSelfridgestory.Ifoundonlya
singlepassingmentionoftheDollys,whichimpliedthattheywerejustacoupleof
innocentwaifsinwhomSelfridgetookanavuncularinterest.OfSelfridge'sprecipitate
declinefromrectitudetherewasscarcelyamentionandofHighcliffeCastlenothingat
all.SoIputthebookbackand,realizingthatsomehoweverythingIdidthisdaywouldbe
touchedwithdisappointment,Iwentandhadapintofbeerinanemptypub,amediocre
dinnerinanIndianrestaurant,alonelywalkintherain,andfinallyretiredtomyroom,
whereIdiscoveredthattherewasnothingatallofnoteontelevision,andrealizedthatI
hadleftmywalkingstickinNewmarket.
Iretiredwithabookonlytodiscoverthatthebedsidelightbulbwasgonenotburned
outbutgoneandpassedtheremaininghoursoftheeveninglyinginertonthebedand
watchingaCagneyandLaceyrerun,partlyoutofacuriousinteresttodetectwhatitis
aboutthisancientprogrammethatsobesotsthecontrollerofBBC1(onlypossible
answer:SharonGless'schest)andpartlybecauseofitsguaranteednarcoticeffect.Ifell
asleepwithmyglassesonandawokeatsomeindeterminatehourtofindtheTVscreena
frantic,noisyblizzard.Igotuptoswitchitoff,trippedheavilyoversomeunyielding
objectandmanagedtheinterestingtrickofturningofftheTVwithmyhead.Curiousto
knowhowIhadmanagedthis,incaseIdecidedtomakeitapartypiece,Idiscoveredthat
theoffendingobjectwasmystick,whichwasnotinNewmarketafterall,butonthefloor,
lodgedbetweenachairandabedleg.
Well,that'sonegoodthing,Ithoughtand,gracingmynostrilswithtwowalrustusks
oftissuetostanchasuddenflowofblood,climbedwearilybackintobed.

CHAPTERFIFTEEN
IWENTTORETFORD.ICAN'TEXPLAINIT.THROUGHMYMORNING
ablutions,thegentleremovalofthetissuesfrommyswollennostrils,throughbreakfast
andcheckingoutofthehotelandthelongwalktothestation,itwasmysolemnand
dutifulintentiontogotoNorwichandthencetoLincoln.Butforsomereason,assoonas
IenteredthestationandspiedaBritishRailmaponthewall,Ihadastrange,sudden
hankeringtogosomewhereentirelynew,andRetfordjumpedoutatme.
Forthepastsevenyears,IhadpassedthroughRetfordeverytimeItookatrain
betweenLeedsandLondon.Itwasoneofthemainstopsontheeastcoastline,butIhad
neverseenanyonegetonoranyonegetoffthere.OnmyBritishRailroutemap,Retford
wasaccordedcapitalletters,givingitequaltypographicalstandingwithLiverpool,
Leicester,Nottingham,GlasgowandalltheothersubstantialcommunitiesofBritain,and
yetIknewnothingaboutit.Infact,Idon'tbelieveIhadevenheardofitbeforeIsawits
lonelystationforthefirsttimefromthetrain.Morethanthat,Ihadnevermetanyone
whohadbeenthereorknewanythingaboutit.MyAABookofBritishTownsincluded
lavishandkindlydescriptionsofeveryobscurecommunityyoucouldthinktoname
Kirriemuir,Knutsford,Prestonpans,Swadlincote,BridgeofAllan,Duns,Forfar,
WigtownbutofRetforditmaintainedasternandmysterioussilence.Clearly,itwas
timetocheckthisplaceout.
SoIcaughtatraintoPeterboroughandthenanotheronthemainlinenorth.Ihadn't
sleptparticularlywellonaccountofanunsettlingdreaminvolvingCagneyandLaceyand
thediscovery
thatIhadn'tfiledaUStaxreturnsince1975(theythreatenedtoturnmeovertothat
guywhotakeshisshirtoffintheopeningcredits,soyoucanimaginethestateofmy
bedclotheswhenIawokewithagaspaboutdawn),andIwaslookingforwardtooneof
thosequiet,soothingjourneysofthekindthatBritishRailarealwayspromisingthe
oneswhereyourshoesturnintoslippersandLeonRedbonesingsyoutosleep.
SoitwaswithsomedismaythatIdiscoveredthattheseatbehindmewasoccupiedby
VodaphoneMan.Thesepeoplearegettingtobearealnuisance,aren'tthey?Thisonewas
particularlyirritatingbecausehisvoicewasloudandselfsatisfiedandlitteredwith
moronspeak,andhiscallsweresoclearlypointless:
'Hello,Clivehere.I'monthe10.07andshouldbeatHQby1300hoursasexpected.
I'mgoingtoneedarushdebriefonthePentlandSquirescenario.Whatsay?No,I'mout
ofthelooponMarisPipers.Listen,canyouthinkofanyreasonwhyanyonewould
employatotalanuslikeme?What'sthat?BecauseI'mthesortofpersonwho'shappyasa
piginshitjustbecausehe'sgotamobilephone?Hey,interestingconcept.'Thenafew
momentsofsilenceand:'Hello,love.I'monthe10.07.Shouldbehomebyfive.Yes,just
likeeveryothernight.NoreasontotellyouatallexceptthatI'vegotthisphoneandI'ma
completefuckwit.I'llcallagainfromDoncasterfornoreason.'Then:'Clivehere.Yeah,
I'mstillonthe10.07butwehadapointsfailureatGrantham,soI'mlookingnowatan
ETAof13.02ratherthantheforecast1300hours.IfPhilcalls,willyoutellhimthatI'm
stillacompletefuckwit?Brill.'Andsoitwentallmorning.

ThusitwaswithsomereliefthatIfoundmyself,aloneamongthemanypassengers,
alightinginRetford,anoccurrencesounusualthatitbroughtstationemployeestothe
windows,andwalkingintotownthroughaclingingmistofrain.Retford,Iampleasedto
report,isadelightfulandcharmingplaceevenunderthesortofoppressivegreyclouds
thatmakefarmorecelebratedtownsseemdrearyandtired.Itscentrepieceisan
exceptionallylargeandhandsomemarketsquarelinedwithapicturesquejumbleofnoble
Georgianbuildings.Besidethemainchurchstoodaweightyblackcannonwithaplaque
saying'CapturedatSevastopol1865',whichIthoughtaremarkablepieceofinitiativeon
thepartofthelocalsit'snoteveryday,afterall,thatyoufindaNottinghamshiremarket
townstormingaCrimeanredoubtandbringinghomebootyandtheshopsseemed
prosperousandwellordered.Ican'tsaythatIfeltlikespendingmyholidayshere,butI
waspleasedtohaveseenitatlastandtohavefoundittrimandlikeable.
Ihadacupofteainalittleshop,thencaughtabustoWorksop,aplaceofsimilarsize
andtempo(andwhich,bytheby,doesgetanentryintheAABookofBritishTowns).
RetfordandWorksopapparentlyhadhadacontesttoseewhichofthemwouldhousethe
headquartersofBassetlawDistrictCouncil,andWorksophadclearlylostsincethe
officeswerethere.Theywerepredictablyhideousanddiscordant,buttherestofthetown
seemedagreeableenoughinalowkeysortofway.
IhadcometoWorksopnotbecauseIwasachingtoseeitbutbecausenearbythere
wassomethingIhadwishedtoseeforalongtime:WelbeckAbbey,reputedlyoneofthe
finesthomesinthatcuriouscompactregionknownastheDukeries.Theseatsoffive
historicdukedomsNewcastle,Portland,Kingston,LeedsandNorfolkareallwithin
twentymilesofeachotherinthisobscurecorneroftheNorthMidlands,thoughLeeds
andPortlandarenowextinctandtheothers,Igather,havemostlygoneaway.(TheDuke
ofNewcastle,accordingtoSimonWinchesterinTheirNobleLordships,livesinamodest
houseinHampshire,whichItrusthastaughthimthefollyofnotinvestinginbouncing
castlesandminiaturesteamtrains.)
WelbeckistheancestralhomeofthePortlandclan,thoughinfacttheyhaven'tlived
theresince1954onaccountofasimilarunfortunatelackofpresciencewithregardto
adventureplaygroundsandpettingzoos.ThefifthDukeofPortland,oneW.J.C.Scott
Bentinck(18001879),haslongbeensomethingofaheroofmine.OldW.J.C.,asIlike
tothinkofhim,wasoneofhistory'sgreatreclusesandwenttothemostextraordinary
lengthstoavoidallformsofhumancontact.Helivedinjustonesmallcornerofhis
statelyhomeandcommunicatedwithhisservantsthroughnotespassedtohimthrougha
specialmessageboxcutintothedoortohisrooms.Foodwasconveyedtohiminthe
diningroombymeansofaminiaturerailwayrunningfromthekitchen.Intheeventof
chanceencounters,hewouldstandstockstillandservantswereinstructedtopasshimas
theywouldapieceoffurniture.Thosewhotransgressedthisinstructionwerecompelled
toskateontheduke'sprivateskatingrinkuntilexhausted.Sightseerswereallowedto
tourthehouseandgrounds'solong,'asthedukeputit,'asyouwouldbegoodenough
nottoseeme.'
Forreasonsthatcanonlybeguessedat,thedukeusedhis
considerableinheritancetobuildasecondmansionunderground.Atitspeak,hehad
15,000menemployedonitsconstruction,andwhencompleteditincluded,amongmuch

else,alibrarynearly250feetlongandthelargestballroominEngland,withspaceforup
to2,000guestsratheranoddthingtobuildifyouneverhaveguests.Anetworkof
tunnelsandsecretpassagewaysconnectedthevariousroomsandranforconsiderable
distancesoutintothesurroundingcountryside.Itwasasif,inthewordsofonehistorian,
'heanticipatednuclearwarfare'.WhenitwasnecessaryfortheduketotraveltoLondon,
hewouldhavehimselfsealedinhishorsedrawncarriage,whichwouldbedriventhrough
amileandahalflongtunneltoaplacenearWorksopStationandloadedontoaspecial
flatcarforthetriptothecapital.There,stillsealed,itwouldbedriventohisLondon
residence,HarcourtHouse.
Whenthedukedied,hisheirsfoundalloftheabovegroundroomsdevoidof
furnishingsexceptforonechamberinthemiddleofwhichsattheduke'scommode.The
mainhallwasmysteriouslyfloorless.Mostoftheroomswerepaintedpink.Theone
upstairsroominwhichthedukeresidedwaspackedtotheceilingwithhundredsofgreen
boxes,eachofwhichcontainedasingledarkbrownwig.Thiswas,inshort,amanworth
gettingtoknow.
SoinastateofsomeeagernessIstrolledoutofWorksoptotheedgeofClumberPark,
aneighbouringNationalTrustholding,andfoundwhatIhopedwasapathtoWelbeck
Abbey,somethreeorfourmilesaway.Itwasalongwalkalongamuddywoodlandtrack.
AccordingtothefootpathsignsIwasonsomethingcalledtheRobinHoodWay,butthis
didn'tfeelmuchlikeSherwoodForest.Itwasmostlyaboundlessconiferplantation,a
sortoffarmfortrees,anditseemedpreternaturallystillandlifeless.Itwasthekindof
settingwhereyouhalfexpecttostumbleonabodylooselycoveredwithleaves,whichis
mygreatdreadinlifebecausethepolicewouldinterviewmeandIwouldimmediately
becomeasuspectonaccountofanunfortunateinabilitytoanswerquestionslike'Where
wereyouontheafternoonofWednesdaythethirdofOctoberat4p.m.?'Icouldimagine
myselfsittinginawindowlessinterviewroom,saying,'Let'ssee,IthinkImighthave
beeninOxford,ormaybeitwastheDorsetcoastpath.Jeez,Idon'tknow.'Andthenext
thingyouknowI'dbebangedupinParkhurstorsomeplace,andwithmyluckinthe
meantimethey'dhavereplacedMichaelHowardasHomeSecretarysotherewouldn'tbe
anychanceofjustliftingthelatchandlettingmyselfout.Thingsgotstranger.Anodd
windroseinthetreetops,makingthembendanddance,butdidn'tdescendtoearthsothat
atgroundleveleverythingwascalm,whichwasalittlespooky,andthenIpassedthrough
asteepsandstoneravinewithtreerootsgrowingweirdlylikevinesalongitsface.
Betweentheroots,thesurfacewascoveredwithhundredsofcarefullyscratched
inscriptions,withnamesanddatesandoccasionaltwinedhearts.Thedatescoveredan
extraordinaryspan:1861,1962,1947,1990.Thisseemedastrangeplaceindeed.Either
thiswasapopularspotforloversorsomecouplehadbeengoingsteadyforaverylong
time.
AbitfurtheronIcametoalonelygatehousewithamachicolatedroofline.Beyondit
stoodasweepofopenfieldfullofstubblywinterwheat,andbeyondthat,justvisible
throughamantleoftrees,wasalargeandmanyangledgreencopperroofWelbeck
Abbey,orsoatleastIhoped.Ifollowedthepatharoundtheperipheryofthefield,which
wasimmenseandmuddy.Ittookmenearlythreequartersofanhourtomakemywayto
apavedlane,butIwassurenowthatIhadfoundtherightplace.Thelanepassed

alongsideanarrow,reedylake,andthis,accordingtomytrustyOSmap,wastheonly
bodyofwaterformiles.Ifollowedthelaneforperhapsamileuntilitendedatarather
grandentrancebesideasignsayingPRIVATENOENTRY,butwithnoother
indicationofwhatlaybeyond.
Istoodforamomentinalatherofindecision(thenameIwouldlike,incidentally,ifI
ameverennobled:LordLatherofIndecision)anddecidedtoventureupthedrivealittle
wayjustenoughtoatleastglimpsethehousewhichIhadcomesofartosee.Iwalkeda
littleway.Thegroundsweremeticulouslyandexpensivelygroomed,butwellscreened
withtrees,soIwalkedalittlefurther.Afterafewhundredyardsthetreesthinnedalittle
andopenedoutintolawnscontainingakindofassaultcourse,withclimbingnetsand
logsonstilts.Whatwasthisplace?Abitfurtheron,besidethelake,therewasanodd
pavedarealikeacarparkinthemiddleofnowherewhichIrealized,withasmallcry
ofjoy,wastheduke'sfamousskatingrink.NowIwassofarintothegroundsthat
discretionhardlymattered.IstrodeonuntilIwassquareinfrontofthehouse.Itwas
grandbutcuriouslycharacterlessandithadbeenclumsilygracedwithanumberofnew
extensions.Beyondinthedistancewasacricketpitchwithanelaboratepavilion.There
wasnoonearound,buttherewasacarparkwithseveralcars.Thiswasclearlysomekind
ofinstitutionperhapsatrainingcentrefor
somebodylikeIBM.Sowhywasitsoanonymous?Iwasabouttogoupandhavea
lookinthewindowswhenadooropenedandamaninauniformemergedandstrode
towardsmewithaseverelookonhisface.Ashenearedme,Icouldseehisjacketsaid
'MODSecurity'.Ohoh.
'Hello,'Isaidwithabigfoolishsmile.
'Areyouaware,sir,thatyouaretrespassingonMinistryof'Defenceproperty?'
Iwaveredforamoment,tornbetweengivinghimmytouristfromIowaact('You
meanthisisn'tHamptonCourtPalace?Ijustgaveacabdriver175')andfessingup.I
fessed.InasmallrespectfulvoiceItoldhimaboutmylongfascinationwiththefifth
DukeofPortlandandhowIhadachedtoseethisplaceforyearsandcouldn'tresistjust
havingapeepatitaftercomingallthisway,whichwasexactlytherightthingtodo
becauseheobviouslyhadanaffectionforoldW.J.C.himself.Heescortedmesmartishly
totheedgeofthepropertyandkeptupsomethingofabluffmanner,butheseemed
quietlypleasedtohavesomeonewhosharedhisinterests.Heconfirmedthatthepaved
areawastheskatingrinkandpointedoutwherethetunnelsran,whichwasprettymuch
everywhere.Theywerestillsound,hetoldme,thoughtheyweren'tusedanylonger
exceptforstorage.Theballroomandotherundergroundchambers,however,werestill
regularlyemployedforfunctionsandasagymnasium.TheMODhadjustspentamillion
poundsrefurbishingtheballroom.
'Whatisthisplaceanyway?'Iasked.
'Trainingcentre,sir,'wasallhewouldsayandinanycasewehadreachedtheendof
thedrive.HewatchedtomakesureIwent.Iwalkedbackacrossthebigfield,then
pausedatthefarendtolookattheWelbeckAbbeyroofrisingfromthetreetops.Iwas
pleasedtoknowthattheMinistryofDefencehadmaintainedthetunnelsand
undergroundrooms,butitseemedanawfulshamethattheplacewassoformidablyshut
tothepublic.Itisn'teverydayafterallthattheBritisharistocracyproducessomeoneof

W.J.C.ScottBentinck'srareandextraordinarymentalloopiness,thoughinfairnessit
mustbesaidtheygiveittheirbestshot.
Andwiththisthoughttochewon,Iturnedandbeganthelongtrudgebackto
Worksop.
CHAPTERSIXTEEN
ISPENTAPLEASANTNIGHTINLINCOLN,WANDERINGITSSTEEPAND
ancientstreetsbeforeandafterdinner,admiringthesquat,darkimmensityofthe
cathedralanditstwoGothictowers,andlookingforwardverymuchtoseeingitinthe
morning.IlikeLincoln,partlybecauseitisprettyandwellpreservedbutmostlybecause
itseemssoagreeablyremote.H.V.Morton,inInSearchofEngland,likenedittoan
inlandStMichael'sMountstandingabovethegreatseaoftheLincolnshireplain,and
that'sexactlyright.Ifyoulookonamap,it'sonlyjustdowntheroadabitfrom
NottinghamandSheffield,butitfeelsfarawayandquiteforgotten.Ilikethatverymuch.
JustaboutthetimeofmyvisittherewasaninterestingreportintheIndependentabout
alongrunningdisputebetweenthedeanofLincolnCathedralandhistreasurer.Sixyears
earlier,itappears,thetreasurer,alongwithhiswife,daughterandafamilyfriend,had
takenthecathedral'streasuredcopyoftheMagnaCartaofftoAustraliaforasixmonth
fundraisingtour.AccordingtotheIndependent,theAustralianvisitorstotheexhibition
hadcontributedagrandtotalofjust938oversixmonths,whichwouldsuggesteither
thatAustraliansareextraordinarilytightfistedorthatthedearoldIndependentwasa
triflecarelesswithitsfacts.Inanycase,whatisbeyonddisputeisthatthetourwasa
financialdisaster.Itlostover500,000aprettyheftybill,whenyouthinkaboutit,for
fourpeopleandapieceofparchment.MostofthistheAustraliangovernmenthad
graciouslycovered,butthecathedralwasstillleftnursinga56,000loss.Theupshotis
thatthedean
gavethestorytothepress,causingoutrageamongthecathedralchapter;theBishopof
Lincolnheldaninquiryatwhichhecommandedthechaptertoresign;thechapterrefused
toresign;andnoweverybodywasmadatprettymucheverybodyelse.Thishadbeen
goingonforsixyears.
SowhenIsteppedintothelovely,echoingimmensityofLincolnCathedralthe
followingmorningIwasratherhopingthattherewouldbehymnalsflyingaboutandthe
unseemlybutexcitingsightofclericswrestlinginthetransept,butinfactallwas
disappointinglycalm.Ontheotherhand,itwaswonderfultobeinagreatecclesiastical
structuresolittledisturbedbyshufflingtroopsoftourists.Whenyouconsiderthehordes
thatflocktoSalisbury,York,Canterbury,Bathandsomanyoftheothergreatchurches
ofEngland,Lincoln'srelativeobscurityissomethingofasmallmiracle.Itwouldbehard
tothinkofaplaceofequalarchitecturalmajestylessknowntooutsidersDurham,
perhaps.
Thewholeofthenavewasfilledwithranksofpaddedmetalchairs.I'venever
understoodthis.Whycan'ttheyhavewoodenpewsinthesecathedrals?EveryEnglish
cathedralI'veeverseenhasbeenlikethis,withsemistragglyrowsofchairsthatcanbe
stackedorfoldedaway.Why?Dotheyclearthechairsawayforbarndancingor

something?Whateverthereason,theyalwayslookcheapandoutofkeepingwiththe
surroundingsplendourofsoaringvaults,stainedglassandGothictracery.Whata
heartbreakitissometimestoliveinanageofsuchconsummatecostconsciousness.Still,
itmustbesaidthatthemodernintrusionsdohelpyoutonoticehowextravagantly
deployedweretheskillsofmedievalstonemasons,glaziersandwoodcarvers,andhow
unstintingwastheuseofmaterials.
Iwouldliketohavelingered,butIhadavitaldatetokeep.IneededtobeinBradford
bymidafternooninordertoseeoneofthemostexcitingvisualofferingsintheentire
world,asfarasIamconcerned.OnthefirstSaturdayofeverymonth,yousee,
PicturevilleCinema,partofthelargeandpopularMuseumofPhotography,Filmand
SomethingElse,showsanoriginal,uncutversionofThisIsCinerama.Itistheonlyplace
intheworldnowwhereyoucanseethiswonderfulpieceofcinematichistory,andthis
wasthefirstSaturdayofthemonth.
Ican'ttellyouhowmuchIwaslookingforwardtothis.IfrettedallthewaythatI
wouldmissmyrailconnectionatDoncasterandthenIfrettedagainthatIwouldmissthe
oneatLeeds,butIreachedBradfordinplentyoftimenearlythreehoursearly,infact,
whichmademetrembleslightly,forwhatisonetodoinBradfordwiththreehoursto
kill?
Bradford'sroleinlifeistomakeeveryplaceelseintheworldlookbetterin
comparison,anditdoesthisverywell.NowhereonthistripwouldIseeacitymore
palpablyforlorn.NowherewouldIpassmorevacantshops,theirwindowssoapedor
coveredwithtatteredpostersforpopconcertsinother,morevibrantcommunitieslike
HuddersfieldandPudsey,ormoreofficebuildingsfestoonedwithTOLETsigns.Atleast
oneshopinthreeinthetowncentrewasemptyandmostoftherestseemedtobebarely
hangingon.Soonafterthisvisit,Rackham's,themaindepartmentstore,wouldannounce
itwasclosing.Suchlifeastherewashadmostlymovedindoorstoacharacterless
compoundcalledtheArndaleCentre.(Andwhyisit,bytheway,thatSixtiesshopping
centresarealwayscalledtheArndaleCentre?)ButmostlyBradfordseemedsteepedina
perilousandirreversibledecline.
OncethiswasoneofthegreatestcongregationsofVictorianarchitectureanywhere,
butyouwouldscarcelyguessitnow.Scoresofwonderfulbuildingsweresweptawayto
makeroomforwidenewroadsandangularofficebuildingswithpaintedplywoodinsets
beneatheachwindow.Nearlyeverythinginthecitysuffersfromwellintentionedbut
misguidedmeddlingbyplanners.Manyofthebusierstreetshavethekindofpedestrian
crossingsthatyouhavetonegotiateinstagesonestagetogettoanislandinthemiddle,
thenanotherlongwaitwithstrangersbeforeyouaregivenfoursecondstosprinttothe
othersidewhichmakeseventhesimplesterrandstiresome,particularlyifyouwantto
makeaeatercornercrossingandhavetowaitatfoursetsoflightstotravelanetdistance
ofthirtyyards.Worsestill,alongmuchofHallIngsandPrincesWaythehapless
pedestrianisforcedintoaseriesofbleakandmenacingsubwaysthatmeetinlarge
circles,opentotheskybutalwaysinshadow,andsobadlydrained,I'mtold,that
someoneoncedrownedinoneduringaflashdownpour.
Youwon'tbesurprisedtohearthatIusedtowonderabouttheseplanninginsanitiesa
lot,andthenonedayIgotabookfromSkiptonLibrarycalledBradfordOutlinefor

Tomorroworsomethinglikethat.ItwasfromthelateFiftiesorearlySixtiesanditwas
fullofblackandwhitearchitect'sdrawingsofgleamingpedestrianprecinctspeopled
withprosperous,confidentlystriding,semistickfigures,andofficebuildingsofthetype
thatloomedovermenow,
andIsuddenlysaw,withakindofastonishingclarity,whattheyweretryingtodo.I
meantosay,theygenuinelythoughttheywerebuildinganewworldaBritaininwhich
thebrooding,sootblackenedbuildingsandnarrowstreetsofthepastwouldbeswept
awayandreplacedwithsunnyplazas,shinyoffices,libraries,schoolsandhospitals,all
linkedwithbrightlytiledundergroundpassagewayswherepedestrianswouldbesafely
segregatedfromthepassingtraffic.Everythingaboutitlookedbrightandcleanandfun.
Therewereevenpicturesofwomenwithpushchairsstoppingtochatintheopenair
subterraneancircles.Andwhatwegotinsteadwasacityofempty,peelingofficeblocks,
discouragingroads,pedestriandrainsandeconomicdesolation.Perhapsitwouldhave
happenedanyway,butatleastwewouldhavebeenleftwithacityofcrumblingold
buildingsinsteadofcrumblingnewones.
Nowadays,inagesturethatisasironicasitispathetic,thelocalauthoritiesare
desperatelytryingtopromotetheirmeagrestockofoldbuildings.Inamodestclusterof
narrowstreetsonaslopejustenoughoutofthecitycentretohaveescapedthebulldozer,
therestillstandsomethreedozenlargeandstrikingwarehouses,mostlybuiltbetween
1860and1874inaconfidentneoclassicalstylethatmakesthemlooklikemerchant
banksratherthanwoolsheds,whichtogethermakeuptheareaknownasLittleGermany.
Oncethereweremanyotherdistrictslikethisindeed,thewholeofcentralBradfordas
lateasthe1950sconsistedalmostwhollyofwarehouses,mills,banksandofficessingle
mindedlydedicatedtothewoollentrade.Andthengoodnessknowshowthewool
businessjustleakedaway.Itwas,Isuppose,theusualstoryofoverconfidenceandlack
ofinvestmentfollowedbypanicandretreat.Inanycase,themillswent,theofficesgrew
dark,theoncebustlingWoolExchangedwindledtoadustynothingness,andnowyou
wouldneverguessthatBradfordhadeverknowngreatness.
OfalltheoncethrivingwoolprecinctsinthecityBermondsey,Cheapside,Manor
Row,SunbridgeRoadonlythefewdarkbuildingsofLittleGermanysurviveinany
number,andeventhispromisingsmallneighbourhoodseemsbleakandfutureless.Atthe
timeofmyvisittwothirdsofthebuildingswerecoveredinscaffolding,andtheother
thirdhadTOLETsignsonthem.Thosethathadbeenrenovatedlookedsmartandwell
done,buttheyalsolookedpermanentlyvacant,andtheywereabouttobejoinedintheir
gleaming,wellpreservedemptinessbythetwodozenothersnowintheprocessofbeing
renovated.Whatagoodideaitwouldbe,Ithought,iftheGovernmentorderedthe
evacuationofMiltonKeynesandmadealltheinsurancecompaniesandotherfirms
decamptoplaceslikeBradfordinordertobringsomelifebacktorealcities.ThenMilton
KeynescouldbecomelikeLittleGermanyisnow,anemptyplacethatpeoplecouldstroll
throughandwonderat.Butitwillneverhappen,ofcourse.Obviously,theGovernment
wouldneverordersuchathing,butitwon'tevenhappenthroughmarketforcesbecause
companieswantbigmodernbuildingswithlotsofcarparking,andnobodywantstolive
inBradford,andwhocanblamethem?Andanyway,evenifbysomemiracletheyfind
tenantsforallthesewonderfuloldrelics,itwillneverbeanythingmorethanasmall

wellpreservedenclaveintheheartofadyingcity.
Still,Bradfordisnotwithoutitscharms.TheAlhambraTheatre,builtin1914inan
excitinglyeffusivestylewithminaretsandtowers,hasbeensumptuouslyandskilfully
renovatedandremainsthemostwonderfulplace(withthepossibleexceptionofthe
HackneyEmpire)toseeapantomime.(SomethingIpositivelyadore,bytheway.Within
weeksofthisvisit,IwouldbebacktoseeBillyPearceinAladdin.Laugh?Isoakedthe
seat.)TheMuseumofFilm,Photography,ImaxCinemaandSomethingElse(Icannever
remembertheexactname)hasbroughtawelcomeflickeroflifetoacornerofthecity
thatpreviouslyhadtorelyontheworld'smostappallingindooricerinkforitsdiversion
value,andtherearesomegoodpubs.Iwentinonenow,theMannvilleArms,andhada
pintofbeerandabowlofchilli.TheMannvilleiswellknowninBradfordastheplace
wheretheYorkshireRipperusedtohangout,thoughitoughttobefamousforitschilli,
whichisoutstanding.
Afterwards,withanhourstilltokill,IwalkedovertotheMuseumofTelevision,
PhotographyandWhatever,whichIadmire,partlybecauseitisfreeandpartlybecauseI
thinkitisdeeplycommendabletoputtheseinstitutionsintheprovinces.Ihadalook
throughthevariousgalleries,andwatchedinsomewonderasthrongsofpeopleparted
withsubstantialsumsofcashtoseethetwoo'clockImaxshow.I'vebeentotheseImax
screeningsbeforeandfranklyIcan'tunderstandtheirappeal.Iknowthescreenis
massiveandthevisualreproductionstunning,butthefilmsarealwayssoincrediblydull,
withtheirearnest,leadencommentariesaboutMan'sconquestofthisandfulfillinghis
destinytodothatthislatestofferingwhichhadthecrowdsflockinginwasactually
calledDestinyinSpacewhenanyfoolcanseethatwhat
everybodyreallywantsistogoonarollercoasterrideandexperiencealittlehere
comesmylunchaerialdivebombing.
ThepeopleatCineramaCorporationunderstoodthiswellsomefortyyearsagoand
madeadeathdefyingrollercoasterridethefocusoftheiradvertisingcampaign.Thefirst
andlasttimeIsawThisIsCineramawasin1956onafamilytriptoChicago.Themovie
hadbeenongeneralreleasesince1952butsuchwasitspopularityinthebigcities,and
itsunavailabilityinplaceslikeIowa,thatitranforyearsandyears,thoughitmustbesaid
thatbythetimewesawitmostoftheaudienceconsistedofpeopleinbiboveralls
chewingonstalksofgrass.MymemoriesofitwerevagueIwasjustfouryearsoldin
thesummerof1956butfond,andIcouldn'twaittoseeitnow.
SuchwasmyeagernessthatIhastenedoutoftheMuseumofVariousThings
InvolvingCelluloidandacrosstothenearbyentranceofthePicturevilleCinemahalfan
hourearlyandstood,aloneinafreezingdrizzle,forfifteenminutesbeforethedoorswere
opened.Iboughtaticket,stipulatingaplaceinthecentreoftheauditoriumandwith
plentyofroomforvomiting,andfoundmywaytomyseat.Itwasawonderfulcinema,
withplushseatsandabigcurvingscreenbehindvelvetcurtains.Forafewminutesit
lookedasifIwasgoingtohavetheplacetomyself,butthenothersstartedcominginand
bytwominutestoshowtimeitwasprettywellfull.
Atthestrokeoftwo,theroomdarkenedandthecurtainsopenedperhapsfifteenfeet
afractionoftheirtotalsweepandthemodestportionofexposedscreenfilledwithsome
introductoryfootagebyLowellThomas(asortof1950sAmericanversionofDavid

AttenboroughbutlookinglikeGeorgeOrwell)sittinginapatentlyfakestudyfilledwith
globetrottingobjects,preparingusforthewonderwewereabouttobehold.Nowyou
mustputthisinitshistoricalcontext.Cineramawascreatedinadesperateresponseto
televisionwhichintheearly1950swasthreateningtoputHollywoodcleanoutof
business.Sothisprefatoryfootage,filmedinblackandwhiteandpresentedinamodest
rectangletheshapeofatelevisionscreen,wasclearlyintendedtoimplantasubliminal
reminderthatthiswasthesortofimagewewereusedtolookingatthesedays.Aftera
briefbutnotuninterestingrundownonthe.historyofthecinematicarts,Thomastoldus
tositbackandenjoythegreatestvisualspectacletheworldhadeverseen.Thenhe
disappeared,richorchestralmusicrosefromeveryquarter,thecurtainsdrewbackand
backandbacktorevealamajesticcurvedscreenandsuddenlywewereinaworld
drenchedincolour,onarollercoasteronLongIsland,andgoshwasitgood.
Iwasinheaven.The3Deffectwasfarbetterthanyouwouldexpectwithsucha
simpleandancientprojectionsystem.Itreallywaslikebeingonarollercoaster,butwith
oneincomparabledifference:thiswasa1951rollercoaster,risinghighabovecarparks
fullofvintageStudebakersandDeSotosandthunderingterrifyinglypastcrowdsof
peopleincapacioustrousersandcolourfulbaggyshirts.Thiswasn'tamovie.Itwastime
travel.
Ireallymeanthat.Betweenthe3Dwizardry,thestereophonicsoundandthesparkling
sharpnessoftheimages,itwaslikebeingthrustmagicallybackfortyyearsintime.This
hadaparticularresonanceformebecauseinthesummerof1951,whenthisfootagewas
beingshot,Iwascurledupinmymother'sabdomen,increasingbodyweightataratethat
Iwouldn'tmatchuntilIquitsmokingthirtyfiveyearslater.ThiswastheworldIwas
abouttobeborninto,andwhatadelightful,happy,promisingplaceitseemed.
Idon'tthinkIhaveeverspentthreesuchhappyhours.Wewentallovertheworld,for
ThisIsCineramawasn'tamovieinaconventionalsensebutatraveloguedesignedto
showthiswonderoftheagetobesteffect.WeglidedthroughVeniceongondolas,
watchedfromthequaysidesbypeopleincapacioustrousersandcolourfulbaggyshirts;
listenedtotheViennaBoysChoiroutsidetheSchonbrunnPalace;watchedaregimental
tattooatEdinburghCastle;sawalongsegmentofAidaatLaScala(bitboring,that);and
concludedwithalongaeroplaneflightoverthewholeofAmerica.Wesoaredabove
NiagaraFallsaplaceIhadbeenthesummerbefore,butthiswasquiteunlikethetourist
cloggednightmareIhadvisited,withitsforestsofviewingtowersandinternational
hotels.ThisNiagaraFallshadabackdropoftreesandlowbuildingsandthinlyusedcar
parks.WevisitedCypressGardensinFlorida,flewlowovertheripplingfarmfieldsof
MiddleAmerica,andhadanexcitinglandingatKansasCityAirport.Webrushedover
theRockies,droppedintothestaggeringvastnessoftheGrandCanyon,andflewthrough
theformidable,twistinggorgesofZionNationalParkwhiletheplanebankedsharply
pastalarmingoutcropsofrockandLowellThomasannouncedthatsuchacinematicfeat
hadneverbeforebeenattemptedandallofthistoaswellingstereophonicrenditionof
'GodBlessAmerica'bytheMormonTabernacleChoir,whichbeganwithamelodichum
androsetoafullthroatedlet'sgivethoseKrautsalickingcrescendo.Tearsofjoyand
pridewelledinmysocketsanditwasallIcoulddotokeepfromclimbingontomyseat
andcrying:'Ladiesandgentlemen,thisismycountry!'

Andthenitwasoverandwewereshufflingoutintothedrizzlytwilitbleaknessof
Bradford,whichwassomethingofashocktothesystem,believeme.Istoodbyabronze
statueofJ.B.Priestley(posedwithcoattailsflying,whichmakeshimlookoddlyasifhe
hasaverybadcaseofwind)andstaredatthebleak,hopelesscitybeforemeandthought:
Yes,Iamreadytogohome.
Butfirst,Iadditionallythought,I'lljusthaveacurry.
CHAPTERSEVENTEEN
IFORGOTTOMENTIONCURRYHOUSESEARLIERINMYBRIEFLISTOF
Bradford'sglories,whichwasaterribleoversight.Bradfordmayhavelostawooltrade
butithasgainedathousandexcellentIndianrestaurants,whichIpersonallyfinda
reasonableswapasIhaveastrictlylimitedneedforbalesoffibrebutcantakeaboutas
muchIndianfoodasyoucaretoshovelatme.
TheoldestoftheBradfordcurryhouses,I'mtold,andcertainlyoneofthebestand
cheapest,istheKashmir,justuptheroadfromtheAlhambra.Thereisaproperrestaurant
upstairs,withwhitetablecloths,gleamingcutleryandpoised,helpfulwaiters,but
aficionadosdescendtothebasementwhereyousitwithstrangersatlongFormicatopped
tables.Thisplaceissohardcorethattheydon'tbotherwithcutlery.Youjustscoopthe
foodinwithhunksofnanbreadandmessyfingers.For3Ihadasmallfeastthatwas
rich,deliciousandsohotthatitmademyfillingssizzle.
Afterwards,bloatedandsatedandwithastomachbubblingawaylikeaheatedbeaker
inamadscientistmovie,IsteppedoutintotheBradfordeveningandwonderedwhatto
dowithmyself.Itwasjustaftersixo'clockonaSaturdayevening,buttheplacefeltdead.
Iwasacutelyanduncomfortablyawarethatmyhomeanddearfamilywerejustover
thenextrangeofhills.ForsomereasonIhaditinmyheadthatitwouldbecheatingtogo
homenowwiththetriphalffinished,butthenIthought:Sodit.I'mcoldandlonesome
andI'mnotabouttospendanightinahoteltwentymilesfrommyownhome.SoI
walkedtoForsterSquareStation,tookarattling,
emptytraintoSkiptonandacabtothelittleDalesvillagewhereIlive,andhadthe
driverdropmedowntheroadsothatI'couldapproachthehouseonfoot.
Whatajoyitistoarriveafterdarkatasnuglookinghouse,itswindowsfilledwith
welcominglight,andknowthatitisyoursandthatinsideisyourfamily.Iwalkedupthe
driveandlookedthroughthekitchenwindow,andtheretheyallweregatheredroundthe
kitchentableplayingMonopoly,blesstheirwholesomelittlehearts.Istaredatthemfor
ages,lostinaglowofaffectionandadmirationandfeelinglikeJimmyStewartinIt'sa
WonderfulLifewhenhegetstospyonhisownlife.AndthenIwentin.
NowIcan'tpossiblywriteaboutthissortofthingwithoutmakingitsoundlikean
episodefromTheWaltons,sowhatI'mgoingtodoisdistractyourattentionfora
momentfromthisanimatedandheartwarmingreunioninaYorkshireDaleskitchenand
tellyouatruebutirrelevantstory.
Intheearly1980s,Iwasfreelancingalotinmysparetime,principallyforairline
magazines.Igottheideatodoanarticleonremarkablecoincidencesandsentoffaquery
lettertooneofthesepublications,whichexpressedseriousinterestandpromised

paymentof$500ifpublishedasumofmoneyIcouldveryhandilyhavedonewith.But
whenIcametowritethearticle,Irealizedthat,althoughIhadplentyofinformation
aboutscientificstudiesintotheprobabilitiesofcoincidence,Ididn'thavenearlyenough
examplesofremarkablecoincidencesthemselvestogivethearticlesufficientziportofill
1,500wordsofspace.SoIwrotealettertothemagazinesayingIwouldn'tbeableto
deliverandleftitonthetopofmytypewritertopostthenextday.ThenIdressedmyself
inrespectableclothinganddrovetoworkatTheTimes.
Nowinthosedays,PhilipHoward,thekindlyliteraryeditor(Iwould,ofcourse,say
that,inviewofhisposition,butinfactitistrue:he'sapropergent),usedtoholdbook
salesforthestaffacoupleoftimesayearwhenhisofficebecamesofilledwithreview
copiesthathe'dlosthisdesk.Thesewerealwaysexcitingoccasionsbecauseyoucould
acquirestacksofbooksforpracticallynothing.Hechargedsomethinglike25pfor
hardbacksandlOpforpaperbacks,andthenpassedtheproceedstotheCirrhosis
Foundationorsomeothercharitydeartotheheartsofjournalists.Onthisparticularday,I
arrivedatworktofindanoticebytheliftsannouncingabooksaleat4p.m.Itwas3.55,
soIdumpedmycoatatmydeskandeagerlyhastenedtohischamber.Theplacewas
alreadyfullofminglingpeople.Isteppedintothemeleeandwhatshouldbetheveryfirst
bookmyeyesfellonbutapaperbackcalledRemarkableTrueCoincidences.How'sthat
foraremarkabletruecoincidence?Buthere'stheuncannything.Iopeneditupandfound
thatnotonlydiditofferallthematerialIcouldpossiblyneed,buttheveryfirst
coincidenceitdiscussedconcernedamannamedBryson.
I'vebeentellingthisstoryforyearsinpubsandeverytimeI'vefinishedit,thepeople
towhomI'vetoldithavenoddedthoughtfullyforquitesometime,thenturnedtoeach
otherandsaid:'Youknow,itoccurstomethere'sanotherwaytogettoBarnsleywithout
goinganywhereneartheM62.YouknowtheHappyEaterroundaboutatGuiseley?Well,
ifyoutakethesecondturningthere...'
Soanyway,Ispentthreedaysathome,immersedinthechaosofdomesticlife,happy
asapuppyrompingwiththelittleones,bestowingaffectionindiscriminately,following
mywifefromroomtoroom,doingwiddlesonasheetofnewspaperinthekitchencorner.
Icleanedoutmyrucksack,attendedtothemail,strodeproprietoriallyaroundthegarden,
savouredtheblissofwakingupeachmorninginmyownbed.
Icouldn'tfacetheprospectofdepartingagainsosoon,soIdecidedtostayonabit
longerandmakeacoupleofdaytrips.ThusitwasthatonthethirdmorningIpickedup
mygoodfriendandneighbour,thekindlyandgiftedartistDavidCookitishispainting
thatgracesthejacketofthisbookandwentwithhimforaday'swalkthroughSaltaire
andBingley,hisnativeturf.Itwasawfullynicetohavesomecompanyforachangeand
interestingtoseethislittlecornerofYorkshirethroughtheeyesofsomeonewhohad
grownupinit.
IhadneverproperlybeentoSaltairebeforeandwhatasplendidsurpriseitwastome.
Saltaire,incaseyoudon'tknowaboutit,isamodelfactorycommunitybuiltbyTitusSalt
between1851and1876.ItisalittledifficulttoknowwhattomakeofoldTitus.Onthe
onehandhewasoneofthatunattractivebreedofteetotalling,selfrighteous,Godfearing
industrialistsinwhichthenineteenthcenturyseemedtospecializeamanwhodidn't
wantmerelytoemployhisworkersbuttoownthem.Workersathismillwereexpected

toliveinhishouses,worshipinhischurch,followhis
preceptstotheletter.Hewouldnotallowapubinthevillageandsosaddledthelocal
parkwithsternrestrictionsregardingnoise,smoking,theplayingofgamesandother
indecorousactivitiesthattherewasnotmuchfuntobehadinit.Workerswereallowedto
takeboatsoutontheriverbutonly,forsomereason,solongastherewerenevermore
thanfouroutatanyonetime.WhethertheyUkeditornot,inshort,theywerecompelled
tobesober,industriousandquiet.
Ontheotherhand,Saltshowedararedegreeofenlightenmentintermsofsocial
welfare,andthereisnoquestionthathisemployeesenjoyedcleaner,healthier,more
comfortablelivingconditionsthanalmostanyotherindustrialworkersintheworldat
thattime.
ThoughithassincebeenswallowedupbythegreatsprawlthatistheLeedsBradford
conurbation,whenitwasbuiltSaltairestoodinclean,opencountrysideavastchange
fromtheunhealthystewofcentralBradford,whereinthe1850sthereweremorebrothels
thanchurchesandnotasingleyardofcoveredsewers.Frombleakandgrimybackto
backs,Salt'sworkerscametoairy,spaciouscottages,eachwithayard,privategassupply
andatleasttwobedrooms.ItmusthaveseemedaveryEden.
OnaslopingsiteoverlookingtheRiverAireandLeedstoLiverpoolCanal,Saltbuilt
amassivemillknownasthePalaceofIndustryinitsdaythelargestfactoryinEurope
spreadingovernineacresandgracedwithastrikingItalianatecampanilemodelledon
thatofSantaMariaGloriosainVenice.Headditionallybuiltapark,achurch,aninstitute
for'conversation,refreshmentandeducation',ahospital,aschooland850trimandtidy
stonehousesonaformalgridofcobbledstreets,mostofthemnamedforSalt'swifeand
elevenchildren.Theinstitutewasperhapsthemostremarkableoftheseundertakings.
Builtinthehopeofdistractingworkersfromtheperilofdrink,itcontainedagymnasium,
alaboratory,abilliardsroom,alibrary,areadingroom,andalectureandconcerthall.
Neverbeforehadmanualworkersbeengivenamorelavishopportunitytobetter
themselves,anopportunitythatmanyscoresenthusiasticallyseized.OneJames
Waddington,anuntutoredwoolsorter,becameaworldauthorityonlinguisticsanda
leadinglightofthePhoneticSocietyofGreatBritainandIreland.
TodaySaltaireremainsmiraculouslyintact,thoughthefactoryhaslongsinceceased
tomanufactureclothandthehousesarenowprivatelyowned.Onefloorofthefactory
containsawonderfulandfreepermanentexhibitionoftheworksofDavidHockney,
andtherestisgivenovertoretailspacesellingthemostextraordinaryrangeofdesigner
clothes,poshandstylishhousewares,booksandartypostcards.Itwasakindofmiracle
tofindthisplace
thisyuppieheaveninhabitingaforgottencornerofmetropolitanBradford.Andyet
itseemedtobedoingverywell.
DavidCookandIhadanunhurriedlookaroundthegalleryIhadneverpaidmuch
attentiontoHockney,butI'lltellyouthis:theboycandrawthenwanderedthroughthe
streetsofformerworkers'cottages,allofthemsnugandtrimandlovinglypreserved,
beforestrikingoffthroughRobertsParktoShipleyGlen,asteepwoodeddellleadingtoa
sweepofopencommonlandofthesortwhereyoucanusuallyfindpeopleexercising
theirdogs.Itlooksasifithasbeenwildanduntendedforever,butinfactacenturyago

thiswasthesiteofahugelysuccessfulamusementpark
oneoftheworld'sfirst.
Amongthemanyattractionswereanaerialgondolaride,abigdipperandwhatwas
billedasTheLargest,Wildest,SteepestTobogganSlideEverErectedonEarth'.I'veseen
picturesofthese,filledwithladieswithparasolsandmustachioedmeninstiffcollars,
andtheydoactuallylookprettyexciting,particularlythetobogganride,whichranfor
perhapsaquarterofamiledownaformidablysteepandperiloushill.Onedayin1900,
asaearfulofsmartlydressedtobogganerswerebeinghauledupthehilltobedespatched
onanotherhairraisingdescent,thewinchcablesnapped,sendingthepassengershurtling
outofcontroltoamessybutexcitingdeathatthebottom,andthatwasprettymuchthe
endoftheShipleyGlenAmusementPark.Todayallthat'sleftoftheseoriginalthrillsis
thepokyGlenTramway,whichgoesupanddownanearbyslopeinadiscreetandsedate
fashion,asithassince1895,butamongthetallgrasswedidfindaremnantofoldtrack
fromtheoriginaltobogganride,whichthrilledusmildly.
Thewholeofthisareaisakindofarchaeologicalsiteofthenottoodistantpast.A
mileorsoaway,upanovergrowntrack,isthesiteofMilnerField,anornatepalaceof
stonebuiltbyTitusSaltJuniorin1870atatimewhentheSaltfamilyfortunesseemed
boundlessandperpetuallysecure.Butweren'ttheyinforasurprise?In1893,thetextile
tradewentintoasuddenslump,leavingtheSaltsdangerouslyoverextended,andthe
familyabruptlylostcontrolofthefirm.Inconsternationandshame,theyhadtosellthe
house,millandassociatedholdings.Thenbeganastrange
andsinisterseriesofevents.Withoutapparentexceptionallthesubsequentownersof
MilnerFieldsufferedoddanddevastatingsetbacks.Onewhackedhimselfinthefoot
withagolfclubanddiedwhenthewoundturnedgangrenous.Anothercamehometofind
hisyoungbrideengagedinanunseemlyboutofnakedbedtopwrestlingrwithabusiness
associate.Heshottheassociateorpossiblybothofthemaccountsvarybutinanycase
hecertainlymadeamessofthebedroomandwastakenofftohavehisneckstretched.
Beforelongthehousedevelopedareputationasaplacewhereyoucouldreliably
expecttocomeacropper.Peoplemovedinandabruptlymovedoutagain,withashen
facesandterriblewounds.By1930,whenthehousewentonthemarketonelasttime,no
buyercouldbefoundforit.Itstayedemptyfortwentyyears,andfinallyin1950itwas
pulleddown.Nowthesiteisovergrownandweedy,andyoucouldwalkpastitwithout
everguessingthatoneofthefinesthousesintheNorthhadoncestoodhere.Butifyou
pokeaboutinthetallgrass,aswedidnow,youcanfindoneoftheoldconservatory
floors,madeofneatlypatternedblackandwhitetiles.Itwasstrangelyreminiscentofthe
RomanmosaicIhadseenatWinchcombe,andscarcelylessastonishing.
ItseemedremarkabletothinkthatacenturyagoTitusSaltJuniorcouldhavestoodon
thisspot,inasplendidhouse,lookingdowntheAireValleytothedistantbutformidable
Salt'sMill,clangingawayandfillingtheairwithsteamysmoke,andbeyonditthesprawl
oftherichestcentreofwoollentradeintheworld,andthatnowitcouldallbegone.What
wouldoldTitusSeniorthink,Iwondered,ifyoubroughthimbackandshowedhimthat
thefamilyfortunewasspentandhisbusyfactorywasnowfullofstylishchrome
housewaresandwooftahpaintingsofnakedmaleswimmerswithglisteningbuttocks?
Westoodforalongtimeonthislonelysummit.YoucanseeformilesacrossAiredale

fromupthere,withitscrowdedtownsandhousesclimbingupthesteephillsidestothe
bleakuplandfells,andIfoundmyselfwondering,asIoftendowhenIstandona
northernhillside,whatallthosepeopleinallthosehousesdo.Thereusedtobescoresof
millsallupanddownAiredaletenormoreinBingleyaloneandnowtheyarevirtually
allgone,torndowntomakeroomforsupermarketsorconvertedintoheritagecentres,
blocksofflatsorshoppingcomplexes.French'sMill,Bingley'slastsurvivingtextile
factory,hadclosedayearortwobeforeandnowsatforlornwithbrokenwindows.Oneof
thegreatsurprisestomeuponmovingNorthwasdiscoveringtheextenttowhichitfelt
likeanothercountry.PartlyitwasfromthelookandfeeloftheNorththehigh,open
moorsandbigskies,thewanderingdrystonewalls,thegrimymilltowns,thesnugstone
villagesoftheDalesandLakesandpartly,ofcourse,itwastodowiththeaccents,the
differentwords,therefreshingifsometimesstartlingfranknessofspeech.Partlyitwas
alsotodowiththewaySouthernersandNorthernersweresoextraordinarily,sometimes
defiantly,ignorantofthegeographyoftheotherendofthecountry.Itusedtoastonish
me,workingonnewspapersinLondon,howoftenyoucouldcalloutaquestionlike
'WhichoftheYorkshiresisHalifaxin?'andbemetwithatablefulofblankfrowns.And
whenImovedNorthandtoldpeoplethatI'dpreviouslylivedinSurreynearWindsor,I
oftengotthesamelookakindofnervousuncertainty,asiftheywereafraidIwasgoing
tosay,'Nowyoushowmeonthemapjustwherethatis.'
MostlywhatdifferentiatedtheNorthfromtheSouth,however,wastheexceptional
senseofeconomicloss,ofgreatnesspassed,whenyoudrovethroughplaceslikePreston
orBlackburnorstoodonahillsidelikethis.IfyoudrawanangledlinebetweenBristol
andtheWash,youdividethecountryintotwohalveswithroughly27millionpeopleon
eachside.Between1980and1985,inthesouthernhalftheylost103,600jobs.Inthe
northernhalfinthesameperiodtheylost1,032,000jobs,almostexactlytentimesas
many.Andstillthefactoriesareshutting.Turnonthelocaltelevisionnewsanyevening
andatleasthalfofitwillbedevotedtofactoryclosures(andtheotherhalfwillbeabouta
catstuckupatreesomewhere;thereistrulynothingdirerthanlocaltelevisionaews).So
Iaskagain:whatdoallthosepeopleinallthosehousesdoandwhat,moretothepoint,
willtheirchildrendo?
WewalkedoutofthegroundsalonganothertracktowardsEldwick,pastalargeand
flamboyantgatehouse,andDavidmadeacrestfallennoise.'Iusedtohaveafriendwho
livedthere,'hesaid.Nowitwascrumbling,itswindowsanddoorwaysbrickedup,asad
wasteofafinestructure.Besideit,anoldwalledgardenwasneglectedandovergrown.
Acrosstheroad,DavidpointedoutthehousewhereFredHoylehadgrownup.Inhis
autobiography(It'llStartGettingColdAnyMinuteNow,JustYouSee),Hoylerecalls
howheusedtoseeservantsinwhiteglovesgoinginandoutthegateofMilnerField,
butismysteriouslysilentonallthescandalandtragedythatwashappeningbeyond
thehighwall.Ihadspent3onhisautobiographyinasecondhandbookshopinthe
certainexpectationthattheearlychapterswouldbefullofaccountsofgunfireand
midnightscreams,soyoucanimaginemydisappointment.
Abitfurtheron,wepassedthreelargeblocksofcouncilflats,whichwerenotonly
uglyandremotebutpositionedinsuchanoddandcarelesswaythat,althoughtheystood
onanopenhillside,thetenantsdidn'tactuallygetaview.Theyhad,Davidtoldme,won

manyarchitecturalawards.
AsweambledintoBingleydownacurvingslope,Davidtoldmeabouthischildhood
thereintheFortiesandFifties.Hepaintedanattractivepictureofhappytimesspent
goingtothepictures('WednesdaystotheHippodrome,FridaystotheMyrtle'),eatingfish
andchipsoutofnewspapers,listeningtoDickBartonandTopoftheFormontheradio
amagiclostworldofhalfdayclosings,secondposts,peopleonbicycles,endless
summers.TheBingleyhedescribedwasaconfident,prosperouscogattheheartofa
proudandmightyempire,withbusyfactoriesandalivelycentrefullofcinemas,tea
roomsandinterestingshops,whichwasstrikinglyatoddswiththedowdy,traffic
frazzled,knockedaboutplacewewerepassingintonow.TheMyrtleandHippodrome
hadshutyearsbefore.TheHippodromehadbeentakenoverbyaWoolworth's,butthat,
too,wasnowlonggone.Todaythereisn'tacinemainBingleyormuchofanythingelse
tomakeyouwanttogothere.Thecentreofthetownistoweredoverbytheforbidding
presenceoftheBradfordandBingleyBuildingSocietynotaparticularlyawfulbuilding
asthesethingsgo,buthopelesslyoutofscalewiththetownaroundit.Betweenitanda
trulysqualid1960sbrickshoppingprecinct,thecentreofBingleyhashaditscharacter
destroyedbeyondrepair.Soitcameasapleasantsurprisetofindthatbeyonditscentral
coreBingleyremainsadelightfulspot.
WewalkedpastaschoolandagolfcoursetoaplacecalledBeckfootFarm,apretty
stonecottageinadellbesideaburblingbeck.ThemainBradfordroadwasonlyafew
hundredyardsaway,butitwasanother,premotorizedcenturybackhere.Wefolloweda
shadyriversidepath,whichwasexceedinglyfetchinginthemildsunshine.Thereusedto
beafactoryherewheretheyrenderedfat,Davidtoldme.Ithadthemostawfulsmell,and
thewateralwayshadahorriblerustycreamycolourwithaskinoffrothygungeonit.
Nowtheriverwassparklinggreenandhealthylookingandthespotseemedtotally
untouchedbyeithertimeorindustry.Theoldfactoryhadbeenscrubbedupandgutted
andturnedintoablockofstylishflats.WewalkeduptoaplacecalledFiveRiseLocks,
wheretheLeedstoLiverpoolCanalclimbsahundredfeetorsoinfivequickstages,and
hadalookatthebrokenwindowsbeyondtherazorwireperimeterofFrench'sMill.
Then,feelingasifwehadexhaustedprettymuchallthatBingleyhadtooffer,wewentto
aconvivialpubcalledtheOldWhiteHorseanddrankaverylargeamountofbeer,which
iswhatwehadbothhadinmindallalong.
ThenextdayIwentshoppingwithmywifeinHarrogateorratherIhadalook
aroundHarrogatewhileshewentshopping.Shoppingisnot,inmyview,somethingthat
menandwomenshoulddotogethersinceallmenwanttodoisbuysomethingnoisylike
adrillandgetithomesotheycanplaywithit,whereaswomenaren'thappyuntilthey've
seenmoreorlesseverythingintownandfeltatleast1,500differenttextures.AmIalone
inbeingmystifiedbythisstrangecompulsiononthepartofwomentofingerthingsin
shops?Ihavemanytimesseenmywifegotwentyorthirtyyardsoutofherwaytofeel
somethingamohairjumperoravelveteenbedjacketorsomething.
'Doyoulikethat?'I'llsayinsurprisesinceitdoesn'tseemhertypeofthing,andshe'll
lookatmeasifI'mmad.
'That?she'llsay.'No,it'shideous.'
Thenwhyonearth,'Ialwayswanttosay,'didyouwalkallthewayovertheretotouch

it?'ButofcourselikealllongtermhusbandsIhavelearnedtosaynothingwhen
shoppingbecausenomatterwhatyousay'I'mhungry','I'mbored','Myfeetaretired',
'Yes,thatonelooksniceonyou,too','Well,havethemboththen','Oh,forfucksake',
'Can'twejustgohome?','Monsoon?Again?Oh,forfucksake','WherehaveIbeen?
Wherehaveyoubeen?','Thenwhyonearthdidyouwalkallthewayovertheretotouch
it?'itdoesn'tpay,soIsaynothing.
Onthisday,MrsB.wasinshoeshoppingmode,whichmeanshoursandhoursof
makingsomepoorguyinacheapsuitfetchendlessboxesofmoreorlessidentical
footwearandthendecidingnottohaveanything,soIwiselydecidedtoclearoffandhave
alookatthetown.ToshowherIloveher,ItookherforcoffeeandcakeatBetty's(andat
Betty'spricesyouneedtobeprettydamnsmitten),wheresheissuedmewithherusual
preciseinstructionsforarendezvous.Threeo'clockoutsideWoolworth's.Butlistenstop
fiddlingwiththatandlistenifRussell&Bromleydon'thavetheshoesIwantI'll
havetogotoRavel,inwhichcasemeetmeat3.15bythefrozenfoodsinMarks.
OtherwiseI'llbeinHammick'sinthecookerybookssectionorpossiblythechildren's
booksunlessI'minBootsfeelingtoasters.Butprobably,infact,I'llbeatRussell&
Bromleytryingonallthesameshoesalloveragain,inwhichcasemeetmeoutsideNext
nolaterthan3.27.Haveyougotthat?'
'Yes.'No.
'Don'tletmedown.'
'Ofcoursenot.'Inyourdreams.
Andthenwithakissshewasgone.Ifinishedmycoffeeandsavouredtheelegant,old
fashionedambienceofthisfineinstitutionwherethewaitressesstillwearfrillycapsand
whiteapronsoverblackdresses.Therereallyoughttobemoreplaceslikethis,ifyouask
me.Itmaycostanarmandalegforacafetiereandastickybun,butitisworthevery
pennyandtheywillletyousitthereallday,whichIseriouslyconsidereddoingnowasit
wassoagreeable.ButthenIthoughtIreallyoughttohavealookaroundthetown,soI
paidthebillandhauledmyselfoffthroughtheshoppingprecincttohavealookat
Harrogate'snewestfeature,theVictoriaGardensShoppingCentre.Thenameisabitrich
becausetheybuiltitontopofVictoriaGardens,soitreallyoughttobecalledtheNice
LittleGardensDestroyedByThisShoppingCentre.
Iwouldn'tmindthissomuch,buttheyalsodemolishedthelastgreatpublictoiletsin
Britainalittlesubterraneantreasurehouseofpolishedtilesandgleamingbrassinthe
aforementionedgardens.TheGentswassimplywonderfulandI'vehadgoodreports
abouttheLadiesaswell.Imightnotevenmindthissomucheitherbutthenewshopping
centreisjustheartbreakinglyawful,theworstkindofpastichearchitectureasortof
BathCrescentmeetsCrystalPalacewitharoofbyB&Q.ForreasonsIcouldn'tbeginto
guessat,abalustradealongtherooflinehadbeenadornedwithlifesizedstatuesof
ordinarymen,womenandchildren.GoodnessknowswhatthisismeanttosuggestI
supposethatthisissomesortofHallofthePeoplebuttheeffectisthatitlooksasiftwo
dozencitizensofvariousagesareabouttocommitmasssuicide.
OntheStationParadesideofthebuilding,wherethepleasantlittleVictoriaGardens
andtheirpleasantlittlepublictoiletsformerlyexisted,thereisnowakindofopenair
amphitheatreofsteps,whereIsupposeitisintendedforpeopletositonthosetwoor

threedaysayearwhenYorkshireissunny,andhighabovetheroadtherehasbeenbuilta
trulypreposterouscoveredfootbridgeinthesameGeorgian/Italianate/FuckKnowsstyle
connectingtheshoppingcentretoamultistoreycarparkacrosstheway.
Now,onthebasisofmyearlierremarksaboutBritain'streatmentofitsarchitectural
heritage,youmayfoolishlyhavesupposedthatIwouldbesomethingofanenthusiastfor
thissortofthing.Alas,no.Ifbypasticheyoumeanabuildingthattakessomenoteofits
neighboursandperhapstakessomecaretomatchadjoiningrooflinesandechothesize
andpositionofitsneighbours'windowsanddooropeningsandthatsortofthing,then
yes,Iaminfavourofit.ButifbypasticheyoumeanakindofDisneylandversionof
JollyOldeEnglandlikethislaughableheapbeforeme,thenthankyoubutno.
Youcouldargue,IsupposeandIdaresayVictoriaGardens'architectwouldthatat
leastitshowssomeefforttoinjecttraditionalarchitecturalvaluesintothetownscapeand
thatitislessjarringtothesensibilitiesthanthenearbyglassandplasticboxinwhichthe
Coopishappytoreside(whichis,letmesayhere,abuildingofconsummateugliness),
butinfactitseemstomethatitisjustasbadas,andinitswayevenmoreuninspiredand
unimaginativethan,thewretchedCoopbuilding.(Butletmealsosaythatneitheriseven
remotelyasbadastheMaplesbuilding,aSixtiesblockthatrises,likesomekindofhalf
wittedpracticaljoke,adozenorsostoreysintotheairinthemiddleofalongstreetof
innocuousVictorianstructures.Nowhowdidthathappen?)
SowhatarewetodowithBritain'spoorbatteredtownsifIwon'tletyouhaveRichard
SeifertandIwon'tletyouhaveWaltDisney?IwishIknew.Morethanthis,Iwishthe
architectsknew.Surelytheremustbesomewaytocreatebuildingsthatarestylishand
forwardlookingwithoutdestroyingtheoverallambienceoftheirsetting.Mostother
Europeannationsmanageit(withthenotableandcuriousexceptionoftheFrench).So
whynothere?
Butenoughofthistediousbleating.Harrogateisbasicallyaveryfinetown,andfar
lessscarredbycarelessdevelopmentsthanmanyothercommunities.IthasintheStray,a
215acresweepofparklikecommonlandoverlookedbysolid,prosperoushomes,oneof
thelargestandmostagreeableopenspacesinthecountry.Ithassomeniceoldhotels,a
pleasantshoppingareaand,withal,agenteelandwellorderedair.Itis,inshort,asnicea
townasyouwillfindanywhere.Itremindsme,inapleasantlyEnglishway,alittleof
BadenBaden,whichis,ofcourse,notsurprisingsinceitwas
likewiseaspatowninitsdayandaverysuccessfulone,too.AccordingtoaleafletI
pickedupattheRoyalPumpRoomMuseum,aslateas1926theywerestilldispensingas
manyas26,000glassesofsulphurouswaterinasingleday.Youcanstilldrinkthewater
ifyouwant.Accordingtoanoticebythetap,itisreputedlyverygoodforflatulence,
whichseemedanintriguingpromise,andIverynearlydranksomeuntilIrealizedthey
meantitpreventedit.Whatanoddnotion.
IhadalookaroundthemuseumandwalkedpasttheoldSwanHotel,whereAgatha
Christiewentandhidaftershefoundoutthatherhusbandwasaphilanderer,thebeastly
cad,thenwanderedupMontpellierParade,averyprettystreetfilledwithawesomely
expensiveantiqueshops.IexaminedtheseventyfivefoothighWarMemorial,andwent
foralong,pleasantlydirectionlessamblethroughtheStray,thinkinghowniceitmustbe
toliveinoneofthebighousesoverlookingtheparkandbeabletostrolltotheshops.

YouwouldneverguessthataplaceasprosperousanddecorousasHarrogatecould
inhabitthesamezoneofthecountryasBradfordorBolton,butofcoursethatistheother
thingabouttheNorthithasthesepocketsofimmenseprosperity,likeHarrogateand
Ilkley,thatareevenmoredecorousandflushedwithwealththantheircounterpartsinthe
South.Makesitamuchmoreinterestingplace,ifyouaskme.
Eventually,withtheafternoonfading,Itookmyselfbackintotheheartofthe
shoppingarea,whereIscratchedmyheadand,withakindofpanickyterror,realizedI
didn'thavethefaintestideawhereorwhenIhadagreedtomeetmydearmissis.Iwas
standingtherewearinganexpressionlikeStanLaurelwhenheturnsaroundtofindthat
thepianohewaslookingafterisrollingdownasteephillwithOllieaboard,legs
wriggling,whenbyakindofmiraclemywifewalkedup.
'Hello,dear!'shesaidbrightly.'Imustsay,Ineverexpectedtofindyouherewaiting
forme.'
'Oh,forgoodness'sake,givemeabitofcredit,please.I'vebeenhereages.'
Andarminarmwestrodeoffintothewintrysunset.
CHAPTEREIGHTEEN
ITOOKATRAINTOLEEDSANDTHENANOTHERTOMANCHESTERA
long,slowbutnotunpleasantridethroughsteepsideddalesthatlookeduncannilylike
theoneIlivedinexceptthatthesewerethicklystrewnwitholdmillsandhuddled,soot
blackenedvillages.Theoldmillsseemedtocomeinthreetypes:1.Derelictwithbroken
windowsandTOLETsigns.2.Gonejustagrasslessopenspace.3.Somethingnon
manufacturing,likeadepotforacourierserviceoraB&QCentreorsimilar.Imusthave
passedahundredoftheseoldfactoriesbutnotuntilwewerewellintotheoutskirtsof
ManchesterdidIseeasingleonethatappearedtobeengagedinthemanufactureof
anything.
Ihadlefthomelate,soitwasfouro'clockandgettingonfordarkbythetimeI
emergedfromPiccadillyStation.Thestreetswereshinywithrain,andbusywithtraffic
andhurryingpedestrians,whichgaveManchesteranattractivebigcityfeel.Forsome
totallyinsanereason,Ihadbookedaroominanexpensivehotel,thePiccadilly.Myroom
wasontheeleventhfloor,butitseemedlikeabouttheeightyfifthsuchweretheviews.If
mywifehadhadaflareandaninclinationtogetupontheroof,Icouldjustabouthave
seenher.Manchesterseemedenormousaboundlesssprawlofdimyellowlightsand
streetsfilledwithslowmovingtraffic.
IplayedwiththeTV,confiscatedthestationeryandsparetabletofsoap,andputapair
oftrousersinthetrouserpressatthesepricesIwasdeterminedtoextractfullvaluefrom
theexperienceeventhoughIknewthatthetrouserswouldcomeoutwithpermanent
pleatsintheoddestplaces.(Isitmeorarethesethings
totallycounterproductive?)Thatdone,Iwentoutforawalkandtofindaplacetoeat.
ThereseemstobeakindofinverseratiowheredinnerestablishmentsandIare
concernednamelythatthemoreofthemthereare,theharderitisformetofindonethat
looksevenremotelyadequatetomymodestneeds.WhatIreallywantedwasalittle
ItalianplaceonasidestreetthekindwithcheckedtableclothsandChiantibottleswith

candlesandanice1950sfeelaboutthem.Britishcitiesusedtoaboundintheseplaces,
buttheyaredeucedlyhardtofindnow.IwalkedforsomedistancebuttheonlyplacesI
couldfindwereeitherthekindofnationalchainswithbigplasticmenusanddismalfood
orhoteldiningroomswhereyouhadtopay17.95forthreecoursesofpompous
descriptionandovercookeddisappointment.
EventuallyIendedupinChinatown,whichannouncesitselftotheworldwithabig
colourfularchandthenalmostimmediatelylosesheart.Therewasascatteringof
restaurantsamongbigofficebuildings,butIcan'tsayIfeltasifIhadwanderedintoa
littlecorneroftheOrient.Thebigger,betterlookingrestaurantswerepacked,soIended
upgoingtosomeupstairsplace,wherethedecorwastatty,thefoodbarelyOKandthe
servicetotallyindifferent.Whenthebillcame,Inoticedanextrachargebesideanotation
marked'S.C.'
'What'sthat?'Isaidtothewaitress,whohad,Ishouldliketonote,beenuncommonly
surlythroughout.
'Suhvicechawge.'
Ilookedatherinsurprise.'Thenwhy,pray,istherealsoaspacehereforatip?'
Shegaveabored,nothingtodowithmeshrug.
'That'sterrible,'Isaid.'You'rejusttrickingpeopleintotippingtwice.'
Shegaveaheavysigh,asifshehadbeenherebefore.'Yougotcomplaint?Youwant
seemanager?'
TheofferwasmadeinatonethatsuggestedthatifIweretoseethemanageritwould
bewithsomeofhisboysinabackalley.Idecidednottopressthematter,andinstead
returnedtothestreetsandhadalong,purposelesswalkthroughManchester'sdankand
strangelyilllitstreetsIcan'trememberadarkercity.Icouldn'tsaywhereIwentexactly
becauseManchester'sstreetsalwaysseemcuriouslyindistinguishabletome.Ineverfelt
asifIweregettingnearertoorfartherfromanythinginparticularbutjustwandering
aroundinakindofurbanlimbo.EventuallyIendedupbesidethegreatdarkbulkofthe
ArndaleCentre(there'sthatnameagain).Whatamonumentalmistakethatwas.Isuppose
itmustbenice,inaplaceasrainyasManchester,tobeabletoshopundercoverandif
youaregoingtohavethesethingsatall,muchbettertohavetheminthecitythanoutside
it.Butatnightitisjusttwentyfiveacresofdeadness,amassiveimpedimenttoanyone
tryingtowalkthroughtheheartofthecity.Icouldseethroughthewindowsthattheyhad
tarteditupinsidesincethelasttimeIhadbeenthereandveryniceitappearednow,too
butoutsideitwasstillcoveredinthoseawfultilesthatmakeitlookliketheworld's
largestgents'lavatory,andindeedasIpassedupCannonStreetthreeyoungmenwith
closecroppedheadsandabundantlytattooedarmswereusinganoutsidewallforthat
verypurpose.Theypaidmescantheed,butitsuddenlyoccurredtomethatitwasgetting
lateandthestreetswereawfullyemptyofrespectablelookingfellowslikeme,soI
decidedtogetbacktomyhotelbeforesomeotherlatenightcarousersputmetosimilar
use.
Iawokeearlyandhitthedrizzlystreetsdeterminedtoformsomefixedimpressionof
thecity.MyproblemwithManchester,yousee,isthatIhavenoimageofit,noneatall.
EveryothergreatBritishcityhassomethingaboutit,somecentralmotif,thatfixesitin
mymind:Newcastlehasitsbridge,LiverpoolhastheLiverBuildingsanddocks,

Edinburghitscastle,GlasgowthegreatsprawlofKelvingroveParkandthebuildingsof
CharlesRennieMackintosh,evenBirminghamhastheBullRing(andverywelcomeitis
toit,too).ButManchestertomeisaperennialblankanairportwithacityattached.
MentionManchestertomeandallthatswimsintomymindisavagueandunfocused
impressionofEnaSharpies,L.S.Lowry,ManchesterUnitedfootballclub,someplanto
introducetramsbecausetheyhavetheminZurichorsomeplaceandtheyseemtowork
prettywellthere,theHalleOrchestra,theoldManchesterGuardianandtheserather
touchingattemptseveryfouryearsorsotowinthebidforthenextsummerOlympics,
usuallyillustratedwithambitiousplanstobuilda400millionvelodromeora250
milliontabletenniscomplexorsomeotheredificevitaltothefutureofadeclining
industrialcity.
ApartfromEnaSharpiesandL.S.Lowry,Icouldn'tnameasinglegreatMancunian.
It'sclearfromtheabundanceofstatuesoutsidethetownhallthatManchesterhas
produceditsshareofworthiesinitstime,thoughitisequallyclearfromallthefrock
coatsand
muttonchopsthatithaseitherstoppedproducingworthiesorstoppedproducing
statues.Ihadalookaroundthemnowanddidn'trecognizeasinglename.
IfIhaven'tgotaveryclearimageofthecity,it'snotentirelymyfault.Manchester
doesn'tappeartohaveaveryfixedimageofitself.'ShapingTomorrow'sCityToday'is
theofficiallocalmotto,butinfactManchesterseemsdecidedlyoftwomindsaboutits
placeintheworld.AtCastlefield,theywerebusycreatingyesterday'scitytoday,
cleaninguptheoldbrickviaductsandwarehouses,recobblingthequaysides,putting
freshcoatsofglossypaintontheoldarchedfootbridgesandscatteringaboutagenerous
assortmentofoldfashionedbenches,bollardsandlampposts.Bythetimetheyhave
finished,youwillbeabletoseeexactlywhatlifewaslikeinnineteenthcentury
Manchesteroratleastwhatitwouldhavebeenlikeiftheyhadhadwinebarsandcast
ironlitterbinsanddirectionalsignsforheritagetrailsandtheGMexCentre.AtSalford
Quays,ontheotherhand,theyhavetakentheoppositetackanddoneeverythingtheycan
toobliteratethepast,creatingakindofminiDallasonthesiteoftheoncebooming
docksoftheManchesterShipCanal.It'sthemostextraordinaryplaceahuddleofglassy
modernofficebuildingsandexecutiveflatsinthemiddleofavasturbannowhere,allof
themseeminglyquiteempty.
TheonethingyouhaveajobtofindinManchesteristheonethingyoumight
reasonablyexpecttoseerowafterrowofhuddledCoronationStreets.Theseusedto
existinabundance,I'mtold,butnowyoucouldwalkmileswithoutseeingasinglebrick
terraceanywhere.Butthatdoesn'tmatterbecauseyoucanalwaysgoandseethereal
CoronationStreetontheGranadaStudiosTour,whichiswhatIdidnowalongwith,it
seemed,nearlyeveryoneelseintheNorthofEngland.Forsomedistancealongtheroad
tothestudiostherearemassivewastegroundcarandcoachparks,andevenat9.45inthe
morningtheywerefillingup.CoachesfromfarandwidefromWorkington,Darlington,
Middlesbrough,Doncaster,Wakefield,almosteverynortherntownyoucouldthinkof
weredecantingstreamsofsprightlywhitehairedpeople,whilefromthecarparksissued
throngsoffamilies,everyonelookinghappyandgoodnatured.
Ijoinedaqueuethatwasagood150yardslongandthreeorfourpeoplewideand

wonderedifthiswasn'tamistake,butwhentheturnstilesopenedthelineadvancedpretty
smartishlyandwithinminutesIwasinside.Tomydeepandlastingsurprise,it
wasactuallyquitewonderful.IhadexpectedittoconsistofastrolluptheCoronation
Streetsetandaperfunctoryguidedtourofthestudios,buttheyhavemadeitintoakind
ofamusementparkanddoneitexceedinglywell.IthadoneofthoseMotionmaster
Cinemas,wheretheseatstiltandjerk,sothatyouactuallyfeelasifyouarebeinghurled
throughspaceorthrownofftheedgeofamountain,andanothercinemawhereyouput
onplasticglassesandwatchedacherishablynaff3Dcomedy.Therewasanentertaining
demonstrationofsoundeffects,anadorablygruesomeshowaboutspecialeffectsmake
upandalively,hugelyamusingdebateinanersatzHouseofCommons,presidedoverby
atroupeofyouthfulactors.Andthethingwas,alloftheseweredonenotjustwith
considerablepolishbutwithgreatandgenuinewit.
Evenaftertwentyyearshere,Iremainconstantlyamazedandimpressedbythequality
ofhumouryoufindinthemostunlikelyplacesplaceswhereitwouldsimplynotexist
inothercountries.YoufinditinthepatterofstallholdersinplaceslikePetticoatLane
andintheroutinesofstreetperformersthesortofpeoplewhojuggleflamingclubsor
dotricksonunicyclesandkeepupasteadystreamofjokesaboutthemselvesandselected
membersoftheaudienceandinChristmaspantomimesandpubconversationsand
encounterswithstrangersinlonelyplaces.
IrememberonceyearsagoarrivingatWaterlooStationtofindtheplaceinchaos.A
fireupthelineatClaphamJunctionhaddisruptedservices.Foranhourorsohundredsof
peoplestoodwithincrediblepatienceandimplacablecalmwatchingablankdeparture
board.Occasionallyarumourwouldrustlethroughthecrowdthatatrainwasaboutto
leavefromplatform7,andeveryonewouldtraipseoffthereonlytobemetatthegateby
anewrumourthatthetrainwas,infact,departingfromplatform16orpossiblyplatform
2.Eventually,aftervisitingmostofthestation'splatformsandsittingonaseriesoftrains
thatwentnowhere,Ifoundmyselfintheguards'vanofanexpressreputedtobe
departingforRichmondshortly.Thevanhadoneotheroccupant:amaninasuitsitting
onapileofmailbags.Hehadanenormousredbeardyoucouldhavestuffedamattress
withitandthesortofworldwearylookofsomeonewhohaslongsinceabandoned
hopeofreachinghome.
'Haveyoubeenherelong?'Iasked.
Heexhaledthoughtfullyandsaid:'Putitthisway.IwascleanshavenwhenIgothere.'
Ijustlovethat.
Nottoomanymonthsbeforethis,Ihadbeenwithmyfamilyto
EuroDisneyland.Technologically,ithadbeenstunning.Theamountofmoney
investedbyDisneyinasingleridewouldmakeanypartoftheGranadaStudiosTour
looklikeamateurnightinavillagehall.Butitoccurredtomenow,asIsatinthe
immenseconvivialityofGranada'smockHouseofCommonsdebate,thatnotonceat
Disneylandhadtherebeenasinglelaugh.Wit,andparticularlythedry,ironic,takingthe
pisssortofwit,wascompletelybeyondthem.(Doyouknowthatthereisn'tevenan
equivalentinAmericanspeechfor'takingthepiss'?)YethereinBritainitissucha
fundamentalpartofdailylifethatyouscarcelynoticeit.JustthedaybeforeatSkiptonI
hadaskedforasingletoManchesterwithareceipt.Whenthemaninthewindowpassed

themtomehesaid:'Theticket'sfree...butit'seighteenfiftyforthereceipt.'Ifhehad
donethatinAmerica,thecustomerwouldhavesaid:'What?What'reyasaying?The
ticket'sfree,butthereceiptcosts18.50?Whatkindofcockamamysetupisthis?'If
DisneyhadhadaHouseofCommonsdebate,itwouldhavebeenearnest,hokey,
frighteninglycompetitiveandoverinthreeminutes.Thepeopleonthetwosidesofthe
chamberwouldhavecareddeeply,ifbriefly,aboutcomingoutontop.Here,thingswere
socontrivedthattherewasn'ttheremotestpossibilityofanyone'swinning.Itwasall
abouthavingagoodtime,anditwasdonesowell,socheerfullyandcleverly,thatIcould
hardlystandit.AndIknewwithasinkingfeelingthatIwasgoingtomissthisvery
much.
Theoneplaceyoudon'tfindanyhumourontheGranadaStudiosTourison
CoronationStreet,butthatisbecauseformillionsofusitisanearreligiousexperience.I
haveagreatfondnessforCoronationStreetbecauseitwasoneofthefirstprogrammesI
watchedonBritishtelevision.Ihadnoideawhatwasgoingon,ofcourse.Icouldn't
understandhalfofwhatthecharacterssaidorwhytheywereallcalledChuck.ButI
foundmyselfstrangelyabsorbedbyit.WhereIcamefrom,soapoperaswerealways
aboutrich,ruthless,enormouslysuccessfulpeoplewith$1,500suitsandofficeshighup
inangularskyscrapers,andthemaincharacterswerealwaysplayedbythesortofactors
andactresseswho,givenachoicebetweenbeingabletoactandhavingreallygreathair,
wouldalwaysgoforthehair.Andherewasthisamazingprogrammeaboutordinary
peoplelivingonananonymousnorthernstreet,talkingalanguageIcouldbarely
understandandneverdoingmuchofanything.Bythetimethefirstadvertscameon,I
wasahelplessdevotee.ThenIwascruellyforcedintoworkingnightsonFleetStreetand
felloutofthehabit.NowIamnotevenpermittedintheroomwhenCoronationStreetis
onbecauseIspendthewholetimesaying,'Where'sErnieBishop?Sowho'sthatthen?I
thoughtDeirdrewaswithRayLangton?Where'sLen?StanOgdenisdead?'andaftera
minuteIfindmyselfshooedaway.But,asIdiscoverednow,youcangoyearswithout
watchingCoronationStreetandstillenjoywalkingalongthesetbecauseit'ssoobviously
thesamestreet.It'stherealset,bythewaytheyclosetheparkonmostMondayssothat
theycanfilmonitanditfeelslikearealstreet.Thehousesaresolidandmadeofreal
bricks,though,likeeveryoneelse,Iwasdisappointedtopeerinthewindowsandfind
throughgapsinthecurtainsthattheywereemptyshellswithnothingbutelectricalcables
andcarpenters'sawhorsesinside.Iwasabitconfusedtoencounterahairdresser'ssalon
andapairofmodernhouses,andtheKabin,tomycleardistress,wasmuchsmarterand
wellorderedthanitusedtobe,butIstillfeltuncannilyonfamiliarandhallowedturf.
Throngsofpeoplewalkedupanddownthestreetinakindofreverentialhush,
identifyingfrontdoorsandpeeringthroughlacecurtains.Ilatchedontoafriendlylittle
ladywithbluerinsedhairunderatransparentrainhatsheseemedtohavemadefroma
breadwrapper,andshenotonlyinformedmewholivedinwhichhousesnow,butwho
hadlivedinwhichhouseswaybackwhen,sothatIwasprettywellbroughtuptospeed.
PrettysoonIfoundmyselfsurroundedbyawholeflockoflittlebluehairedladies
answeringmyshockedquestions('Deirdrewithatoyboy?Never!')andassuringmewith
solemnnodsthatitwasso.Itisaprofoundlythrillingexperiencetowalkupanddown
thisfamousstreetyoumaysmirk,butyouwouldfeeljustthesameandyouknowit

anditcomesassomethingofashocktoroundthecornerateitherendandfindyourself
backinanamusementpark.
Ihadonlyintendedtostayanhourorsoatthepark,andhadn'tgotanywherenearthe
guidedstudiotourortheCoronationStreetgiftshop,whenIglancedatmywatchand
discoveredwithasnortofalarmthatitwasnearlyoneo'clock.Inamildpanic,Ihastened
f$omtheparkandbacktomydistanthotel,fearfulthatIwouldbechargedforanother
dayor,attheveryleast,thatmytrouserswouldbeovercooked.
InconsequenceIfoundmyself,threequartersofanhourlater,standingontheedgeof
PiccadillyGardenswithaheavyrucksack
andaprettyneartotaluncertaintyaboutwheretogonext.Ihaditvaguelyinmindto
headfortheMidlands,sinceIhadgiventhisnobleifchallengingregionofthecountry
prettyshortshriftonmypreviousforagings,butasIwasstandingthereafadedred
doubledeckerbusannouncingWIGANinitslittledestinationwindowpulledupbeside
meandthematterwasoutofmyhands.IthappenedthatatthisverymomentIhadThe
RoadtoWiganPierstickingoutofmybackpocket,sounhesitatinglyandwiselyI
tookthisforasign.
Iboughtasingleandfoundmywaytoaseatmidwayalongthebackupstairs.Wigan
can'tbemorethanfifteenorsixteenmilesfromManchester,butittookmostofthe
afternoontogetthere.Welurchedandreeledthroughendlessstreetsthatneverseemedto
changecharacterorgainany.Theywerealllinedwithtinyterracehouses,ofwhichevery
fourthoneseemedtobeahairdresser's,anddottedwithgaragesandbrickshopping
precinctswithanunvaryingarrayofsupermarkets,banks,videotakeouts,pieandpea
shops,andbettingestablishments.WewentthroughEcclesandWorsley,thenthrougha
surprisinglyposhbit,andontoBoothstownandTyldesleyandAthertonandHindleyand
othersuchplacesofwhichIhadneverheard.Thebusstoppedfrequentlyeverytwenty
feetinplaces,itseemedandatnearlyeverystoptherewasalargeexchangeofpeople.
TheynearlyalllookedpoorandwornoutandtwentyyearsolderthanIsuspectthey
actuallywere.Apartfromasprinklingofoldmeninflatcapsandduncoloured,tightly
zipperedMarks8cSpencer'sjackets,thepassengerswerenearlyallmiddleagedwomen
withunlikelyhairdosandtheloose,phlegmylaughterofhardenedsmokers,butthey
wereunfailinglyfriendlyandcheerfulandseemedhappyenoughwiththeirlot.Theyall
calledeachother'darlin'and'love'.
Themostremarkablethingorperhapstheleastremarkablething,dependingonhow
youlookatitwashowneatandwelllookedafterweretheendlessterracesoflittle
houseswepassed.Everythingaboutthembespokeanairofmodestyandmakedo,but
everystoopshone,everywindowgleamed,everysillhadafresh,glossycoatofpaint.I
tookoutmycopyofTheRoadtoWiganPierandlostmyselfforabitinanotherworld,
onethatoccupiedthesamespaceastheselittlecommunitieswewerepassingthrough,
butwasimpossiblyatoddswithwhatmyeyesweretellingmewhenIglancedupfrom
thepages.
OrwellandletusneverforgetthathewasanEtonboyfromafairlyprivileged
backgroundregardedthelabouringclassesthewaywemightregardYapIslanders,asa
strangebutinterestinganthropologicalphenomenon.InWiganPierherecordshowone
ofthegreatpanicmomentsofhisboyhoodyearswaswhenhefoundhimselfinthe

companyofagroupofworkingmenandthoughthewouldhavetodrinkfromabottle
theywerepassinground.EversinceIreadthis,I'vehadmydoubtsaboutoldGeorge
frankly.Certainlyhemakestheworkingclassofthe1930sseemdisgustinglyfilthy,but
infacteverypieceofevidenceI'veeverseenshowsthatmostofthemwerealmost
obsessivelydedicatedtocleanliness.Myownfatherinlawgrewupinanenvironmentof
starkestpovertyandusedtotellthemostappallingstoriesofdeprivationyouknowthe
kindofthing:fatherkilledinafactoryaccident,thirtysevenbrothersandsisters,nothing
forteabutlichenbrothandapieceofroofingslateexceptonSundayswhentheymight
tradeinachildforapenny'sworthofrottenparsnips,andallthatsortofthingandhis
fatherinlaw,aYorkshireman,usedtotellevenmoreappallingstoriesofhoppingforty
sevenmilestoschoolbecauseheonlyhadonebootandsubsistingonadietofstalebuns
andsnotbutties.'But,'theywouldbothinvariablyadd,'wewerealwayscleanandthe
housewasspotless.'Anditmustbesaidtheywerethemostfastidiouslyscrubbedpersons
imaginable,aswerealltheircountlessbrothersandsistersandfriendsandrelatives.
ItalsohappensthatnotlongbeforethisIhadmetWillisHall,theauthorand
playwright(andaverynicemanintothebargain),andsomehowwegottotalkingabout
thisverymatter.HallgrewuppoorinLeeds,andheunhesitatinglyconfirmedthatthough
thehouseswerebarrenandconditionshard,therewasneverthetiniesthintofdirtiness.
'Whenmymotherwastoberehousedafterthewar,'hetoldme,'shespentherlastday
therescrubbingitfromtoptobottomuntilitshone,eventhoughsheknewitwasgoingto
betorndownthenextday.Shejustcouldn'tbearthethoughtofleavingitdirtyandI
promiseyouthatthatwouldn'thavebeenthoughtpeculiarbyanyonefromthat
neighbourhood.'
Forallhisprofessedsympathyforthemasses,youwouldneverguessfromreading
Orwellthattheywerecapableofanyhighermentalactivities,andyetoneLeeds
neighbourhoodaloneproducedWillisHall,KeithWaterhouseandPeterO'Toole,whilea
similarlyimpoverisheddistrictofSalfordthatIknowofproducedAlistairCookeandthe
artistHaroldRiley,andIamsurethe
storywasrepeatedcountlesstimesallupanddownthecountry.
SuchwasthepictureofappallingsqualorOrwellpaintedthatevennowIwasstartled
tofindhowneatandwellmaintainedWiganappearedtobeasweentereditbymeansof
alonghill.Igotoffatthebottom,pleasedtoreturntothefreshair,andsetoffinsearch
ofthefamouspier.WiganPierisanarrestinglandmark,yetandhere'sanotherreasonto
beabitcautiouswithregardtooldGeorge'sreportingskillsafterspendingsomedaysin
thetown,heconcludedthatthepierhadbeendemolished.(Sotoo,forthatmatter,did
PaulTherouxinKingdombytheSea.)NowcorrectmeifI'mwrong,butdon'tyouthink
itabitoddtowriteabookcalledTheRoadtoWiganPierandtospendsomedaysinthe
townandneveroncethinktoaskanybodywhetherthepierwasstillthereornot?
Inanycase,youcouldhardlymissitnowsincetherearecastironsignpostspointing
thewaytoitonalmosteverycorner.Thepieritisreallyjustanoldcoalshedontheside
oftheLeedstoLiverpoolCanalhas(inevitably)beenrefurbishedasatouristattraction
andincorporatesamuseum,giftshop,snackbarandapubcalled,withoutevidentirony,
TheOrwell.Alasforme,itwasshutonFridays,soIhadtocontentmyselfwithwalking
arounditandpeeringinthewindowsatthemuseumdisplays,whichlookedreasonably

diverting.Acrossthestreetwassomethingnearlyasarrestingasthepierarealworking
mill,amountainofredbrickswiththenameTrencherfieldMillemblazonedacrossan
upperstorey.It'snowpartofCourtauld's,andisasufficientraritythesedaysthatitis
somethingofatouristattraction,too.Thereweresignsoutfronttellingyouwhichwayto
gofortheguidedtours,thefactoryshopandthesnackbar.Itseemedabitofanodd
notiontome,theideaofjoiningaqueuetowatchpeoplemakingduvetsorwhateveritis
theydointhere,butinanycaseittooappearedtobeclosedtothepubliconFridays.The
snackbardoorwaspadlocked.
SoIwalkedintothecentre,afairhikebutanotunrewardingone.SuchisWigan's
perenniallypoorreputationthatIwastrulyastoundedtofindithasahandsomeandwell
maintainedtowncentre.Theshopsseemedprosperousandbusyandtherewerelotsof
publicbenchestositonforthemanypeopleunabletotakeanactivepartinallthe
economicactivityaroundthem.Sometalentedarchitecthadmanagedtoincorporatea
newshoppingarcadeintotheexistingfabricofthebuildingsinasimplebutdeceptively
cleverandeffectivewaybymakingtheglasscanopyoftheentrancematchthelineofthe
gablesofthesurroundingstructures.Theresultwasanentrancethatwasbrightand
modernbutpleasantlyharmoniouspreciselythesortofthingI'vebeengoingonabout
forallthesemanypagesandIwasdelightedtothinkthatifthissortofthingisgoingto
happenjustonceinBritainthatitshouldbeinpoorbeleagueredWigan.
Tocelebrate,Iwentofftohaveacupofteaandastickybunataplaceindoorscalled
theCorinthiaCoffeeLounge,whichboasted,amongitsmanyotheradvertisedfeatures,a
'GeorgianPotatoOven'.Iaskedthegirlatthecounterwhatthatwasandshelookedatme
asifIwereverystrange.
'It'sforcookingpotatoesandtha','shesaid.
Butofcourse.Itookmyteaandstickybuntoatable,whereIspentalittletimegoing
'Ooh,lovely,'andsmilinginanelyatsomeniceladiesatthenexttable,andafterwards,
feelingstrangelypleasedwithmyday,wentofftofindthestation.
CHAPTERNINETEEN
ITOOKATRAINTOLIVERPOOL.THEYWEREHAVINGAFESTIVALOF
litterwhenIarrived.Citizenshadtakentimeofffromtheirbusyactivitiestoaddcrisp
packets,emptycigaretteboxesandcarrierbagstotheotherwiseblandandneglected
landscape.Theyflutteredgailyinthebushesandbroughtcolourandtexturetopavements
andgutters.Andtothinkthatelsewherewesticktheseobjectsinrubbishbags.
Inanotherboutofextravagantmadness,IhadbookedaroomintheAdelphiHotel.I
hadseenitfromthestreetonearliervisitsanditappearedtohaveanoldfashioned
grandeuraboutitthatIwaskeentoinvestigate.Ontheotherhand,itlookedexpensive
andIwasn'tsuremytrouserscouldstandanothersessioninthetrouserpress.SoIwas
mostagreeablysurprisedwhenIcheckedintodiscoverthatIwasentitledtoaspecial
weekendrateandthattherewouldbemoneyspareforanicemealandaparadeofbeerin
anyofthemanywonderfulpubsinwhichLiverpoolspecializes.
Andso,soonafterwards,Ifoundmyself,likeallfresharrivalsinLiverpool,inthe
grandandsplendoroussurroundingsofthePhilharmonic,clutchingapintglassand

rubbingshoulderswithahappyFridayeveningthrong.ThePhil(youcancallitthisif
youhavebeentheretwice)wasinfactabittoocrowdedformyliking.Therewas
nowheretositandscarcelyanyroomtostand,soIdranktwopints,justenoughatmy
timeoflifetoneedapeeforthereisnoplaceintheworldfinerforapeethantheornate
gents'roomofthePhilharmonicthenwentofftofindsomeplacealittlequieter.
IendedupbackinaplacecalledTheVines,whichwasnearlyasornateasthe
Philharmonicbutinfinitelyquieter.Apartfromme,therewereonlythreeother
customers,whichwasamysterytomebecauseitwasaveryfinepubwithwood
panellingbysomeGrinlingGibbonswannabeandaplasterceilingevenmoreornatethan
thepanelling.AsIwassittingtheredrinkingmybeerandsavouringmyplush
surroundings,someguycameinwithacollectingtinfromwhichtheoriginallabelhad
beenclumsilyscratched,andaskedmeforadonationforhandicappedchildren.
'"Whichhandicappedchildren?'Iasked.
'Onesinwheelchairslike.'
'Imeanwhichorganizationdoyourepresent?'
'It's,er,the,er,HandicappedChildren'sOrganizationlike.'
'Well,aslongasit'stotallylegitimate,'Isaidandgavehim20p.AndthatiswhatIlike
somuchaboutLiverpool.Thefactoriesmaybegone,theremaybenowork,thecitymay
bepatheticallydependentonfootballforitssenseofdestiny,buttheLiverpudliansstill
havecharacterandinitiative,andtheydon'tbotheryouwithpreposterousambitionsto
winthebidforthenextOlympics.
SonicewasTheVinesthatIdranktwomorepintsandthenrealizedthatIreally
oughttogetsomethinginmystomachlestIgrowgiddyandendupstaggeringintostreet
furnitureandsinging'MotherMachree'.Outside,thehillonwhichthepubstoodseemed
suddenlyandunaccountablysteepandtaxing,untilitdawnedonme,inmymildlyaddled
state,thatIhadcomedownitbeforewhereasnowIwasgoingupit,whichseemedtoput
everythinginanewlight.Ifoundmyself,afternogreatdistance,standingoutsidea
Greekrestaurantandsurveyingthemenuwithahintofasway.I'mnotmuchofonefor
Greekfoodnodisrespecttoafinecuisine,youunderstand,butIalwaysfeelasifIcould
boilmyownleavesifIhadatasteforthatsortofthingbuttherestaurantwasso
forlornlyemptyandtheproprietressbeckonedatmewithsuchimploringeyesthatI
foundmyselfwanderingin.Well,themealwaswonderful.IhavenoideawhatIate,but
itwasabundantanddeliciousandtheytreatedmelikeaprince.FoolishlyIwasheditall
downwithmanyadditionaldraughtsofbeer.BythetimeIfinishedandsettledthebill,
leavingatipofsuchlavishnessastobringthewholefamilytothekitchendoor,and
beganthelongprocessofstabbinganarmatamysteriouslydisappearingjacketsleeve,I
was,Ifear,prettynearlyintoxicated.Istaggeredoutintothefreshair,feelingsuddenly
queasyandlargelyincapable.
Nowthesecondruleofexcessivedrinking(thefirst,ofcourse,is
don'ttakeasuddenshinetoawomanlargerthanHossCartwright)isnevertodrinkin
aplaceonasteepslope.Iwalkeddownthehillonunfamiliarlegsthatseemedtosnap
outinfrontofmelikewhippedlengthsofrope.TheAdelphi,glowingbeckoninglyatthe
footofthehill,managedtheinterestingtrickofbeingbothnearbyandastonishingly
distant.Itwaslikelookingatitthroughthewrongendofatelescopeasensation

somewhatenhancedbythefactthatmyheadwasagoodsevenoreightyardsbehindmy
manicallyfloppingappendages.Ifollowedthemhelplessly,andbyakindofmiraclethey
hurtledmedownthehill,safelyacrosstheroadandupthestepstotheentrancetothe
Adelphi,whereIcelebratedmyarrivalbymakingacompletecircuitintherevolving
doorsothatIemergedintoopenaironceagain,beforeplungingbackinandbeingflung
withastartlingsuddennessintotheAdelphi'sgrandandloftylobby.Ihadoneofthose
whereamImoments,thengrewawarethatthenightstaffweresilentlywatchingme.
SummoningasmuchdignityasIcouldandknowingthattheliftswouldbequitebeyond
me,IwenttothegrandstaircaseandmanagedIknownothowtofallupthemina
manneruncannilyreminiscentofamotionpictureruninreverse.AllIknowisthatatthe
veryendIleaptbackwardstomyfeetandannouncedtothecraningfacesthatIwasquite
allright,andthenembarkedonalongsearchformyroomamongtheAdelphi'sendless
andmysteriouslynumberedcorridors.
Here'sapieceofadviceforyou.Don'tgoontheMerseyferryunlessyouareprepared
tohavethefamoussongbyGerryandthePacemakersrunningthroughyourheadfor
aboutelevendaysafterwards.Theyplayitwhenyouboardtheferryandtheyplayit
whenyougetoffandforquitealotoftimeinbetween.Iwentonitthefollowing
morningthinkingabitofasitdownandacruiseonthewaterwouldbejustthewayto
easemyselfoutofakillerhangover,butinfacttheinescapablesoundof'Ferry'crossthe
Mersey'onlyworsenedmycranialplight.Apartfromthat,itmustbesaidthattheMersey
ferryisanagreeable,ifdecidedlybreezy,wayofpassingamorning.It'sabitlikethe
SydneyHarbourcruise,butwithoutSydney.
Whentheyweren'tplaying'Ferry'crosstheMersey',theyplayedasoundtrack
outliningthefamoussightsfromthedeck,buttheacousticswereterribleand80percent
ofwhateverwassaidwasinstantlyblownawayonthewind.AllIcouldhearwere
snatchesofthingslike'threemillion'and'world'sbiggest'butwhethertheyweretalking
aboutoilrefinerycapacityorDerekHatton'ssuitsIcouldn'tsay.Butthegistofitwas
thatthiswasonceagreatcityandnowit'sLiverpool.
Nowdon'tgetmewrong.I'mexceedinglyfondofLiverpool.It'sprobablymy
favouriteEnglishcity.Butitdoesratherfeellikeaplacewithmorepastthanfuture.
Leaningonadeckrailgazingoutonmilesofmotionlesswaterfront,itwasimpossibleto
believethatuntilquiterecentlyandfor200proudandprosperousyearsbeforethat
Liverpool'stenmilesofdocksandshipyardsprovidedemploymentfor100,000people,
directlyorindirectly.TobaccofromAfricaandVirginia,palmoilfromtheSouthPacific,
copperfromChile,jutefromIndia,andalmostanyothercommodityyoucouldcareto
namepassedthroughhereonitswaytobeingmadeintosomethinguseful.Sotoo,noless
significantly,didsome10millionpeopleboundforanewlifeinthenewworld,drawn
bystoriesofstreetspavedwithgoldandthepossibilityofaccumulatingimmense
personalwealth,orinthecaseofmyownforebearsbythegiddyprospectofspendingthe
nextcenturyandahalfdodgingtornadoesandshovellingsnowinIowa.
Liverpoolbecamethethirdrichestcityintheempire.OnlyLondonandGlasgowhad
moremillionaires.By1880itwasgeneratingmoretaxrevenuethanBirmingham,
Bristol,LeedsandSheffieldtogethereventhoughcollectivelytheyhadtwicethe
population.CunardandWhiteStarLineshadtheirheadquartersinLiverpool,andthere

werecountlessotherlines,nowmostlyforgottenBlueFunnel,BankLine,CoastLine,
PacificSteamLine,McAndrewsLines,ElderDempster,Booth.Thereweremorelines
operatingoutofLiverpoolthenthanthereareshipstoday,orsoatleastitcanseemwhen
thereisnothingmuchalongthewaterfrontbuttheghostlywarbleofGerryMarsden's
voice.
Thedeclinehappenedinasinglegeneration.In1966,Liverpoolwasstillthesecond
busiestportinBritain,afterLondon.By1985,ithadfallensolowthatitwassmallerand
quieterthanevenTeesandHartlepool,GrimsbyandImmingham.Butinitsheydayitwas
somethingspecial.MaritimecommercebroughtLiverpoolnotjustwealthand
employment,butanairofcosmopolitanismthatfewcitiesintheworldcouldrival,andit
stillhasthatsenseaboutit.InLiverpool,youstillfeellikeyouaresomeplace.
IwalkedfromtheferrytotheAlbertDock.Therewereplansatonetimetodrainit
andturnitintoacarparkitseemsamiracle
sometimesthatthereisanythingatallleftinthispoor,stumblingcountrybutnow,
ofcourse,theyhavebeenscrubbedupandgentrified^theoldwarehousesturnedinto
offices,flatsandrestaurantsforthesortofpeoplewhocarrytelephonesintheir
briefcases.ItalsoincorporatesanoutpostoftheTateGalleryandtheMerseyside
MaritimeMuseum.
IlovetheMerseysideMaritimeMuseum,notmerelybecauseitiswelldonebut
becauseitgivessuchapotentsenseofwhatLiverpoolwaslikewhenitwasagreatport
indeed,whentheworldwasfullofaproductivebusynessandmajestyofenterprisethatit
seemsutterlytohavelostnow.HowI'dlovetohavelivedinanagewhenyoucouldwalk
toawaterfrontandseemightyshipsloadingandunloadinggreatsquaresofcottonfibre
andheavybrownbagsofcoffeeandspices,andwheneverysailinginvolvedhundredsof
peoplesailorsanddockersandthrongsofexcitedpassengers.Today,yougotoa
waterfrontandallyoufindisanendlessexpanseofbatteredcontainersandoneguyinan
elevatedcabinshuntingthemabout.
Oncetherewasinfiniteromanceinthesea,andtheMerseysideMaritimeMuseum
captureseverybitofit.Iwasparticularlytakenwithanupstairsroomfullofoutsized
ships'modelsthesortthatmustoncehavedecoratedexecutiveboardrooms.Gosh,they
werewonderful.Evenasmodelstheywerewonderful.AllthegreatLiverpoolshipswere
heretheTitanic,theImperator,theRMSMajestic(whichbeganlifeastheBismarck
andwasseizedaswarreparations)andtheunutterablylovelyTSSVauban,withitsbroad
decksofpolishedmapleanditsjauntyfunnels.Accordingtoitslabel,itwasownedby
theLiverpool,BrazilandRiverPlateSteamNavigationCompanyLimited.Justreading
thosewords,Iwasseizedwithadullacheatthethoughtthatneveragainwillweseesuch
abeautifulthing.J.B.Priestleycalledthemthegreatestconstructionsofthemodern
world,ourequivalentofcathedrals,andhewasabsolutelyright.Iwasappalledtothink
thatneverinmylifewouldIhaveanopportunitytostridedownagangplankinapanama
hatandawhitesuitandgolookingforabarwitharevolvingceilingfan.Howcrushingly
unfairlifecansometimesbe.
Ispenttwohourswanderingthroughthemuseum,lookingwithcareatallthe
displays.Iwouldhappilyhavestayedlonger,butIhadtocheckoutofthehotel,soI
regretfullydepartedandwalkedbackthroughcentralLiverpool'sfineVictorianstreetsto

theAdelphi,whereIgrabbedmythingsandcheckedout.Ihadaslighthankeringtogoto
PortSunlight,themodelcommunitybuiltin1888byWilliamLevertohousehissoap
workers,asIwasinterestedtoseehowitcomparedwithSaltaire.SoIwenttoLiverpool
Centralandcaughtatrain.AtRockFerrywewereinformedthatbecauseofengineering
workswewouldhavetocompletethejourneybybus.ThiswasOKbymebecauseIwas
innohurryandyoucanalwaysseemorefromabus.WerodealongtheWirralpeninsula
forsometimebeforethedriverannouncedthestopforPortSunlight.Iwastheonly
persontogetoff,andthemoststrikingthingaboutitwasthatthiswaspatentlynotPort
Sunlight.Itappedonthefrontdoorsandwaitedforthemtogaspopen.
'Excuseme,'Isaid,'butthisdoesn'tlooklikePortSunlight.'
'That'sbecauseit'sBebington,'hesaid.'It'sascloseasIcangettoPortSunlight
becauseofalowbridge.'
Oh.
'SowhereexactlyisPortSunlightthen?'Iaskedbutitwastoacloudofbluesmoke.I
hookedmyrucksackoverashoulderandsetoffalongaroadthatIhopedmightbethe
rightoneandnodoubtwouldhavebeenhadItakenanother.Iwalkedforsome
distance,buttheroadseemedtogonowhere,oratleastnowherethatlookedPort
Sunlightish.AfteratimeanoldmaninaflatcapcamedodderingalongandIaskedhim
ifhecouldpointmethewaytoPortSunlight.
'PortSunlight!'herepliedinthebellowofsomeonewhothinkstheworldisgoing
deafwithhim,andwithahintthatthatwasabloodydaftplacetowanttogo.'Youwanta
boosel'
'Abus?'Isaidinsurprise.'HowfaramIthen?'
'Isayyouwantaboosel'herepeated,butmorevehemently.
'Iunderstandthat.Butwhichwayisitexactly?'
Hejabbedmewithabonyfingerinatenderspotjustbelowtheshoulder.Ithurt.'It'sa
booseyou'rewanting!'
'1understandthat.'Youtediousdeafoldfart.Iraisedmyvoicetomatchhisand
bellowednearhisear:'Ineedtoknowwhichwaytogo!'
HelookedatmeasifIwereunsustainablystupid.'Abloodyboose!Youwanta
bloodyboose!'Andthenheshuffledoff,workinghisjawwordlessly.
'Thankyou.Diesoon,'Icalledafterhim,rubbingmyshoulder.
IreturnedtoBebingtonwhereIsoughtdirectionsinashop,whichIshouldhavedone
inthefirstplace,ofcourse.PortSunlight,
itturnedout,wasjustdowntheroad,underarailwaybridgeandoverajunctionor
perhapsitwastheotherwayround.Idon'tknowbecauseitwasnowpissingdownwith
rainandItuckedmyheadsolowintomyshouldersthatIdidn'tseemuchofanything.
Iwalkedforperhapshalfamile,butitwaswortheverysoddenstep.PortSunlight
waslovely,aproperlittlegardencommunity,andmuchcheerierinaspectthanthe
huddledstonecottagesofSaltaire.Thishadopengreenspacesandapubandprettylittle
houseshalfhiddenbehinddriftsoffoliage.Therewasn'tasoulaboutandnothingseemed
tobeopenneithertheshopsnorthepubnortheheritagecentrenortheLadyLeverArt
Gallery,allofwhichwasabitofapisserbutImadethebestofthingsbyhavingalong
slogaroundtherainystreets.Iwasabitsurprisedtoseeafactorystillthere,stillchurning

outsoapasfarasIcouldtell,andthenIrealizedthatIhadexhaustedallthatPort
SunlighthadtoofferonarainySaturdayoutofseason.SoItrudgedbacktothebusstop
whereIhadsorecentlyalightedandwaitedanhourandaquarterinadrivingrainfora
busonwardtoHooton,whichwasevenlessfunthanitsounds.
Hootonofferedtheworldnotonlyamildlyridiculousname,butthedumpiestBritish
RailstationIeverhopetosneezein.Theshacklikeplatformwaitingroomswere
drippingwet,whichdidn'tmatteragreatdealasIwassoakedalready.Withsixothers,I
waitedasmalleternityforatraintoChester,whereIchangedtoanotherforLlandudno.
TheLlandudnotrainwasgratifyinglyempty,soItookaseatatatableforfour,and
contentedmyselfwiththethoughtthatIwouldsoonbeinanicehotelorguesthouse
whereIcouldhaveahotbathfollowedbyagenerouslyapportioneddinner.Ispentalittle
timewatchingthescenery,thenpulledoutmycopyofKingdombytheSeatoseeifPaul
TherouxhadsaidanythingaboutthevicinitythatImightstealormodifytomyown
purposes.Asalways,Iwasamazedtofindthatasherattledalongtheseverytrackshe
wasimmersedinalivelyconversationwithhisfellowpassengers.Howdoeshedoit?
Quiteapartfromtheconsiderationthatmycarriagewasnearlyempty,Idon'tknowhow
youstrikeupconversationswithstrangersinBritain.InAmerica,ofcourse,it'seasy.You
justofferahandandsay,'Myname'sBryson.Howmuchmoneydidyoumakelastyear?'
andtheconversationneverlooksbackfromthere.
ButinEnglandorinthisinstanceWalesit'ssohard,oratleastitisforme.I've
neverhadatrainconversationthatwasn'tdisastrousoratleastregretted.Ieitherblurtthe
wrongthing('Excuseme,Ican'thelpnoticetheexceptionalsizeofyournose')oritturns
outthatthepersonwhosecompanionshipI'veencouragedhasaseriousmentaldisorder
thatmanifestsitselfinmurmuringsandprolongedhelplessweeping,orisasalesrepfor
theHozeBloStuccoCompanywhomistakesyourpoliteinterestforkeennessand
promisestodropbyforanestimatethenexttimehe'sintheDales,orwhowantstotell
youallabouthissurgeryforrectalcancerandthenmakesyouguesswherehekeepshis
colostomybag('Giveup?Look,it'shereundermyarm.Goon,haveasqueeze')orisa
recruiterfortheMormonsoranyoftenthousandotherthingsIwouldsoonerbespared.
Overalongperiodoftimeitgraduallydawnedonmethatthesortofpersonwhowill
talktoyouonatrainisalmostbydefinitionthesortofpersonyoudon'twanttotalktoon
atrain,sothesedaysImostlykeeptomyselfandrelyforconversationalentertainmenton
booksbymoreloquacioustypeslikeJanMorrisandPaulTheroux.
SothereisacertainneatironythatasIwassittingtheremindingmyownbusiness
someguyinarustlinganorakcameby,spiedthebook,andcried,'Aha,thatThoreau
chap!'Ilookeduptofindhimtakingaperchonaseatoppositeme.Helookedtobeinhis
earlysixties,withashockofwhitehairandfestive,lushlyovergrowneyebrowsthatrose
inpinnacles,likethetipsofwhippedmeringue.Theylookedasifsomebodyhadbeen
liftinghimupbygrabbingholdofthem.'Doesn'tknowhistrains,youknow,'hesaid.
'Sorry?'Iansweredwarily.
'Thoreau.'Henoddedatmybook.'Doesn'tknowhistrainsatall.Orifhedoeshe
keepsittohimself.'Helaughedheartilyatthisandenjoyeditsomuchthathesaidit
againandthensatwithhishandsonhiskneesandsmilingasiftryingtorememberthe
lasttimeheandIhadhadthismuchfuntogether.

Igaveaneconomicalnodofacknowledgementforhisquipandreturnedmyattention
tomybookinagesturethatIhopedhewouldcorrectlyinterpretasan.invitationtofuck
off.Instead,hereachedacrossandpulledthebookdownwithacrookedfingeranaction
Ifinddeeplyannoyingatthebestoftimes.'DoyouknowthatbookofhisGreat
Railwaywhat'sit?AllacrossAsia.Youknowtheone?'
Inodded.
'DoyouknowthatinthatbookhegoesfromLahoretoIslamabadontheDelhi
Expressandneveroncementionsthemakeofengine.'
IcouldseethatIwasexpectedtocomment,soIsaid,'Oh?'
'Nevermentionedit.Canyouimaginethat?Whatuseisarailwaybookifyoudon't
talkabouttheengines.'
'Youliketrainsthen?'IsaidandimmediatelywishedIhadn't.
ThenextthingIknewthebookwasonmylapandIwaslisteningtotheworld'smost
boringman.Ididn'tactuallymuchlistentowhathesaid.Ifoundmyselfrivetedbyhis
soaringeyebrowsandbythediscoverythathehadanequallyrichcropofnosehairs.He
seemedtohavebathedtheminMiracleGro.Hewasn'tjustatrainspotter,butatrain
talker,afarmoredangerouscondition.
.'Nowthistrain,'hewassaying,'isaMetroCammelselfsealedunitbuiltatthe
Swindonworks,ataguessI'dsaybetweenJuly1986andAugust,orattheverylatest
September,of'88.AtfirstIthoughtitcouldn'tbeaSwindon8688becauseofthecross
stitchingontheseatbacks,butthenInoticedthedimpledrivetsonthesidepanels,andI
thoughttomyself,Ithought,Whatwehavehere,Cyrilmyoldson,isahybrid.There
aren'tmanycertaintiesinthisworldbutMetroCammeldimpledrivetsneverlie.So
where'syourhome?'
IttookmeamomenttorealizethatIhadbeenaskedaquestion.'Uh,Skipton,'Isaid,
onlyhalflying.
'You'llhaveCrosse&Blackwellcrosscambersupthere,'hesaidorsomething
similarlymeaninglesstome.'Nowme,IliveinUptononSevern'
'TheSevernbore,'Isaidreflexively,buthemissedmymeaning.
'That'sright.Runsrightpastthehouse.'Helookedatmewithahintofannoyance,as
ifIweretryingtodistracthimfromhisprincipalthesis.'NowdowntherewehaveZ46
ZanussispincycleswithAbbott&Costellohorizontalthrusters.YoucanalwaystellaZ
46becausetheygopatooshpatooshoverseamedpointsratherthankatoinkkatoink.It'sa
deadgiveawayeverytime.Ibetyoudidn'tknowthat.'
Iendedupfeelingsorryforhim.Hiswifehaddiedtwoyearsbeforesuicide,Iwould
guessandhehaddevotedhimselfsincethentotravellingtheraillinesofBritain,
countingrivets,notingbreastplatenumbers,anddoingwhateverelseitisthesepoor
peopledotopassthetimeuntilGodtakesthemawaytoamercifuldeath.Ihadrecently
readanewspaperarticleinwhichitwasreportedthataspeakerattheBritish
PsychologicalSocietyhaddescribedtrainspottingasaformofautismcalledAsperger's
syndrome.
HegotoffatPrestatynsomethingtodowithaFaggots&Gravytwelvetonblender
tenderthatwasrumouredtobecomingthroughinthemorningandIwavedtohimfrom
thewindowasthetrainpulledout,thenluxuriatedinthesuddenpeace.Ilistenedtothe

trainrushingoverthetracksitsoundedtomelikeitwassayingAsperger'ssyndrome
Asperger'ssyndromeandpassedthelastfortyminutestoLlandudnoidlycounting
rivets.
CHAPTERTWENTY
FROMTHETRAIN,NORTHWALESLOOKEDLIKEHOLIDAYHELL
ENDLESSranksofprisoncampcaravanparksstandinginfieldsinthemiddleofa
lonely,windbeatennowhere,onthewrongsideoftherailwaylineandamercilessdual
carriageway,withviewsoveraboundlessestuaryofmoistsanddottedwithtreacherous
lookingsinkholesand,faroff,adistantsmearofsea.Itseemedanoddtypeofholiday
optiontome,theideaofsleepinginatinboxinalonesomefieldmilesfromanywherein
aclimatelikeBritain'sandemergingeachmorningwithhundredsofotherpeoplefrom
identicaltinboxes,crossingtheraillineanddualcarriagewayandhikingoveradesertof
sinkholesinordertodipyourtoesinadistantseafullofLiverpoolturds.Ican'tputmy
fingeronwhatexactly,butsomethingaboutitdidn'tappealtome.
Thensuddenlythecaravanparksthinned,thelandscapearoundColwynBaytookona
blushofbeautyandgrandeur,thetrainmadeasharpjagnorthandminuteslaterwewere
inLlandudno.
Itistrulyafineandhandsomeplace,builtonagenerouslyproportionedbayandlined
alongitsbroadfrontwithahuddleofprimbutgraciousnineteenthcenturyhotelsthat
remindedmeinthefadinglightofalineupofVictoriannannies.Llandudnowas
purposebuiltasaresortinthemid1800s,anditcultivatesaniceoldfashionedair.I
don'tsupposethatLewisCarroll,whofamouslystrolledthisfrontwithlittleAliceLiddell
inthe1860s,tellinghercaptivatingstoriesofwhiterabbitsandhookahsmoking
caterpillarsandaskingbetweentimesifhecouldborrowherknickerstowipehisfevered
browandpossiblytakeafewinnocuoussnapsofherinthealtogether,wouldnoticea
greatdealofchangetoday,exceptofcoursethatthehotelswerenowlitwithelectricity
andAlicewouldbewhat?127yearsoldandperhapslessofadistractiontoapoor,
pervertedmathematician.
Tomyconsternation,thetownwaspackedwithweekendingpensioners.Coaches
fromalloverwereparkedalongthesidestreets,everyhotelIcalledatwasfullandin
everydiningroomIcouldseecrowdsveritableoceansofnoddingwhiteheads
spooningsoupandconversinghappily.Goodnessknowswhathadbroughtthemtothe
Welshseasideatthisbleaktimeofyear.
Furtheronalongthefronttherestoodaclutchofguesthouses,largeandvirtually
indistinguishable,andafewofthemhadvacancysignsperchedintheirwindows.Ihad
eightortento.choosefrom,whichalwaysputsmeinamildfretbecauseIhavean
unerringinstinctforchoosingbadly.Mywifecansurveyarowofguesthousesand
instantlyidentifytheonerunbyawhitehairedwidowwithakindlydispositionanda
fondnessforchildren,snowysheetsandsparklingbathroomporcelain,whereasIcan
generallycountonchoosingtheonerunbyaguywithagraspingmanner,adroopingfag
andthesortofcoughthatmakesyouwonderwhereheputsthephlegm.Such,Ifelt
gloomilycertain,wouldbethecasetonight.

Alltheguesthouseshadboardsoutfrontlistingtheirmanyamenities'ColourTV',
'EnSuiteAllRooms','HospitalityTrays','FullCH'whichonlyheightenedmysenseof
uneaseanddoom.HowcouldIpossiblychooseintelligentlyamongsuchawelterof
options?OneofferedsatelliteTVandatrouserpressandanotherboasted,inspecial
jauntyitalics,'CurrentFireCertificate'somethingIhadneverthoughttoaskforinaB
&B.ItwassomucheasierinthedayswhentheverymostyoucouldhopeforwasH8c
Cinallrooms.
Iselectedaplacethatlookedreasonableenoughfromtheoutsideitsboardpromised
acolourTVandcoffeemakingfacilities,aboutallIrequirethesedaysforalively
SaturdaynightbutfromthemomentIsetfootinthedooranddrewinthemildewypong
ofdampplasterandpeelingwallpaper,Iknewitwasabadchoice.Iwasabouttoturn
andfleewhentheproprietoremergedfromabackroomandstayedmyretreatwithan
unenthusiastic'Yes?'Ashortconversationrevealedthatasingleroomwithbreakfast
couldbehadfor19.50littleshortofaswindle.ItwasentirelyoutofthequestionthatI
wouldstaythenightinsuchadismalplaceat
suchalarcenousprice,soIsaid,'Thatsoundsfine,'andsignedin.Well,it'ssohardto
sayno.
MyroomwaseverythingIexpectedittobecoldandcheerless,withmelamine
furniture,grubbilymattedcarpetandthosemysteriousceilingstainsthatbringtominda
neglectedcorpseintheroomabove.Fingersoficywindslippedthroughthesingleill
fittingsashwindow.Idrewthecurtainsandwasnotsurprisedthattheyhadtobeyanked
violentlybeforetheywouldbudgeandcamenowherenearmeetinginthemiddle.There
wasatrayofcoffeethingsbutthecupswereletmebecharitabledisgustingandthe
spoonwasstucktothetray.Thebathroom,faintlyilluminatedbyadistantlightactivated
byalengthofstring,hadcurlingfloortilesandyearsofaccumulatedmuckpackedinto
everycornerandcrevice.Ipeeredattheyellowygroutingroundthebathandsinkand
realizedwhatthelandlorddidwithhisphlegm.Abathwasoutofthequestion,soIthrew
somecoldwateronmyface,drieditwithatowelthathadthetextureofaWeetabixand
gladlytookmyleave.
Ihadalongstrollalongthepromtoboostmyappetiteandpassanhour.Itfelt
wonderful.Theairwasstillandsharpandtherewasn'tasoulabout,thoughtherewere
stilllotsofwhiteheadsinthehotelloungesanddiningrooms,allbobbingmerrilyabout.
PerhapstheywerehavingaParkinson'sconvention.IwalkednearlythelengthofThe
Parade,enjoyingthechillautumnairandthetrimhandsomenessofthesetting:asoft
glowofhotelstotheleft,aninkyvoidofrestlessseatomyrightandascattered
twinklingoflightsonthenearandfarheadlandsofGreatandLittleOrmes.
Icouldn'thelpnoticeitseemedsoobviousnowthatnearlyallthehotelsand
guesthouseslookedmarkedlysuperiortomine.Almostwithoutexceptiontheyhadnames
thatborehomagetootherplaces'Windermere','Stratford','Clovelly','Derby','StKilda',
evenToronto'asiftheirownersfearedthatitwouldbetoomuchofashocktothe
systemtoremindvisitorsthattheywereinWales.Onlyoneplace,withasignthatsaid
'GwelyaBrecwastfRedandBreakfast',gaveanyhintthatIwas,atleastinatechnical
sense,abroad.
IdinedsimplyatasmallnondescriptrestaurantoffMostynStreetandafterwards,

feelingdisinclinedtoreturntomydingyroominastateofstarksobriety,wenthunting
forapub.Llandudnohadsurprisinglyfewofthesevitalinstitutions.Iwalkedforsome
timebeforeIfoundonethatlookedevenvaguelyapproachable.Itwasatypicaltownpub
insidemaroonplush,staleodoured,smokyanditwasbusy,mostlywithyoung
people.Itookaseatatthebar,thinkingImightbeabletoeavesdroponmyneighbours
andreceivemoreimmediateattentionwhenmyglasswasempty,butneitherofthesewas
tobe.Therewastoomuchmusicandbackgroundnoisetodiscernwhatmyneighbours
weresayingandtoomuchclamourforserviceataspotnearthetillforthesingleharried
servertonoticeanemptyglassandabeggarlyfaceupatmyend.
SoIsatanddrankbeerwhenIcouldgetsomeandinsteadwatched,asIoftendoin
thesecircumstances,theinterestingprocessbywhichcustomers,uponfinishingapint,
wouldpresentthebarmanwithaglassofclingingsudsandgoldendribble,andthatthis
wouldbecarefullyfilledtoslightlyoverflowing,sothattheexcessfroth,chargedwithan
invisibleloadofbacteria,spittleandmicrofragmentsofloosenedfood,wouldrundown
thesideoftheglassandintoasloptray,whereitwouldbecarefully1mightalmostsay
scientificallyconveyedbymeansofaclearplastictubebacktoabarrelinthecellar.
Therethesetinyimpuritieswoulddriftandfloatandmingle,likeflakypoohinagoldfish
bowl,awaitingsummonsbacktosomeoneelse'sglass.IfIamtodrinkdilutedribbleand
mouthrinsings,thenIdoratherwishIcoulddoitinasituationofcomfortandcheer,
seatedinaWindsorchairbyablazingfire,butthisappearstobeanincreasinglyelusive
dream.Assometimesalsohappensinthesecircumstances,Ihadasuddenurgenotto
drinkanymorebeer,soinsteadIhauledmyselffrommybarsideperchandreturnedto
myseafrontlodgingsforanearlynight.
Inthemorning,Iemergedfromtheguesthouseintoaworlddrainedofcolour.The
skywaslowandheavyandtheseaalongthefrontvast,lifelessandgrey.AsIwalked
along,rainbegantofall,dimplingthewater.BythetimeIreachedthestationitwas
comingdownsteadily.LlandudnoStationisclosedonSundaysthatthelargestresortin
WaleshasnoSundayrailservicesistoopreposterousanddepressingtoelaborateonbut
therewasabustoBlaenauFfestiniogfromthestationforecourtateleven.Therewasno
benchorshelterbythebusstop,nowheretogetoutoftherain.Ifyoutravelmuchby
publictransportinBritainthesedaysyousooncometofeellikeamemberofsome
unwantedsubclass,likethehandicappedorunemployed,andthateveryoneessentially
wishesyouwouldjustgoaway.IfeltabitlikethatnowandIamrichandhealthyand
immenselygoodlooking.Whatmustitbelike
tobepermanentlypoorordisabledorotherwiseunabletotakeafullandactivepartin
thenation'sheadlongrushforthesunnyslopesofMtGreedy?
Itisremarkabletomehowthesemattershavebecomesothoroughlyinvertedinthe
pasttwentyyears.ThereusedtobeakindofunspokennobilityaboutlivinginBritain.
Justbyexisting,bygoingtoworkandpayingyourtaxes,catchingtheoccasionalbusand
beingagenerallydecentifunexceptionalsoul,youfeltasifyouwerecontributingin
somesmallwaytothemaintenanceofanobleenterpriseagenerallycompassionateand
wellmeaningsocietywithhealthcareforall,decentpublictransport,intelligent
television,universalsocialwelfareandalltherestofit.Idon'tknowaboutyou,butI
alwaysfeltratherproudtobepartofthat,particularlyasyoudidn'tactuallyhavetodo

anythingyoudidn'thavetogivebloodorbuytheBigIssueorotherwisegooutofyour
waytofeelasifyouwereasmallcontributorypart.Butnow,nomatterwhatyoudo,
youendupstungwithguilt.Goforarambleinthecountryandyouareremindedthat
youareinexorablyaddingtocongestioninthenationalparksandfootpatherosionon
fragilehills.TrytotakeasleepertoFortWilliamoratrainontheSettletoCarlisleline
orabusfromLlandudnotoBlaenauonaSundayandyoubegintofeelshiftyand
aberrantbecauseyouknowthattheseservicesrequirevastandcostlysubsidization.Go
foradriveinyourcar,lookforwork,seekaplacetolive,andallyouaredoingistaking
upvaluablespaceandtime.Andasforneedinghealthcarewell,howthoughtlessand
selfishcanyoupossiblybe?('Wecantreatyouringrowntoenails,MrSmith,butitwillof
coursemeantakingachildoffalifesupportmachine.')
IdreadtothinkhowmuchitcostGwyneddTransporttoconveymetoBlaenau
FfestiniogonthiswetSundaymorningsinceIwastheonlycustomer,apartfromayoung
ladywhojoinedusatBetwsyCoedandleftussoonafterattheinterestinglynamed
PontyPant.Ihadbeenlookingforwardtothejourneyforthechancetoseealittleof
Snowdonia,buttherainwassoonfallingsohard,andthebuswindowssobeadedwith
dirtydroplets,thatIcouldseealmostnothingjustblurryexpansesofdead,rust
colouredfernsdottedhereandtherewithmotionless,seriouslydiscontentedlooking
sheep.Rainpatteredagainstthewindowslikethrownpebblesandthebusswayed
alarminglyundergustsofwind.Itwaslikebeingonashipinroughseas.Thebus
lumberedwithgrindingreluctanceuptwistingmountainroads,itswindscreenwipers
flappingwildly,toaplateauinthecloudsandthenembarkedonaprecipitate,seemingly
outofcontroldescentintoBlaenauFfestiniogthroughsteepdefilescoveredwith
numberlessslagheapsofbroken,rainshinyslate.ThiswasoncetheheartoftheWelsh
slateminingindustry,andthescatteredrejectsandremnants,whichcoveredvirtually
everyinchofground,gavethelandscapeanunearthlyandeerieaspectlikenothingelseI
hadseenbeforeinBritain.Attheepicentreofthisunearthlinesssquattedthevillageof
Blaenau,itselfakindofslateslagheap,orsoitseemedintheteemingrain.
ThebusdroppedmeinthecentreoftownneartheterminusofthefamousBlaenau
FfestiniogRailway,nowaprivatelinerunbyenthusiastsandwhichIhopedtotake
throughthecloudymountainstoPorthmadog.Thestationplatformwasopen,butallthe
doorstowaitingrooms,toiletsandtickethallswerepadlocked,andtherewasnoone
around.Ihadalookatthewintertimetablehangingonthewallanddiscoveredtomy
dismaythatIhadjustmissedliterallyjustmissedatrain.Puzzled,Idraggedmy
crumpledbustimetablefrommy.pocketanddiscoveredwithfurtherdismaythatthebus
wasactuallyscheduledtoarrivejustintimetomisstheonemiddaytrainoutofBlaenau.
Runningafingerdowntherailtimetable,Ilearnedthatthenexttrainwouldnotbefor
anotherfourhours.Thenextbuswouldfollowthatbyminutes.Howcouldthatbe
possibleand,moretothepoint,whatonearthwasIsupposedtodowithmyselfinthis
Godforsaken,rainsoddenplaceforfourhours?Therewasnopossibilityofstayingon
theplatform.Itwascoldandtherainwasfallingatsuchatreacherousslantthattherewas
noplacetoescapeiteveninthefurthestcorners.
MutteringuncharitablethoughtsaboutGwyneddTransport,theBlaenauFfestiniog
RailwayCompany,theBritishclimateandmyownmadfolly,Isetoffthroughthelittle

town.ThisbeingWalesandthisbeingSunday,therewasnothingopenandnolifeonthe
narrowstreets.Nor,asfarasIcouldsee,werethereanyhotelsorguesthouses.It
occurredtomethatperhapsthetrainwasn'trunningatallinthisweather,inwhichcaseI
wouldbetrulystuck.Iwassoakedthrough,coldanddeeply,deeplygloomy.Atthefar
endoftown,therewasalittlerestaurantcalledMyfannwy'sandbyamiracleitwasopen.
Ihastenedintoitsbeckoningwarmth,whereIpeeledoffmysoddenjacketandsweater
andwentwithaheadfulofsuddenlyenlivenedhairtoatablebyaradiator.Iwastheonly
customer.Iorderedacoffeeandalittlesomethingtoeatandsavouredthewarmthand
dryness.SomewhereinthebackgroundNatKingColesangaperkytune.Iwatchedthe
rainbeatdownontheroadoutsideandtoldmyselfthatonedaythiswouldbetwenty
yearsago.
IfIlearnedjustonethinginBlaenauthatdayitwasthatnoBlatterhowhardyoutry
youcannotmakeacupofcoffeeandacheeseomelettelastfourhours.1ateasslowlyas
IcouldandOrderedasecondcupofcoffee,butafternearlyanhourofdelicateeatingand
sipping,itbecameobviousthatIwaseithergoingtohavetoleaveorpayrent,soI
reluctantlygatheredupmythings.Atthetill,Iexplainedmyplighttothekindlycouple
whorantheplaceandtheybothmadethosesympatheticohdearnoisesthatkindly
peoplemakewhenconfrontedwithsomeoneelse'scrisis.
'Hemightgototheslatemine,'suggestedthewomantotheman.
'Yes,hemightgototheslatemine,'agreedthemanandturnedtome.'Youmightgo
totheslatemine,'hesaidasifthinkingImightsomehowhavemissedtheforegoing
exchange.
'Oh,andwhat'sthatexactly?'Isaid,tryingnottosoundtoodoubtful.
'Theoldmine.Theydoguidedtours.'
'It'sveryinteresting,'saidhiswife.
'Yes,it'sveryinteresting,'saidtheman.'Mind,it'safairhike,'headded.
'AnditmaynotbeopenonaSunday,'saidhiswife.'Outofseason,'sheexplained.
'Ofcourse,youcouldalwaystakeacabupthereifyoudon'tfancythewalkinthis
weather,'saidtheman.
Ilookedathim.Acab?Didhesay'acab'!Thisseemedtoomiraculoustobetakenin.
'YouhaveacabserviceinBlaenau?'
'Oh,yes,'saidthemanasifthiswereoneofBlaenau'smorecelebratedfeatures.
'Wouldyoulikemetoorderonetotakeyoutothemine?'
'Well,'Isoughtforwords;Ididn'twanttosoundungratefulwhenthesepeoplehad
beensokind,butontheotherhandIfoundtheprospectofanafternoontouringaslate
mineindampclothesaboutasappealingasavisittotheproctologist.'Doyouthinkthe
cabwouldtakemetoPorthmadog?'Iwasn'tsurehowfaritwas,andIdarednothope.
'Ofcourse,'saidtheman.SohecalledacabformeandthenextthingIknewIwas
departingtoavolleyofgoodwishesfromtheproprietorsandsteppingintoacab,feeling
likeashipwreckvictimbeingwinchedtounexpectedsafety.Icannottellyouwithwhat
joyIbeheldthesightofBlaenaudisappearingintothedistancebehindme.
Thecabdriverwasafriendlyyoungmanandonthetwentyminuterideto
Porthmadoghefilledmeinonmuchimportanteconomicandsociologicaldatawith
regardtotheDwyforpeninsula.Themoststrikingnewswasthatthepeninsulawasdry

onSundays.Youcouldn'tgetanalcoholicdrinktosaveyourlifebetweenPorthmadog
andAberdaron.Ididn'tknowsuchpocketsofrectitudestillexistedinBritain,butIwas
sogladtobegettingoutofBlaenauthatIdidn'tcare.
Porthmadog,squattingbesidetheseaunderamercilessdownpour,lookedagreyand
forgettableplace,fullofwetpebbledashanddarkstone.Despitetherain,Iexaminedthe
meagrestockoflocalhotelswithsomecare1feltentitledtoaspellofcomfortand
luxuryaftermynightinacheerlessLlandudnoguesthouseandIchoseaninncalledthe
RoyalSportsman.Myroomwasadequateandclean,ifnotexactlyoutstanding,and
suitedmypurposes.Imadeacupofcoffeeand,whilethekettleboiled,changedintodry
clothes,thensatontheedgeofthebedwithacoffeeandaRichTeabiscuit,andwatched
asoapoperaontelevisioncalledPobolYCwm,whichIenjoyedverymuch.Ihadno
ideawhatwasgoingon,ofcourse,butIcansaywithsomeconfidencethatithadbetter
acting,andcertainlybetterproductionvalues,thananyprogrammeevermadein,say,
SwedenorNorwayorAustraliacometothat.Atleastthewallsdidn'twobblewhen
someoneshutadoor.Itwasanoddexperiencewatchingpeoplewhoexistedina
recognizablyBritishmilieutheydrankteaandworeMarks&Spencer'scardigansbut
talkedinMartian.Occasionally,Iwasinterestedtonote,theydroppedinEnglishwords
'hiya','rightthen','OK'presumablybecauseaWelshequivalentdidn'texist,andinone
memorableencounteracharactersaidsomethinglike'Wlchylchaarghybsycwmdirty
weekend,lookyou,'whichIjustloved.HowsweetlyendearingoftheWelshnottohave
theirowntermforanillicitbonkbetweenFridayandMonday.
BythetimeIfinishedmycoffeeandreturnedtothestreets,therainhadtemporarily
abated,butthestreetswerefullofvastpuddleswherethedrainswereunabletocopewith
thevolumeofwater.CorrectmeifI'mwrong,butyouwouldthinkthatifonenation
oughtbynowtohavemasteredthescienceofdrainage,
Britainwouldbeit.Inanycase,carsaquaplaneddaringlythroughthesetemporary
lakesandthrewsheetsofwaterovernearbyhousesandshops.Mindfulofmyexperience
withpuddlesinWestori,andawarethatthiswasaplacewheretheretrulywasnothingto
doonaSunday,IproceededuptheHighStreetinastateofsomecaution.
Inosedaroundthetouristinformationcentre,whereIpickedupaleafletthatinformed
methatPorthmadogwasbuiltintheearlynineteenthcenturyasaportforBlaenauslate
byoneAlexanderMaddocksandthatbylateinthecenturyathousandshipsayearwere
enteringtheporttocarryoff116,000tonesofWelshstone.Todaythequaysideis,
inevitably,arenovatedzoneforyuppies,withcobblesandsmartflats.Ihadapolitelook
atit,thenfollowedabacklanethroughaharboursideneighbourhoodofsmallboatyards
andothermarinebusinesses,anduponesideofaresidentialhillanddowntheotheruntil
IfoundmyselfinthetranquilhamletofBorthyGest,aprettyvillageofbrickvillasona
horseshoebaywithgorgeousviewsacrossTraethBachtoHarlechPointandTremadoc
Baybeyond.BorthyGesthadanengagingoldfashionedfeelaboutit.Inthemiddleof
thevillage,overlookingthebay,wasasubpostofficewithablueawningannouncingon
thedanglingpart'SWEETS'and'ICES'andnearbywasanestablishmentcalledtheSea
ViewCafe.ThisplacemighthavebeenliftedwholefromAdventuresontheIsland.Iwas
charmedatonce.
Ifollowedagrassypathoutabovetheseatowardsaheadland.Evenunderlowcloud,

theviewsacrosstheGlaslynestuaryandSnowdonrangebeyondwerequitemajestic.The
windwasgustinganddownbelowtheseabatteredtherocksinanimpressively
tempestuousway,buttherainatleastheldoffandtheairwassweetandfreshinthatway
youonlygetwhenyouarebesidethesea.ThelightwasfailingandIwasafraidofending
upjoiningthewavesontherocksfarbelow,soIheadedbackintotown.WhenIgot
there,Idiscoveredthatthefewbusinessesthathadbeenopenwerenowshut.Onlyone
smallbeaconofhalflightloomedfromtheenclosingdarkness.Iwentuptoseewhatit
wasandwasinterestedtofindthatitwasthesouthernterminusandoperationalHQfor
thefamousBlaenauFfestiniogRailway.
Interestedtoseethenervecentreofthisorganizationwhichhadcausedmesomuch
distressanddiscomfortearlier,Iwentin.Thoughitwaswellafterfive,thestation
bookshopwasstillopenandliberallysprinkledwithsilentbrowsers,soIwentinandhad
anosearound.Itwasanextraordinaryplace,withshelfaftershelfofbooks,allwithtitles
likeRailwaysoftheWinionValleyandMaivddachEstuaryandTheComplete
EncyclopaediaofSignalBoxes.TherewasamultivolumeseriesofbookscalledTrains
inTrouble,eachconsistingofpageafterpageofphotographsofderailments,crashesand
othercatastrophesasortoftrainspotter'sequivalentofasnuffmovie,Isuppose.For
thoseseekingmoreanimatedthrills,therewerescoresofvideos.Itookdownoneat
random,calledTheHunsletandHundredsSteamRally1993,whichboreaboldlabel
promising'50MinutesofSteamAction!'Underthattherewasastickerthatsaid:
'Warning:ContainsexplicitfootageofaSturrock060HeavyClasscouplingwitha
GWRHopper.'Actually,Ijustmadethatlastpartup,butIdidnotice,withakindof
profoundshock,thatallthepeoplearoundmewerebrowsingwithpreciselythesamesort
ofselfabsorbed,quietbreathingconcentrationthatyouwouldfindinapornoshopandI
suddenlywonderediftherewasanextradimensiontothistrainspottinglarkthathad
neveroccurredtome.
Accordingtoaplaqueonthewallinthetickethall,theBlaenauFfestiniogRailway
wasformedin1832andistheoldeststillrunningintheworld.Ialsolearnedfromthe
plaquethattherailwaysocietyhas6,000members,afigurethatstaggersmefromevery
possibledirection.Thoughthelasttrainofthedayhadfinisheditsrunsometimeago,
therewasstillamanintheticketbooth,soIwentoverandinterrogatedhimquietlyabout
thelackofcoordinationbetweenthetrainandbusservicesinBlaenau.Idon'tknowwhy,
becauseIwascharmitself,buthegotdistinctlyhuffy,asifIwerebeingcriticalofhis
wife,andsaidinapetulanttone:'IfGwynnedTransportwantpeopletocatchthemidday
trainfromBlaenau,thentheyshouldhavethebusessetoffearlier.'
'Butequally,'Ipersisted,'youcouldhavethetrainleaveafewminuteslater.'
HelookedatmeasifIwerebeingoutrageouslypresumptuous,andsaid:'Butwhy
shouldwe?'
Andthere,yousee,youhaveeverythingthatiswrongwiththesetrainenthusiast
types.Theyareirrational,argumentative,dangerouslyfussyandoften,ashere,havean
irritatinglittleMichaelFishmoustachethatmakesyouwanttostickouttwoforked
fingersandpopthemintheeyes.Moreover,thankstomyjournalisticsleuthinginthe
bookshop,Ithinkwecansafelysaythatthereisaprimafaciecasetopresumethatthey
performunnaturalactswithsteam

videos.Fortheirowngood,andforthegoodofsociety,they.shouldbetakenaway
andinternedbehindbarbedwire.
Ithoughtaboutmakingacitizen'sarrestthereandthen'Idetainyouinthenameof
HerMajestytheQueenfortheoffenceofbeingirritatinglyintractableabouttimetables,
andalsoforhavinganannoyingandinadequatelittlemoustache'butIwasfeeling
generousandlethimgowithahardlookandanimpliedwarningthatitwouldbeacold
dayinhellbeforeIventuredanywherenearhisrailwayagain.Ithinkhegotthemessage.
CHAPTERTWENTYONE
INTHEMORNING,IWALKEDTOPORTHMADOGSTATIONNOTTHE
BlaenauFfestinioglet'splayattrainsone,buttherealBritishRailone.Thestationwas
closed,buttherewereseveralpeopleontheplatform,allstudiouslyavoidingeachother's
gazeandstanding,Idobelieve,onthesamespotonwhichtheystoodeverymorning.I
amprettycertainofthisbecauseasIwasstandingtheremindingmyownbusiness,a
maninasuitarrivedandlookedatfirstsurprisedandthencrosstofindmeoccupying
whatwasevidentlyhissquaremetreofplatform.Hetookapositionafewfeetawayand
regardedmewithanexpressionnotamillionmilesfromhate.Howeasyitissometimes,
Ithought,tomakeenemiesinBritain.Allyouhavetodoisstandinthewrongspotor
turnyourcarroundintheirdrivewaythisguyhadNOTURNINGwrittenalloverhim
orinadvertentlytaketheirseatonatrain,andtheywillquietlyhateyoutothegrave.
EventuallyatwocarriageSprintertraincameinandweallshuffledaboard.They
reallyarethemostcomfortless,utilitarian,deeplyunlovelytrains,withtheirhardedged
seats,theirmystifyinglysimultaneoushotandcolddraughts,theirharshlightingand,
aboveall,theirnoxiouscolourschemewithallthoseorangestripesandhopelesslyjaunty
chevrons.Whywouldanyonethinkthattrainpassengerswouldliketobesurroundedby
alotoforange,particularlyfirstthinginthemorning?Ilongedforoneofthoseoldstyle
trainsthatyoufoundwhenIfirstcametoBritain,theonesthathadnocorridorsbut
consistedofjustaseriesofselfcontainedcompartments,eachalittleworlduntoitself.
Therewasalwaysa
frissonofexcitementasyouopenedthecarriagedoorbecauseyouneverknewwhat
youwouldfindontheotherside.Therewassomethingpleasinglyintimateandrandom
aboutsittinginsuchcloseproximitywithtotalstrangers.IrememberonceIwasonone
ofthesetrainswhenoneoftheotherpassengers,ashylookingyoungmaninatrench
coat,wasabruptlyandlavishlysickontheflooritwasduringafluepidemicandthen
hadthegalltostumblefromthetrainatthenextstation,leavingthreeofustorideoninto
theeveninginsilence,withpinchedfacesandtuckedintoesandbehaving,inthatmost
extraordinaryBritishway,asifnothinghadhappened.Onsecondthoughtsperhapsitis
justaswellthatwedon'thavethosetrainsanymore.ButI'mstillnothappywiththe
orangechevrons.
Wefollowedacoastalroutepastbroadestuariesandcraggyhillsbesidethegrey,flat
expanseofCardiganBay.Thetownsalongthewayallhadnamesthatsoundedlikeacat
bringingupahairball:Llywyngwril,MorfaMawddach,Llandecwyn,DyffrynArdudwy.
AtPenrhyndeudraeththetrainfilledwithchildrenofallages,allinschooluniforms.I

expectedshoutingandsmokingandthingstobeflyingabout,buttheywereimpeccably
behaved,everylastoneofthem.TheyalldepartedatHarlechandtheinteriorsuddenly
feltemptyandquietquietenoughthatIcouldhearthecouplebehindmeconversingin
Welsh,whichpleasedme.AtBarmouthwecrossedanotherbroadestuary,onarickety
lookingwoodencauseway.Ihadreadsomewherethatthiscausewayhadbeenclosedfor
someyearsandthatBarmouthhaduntilrecentlybeentheendoftheline.Itseemeda
kindofmiraclethatBRhadinvestedthemoneytorepairthecausewayandkeeptheline
open,butIbetthatifIweretocomebackintenyears,thistrundling,halfforgottenline
toPorthmadogwillbeinthehandsofenthusiastslikethoseoftheBlaenauFfestiniog
RailwayandthatsometwitwithafussylittlemoustachewillbetellingmethatIcan't
makeaconnectionatShrewsburybecauseitdoesn'tsuitthesociety'stimetable.
SoIwaspleased,threehoursand105milesaftersettingoff,tomakeaconnectionat
Shrewsburywhilethechancewasstillthere.Myintentionwastoturnnorthandresume
mystatelyprogresstowardsJohnO'Groats,butasIwasmakingmywaythroughthe
station,IheardaplatformannouncementforatraintoLudlow,andimpulsivelyIboarded
it.ForyearsIhadheardthatLudlowwasadelightfulspot,anditsuddenlyoccurredto
methatthismightbemylastchancetoseeit.ThusitwasthatIfoundmyself,some
twentyminuteslater,alightingontoalonelyplatformatLudlowandmakingmywayup
alonghillintothetown.
LudlowwasindeedacharmingandagreeableplaceonahilltophighabovetheRiver
Teme.Itappearedtohaveeverythingyoucouldwantinacommunitybookshops,a
cinema,someappealinglookingtearoomsandbakeries,acoupleof'familybutchers'(I
alwayswanttogoinandsay,'Howmuchtodomine?'),anoldfashionedWoolworth's
andtheusualassortmentofchemists,pubs,haberdashersandthelike,allneatlyarrayed
andrespectfuloftheirsurroundings.TheLudlowCivicSocietyhadthoughtfullyput
plaquesuponmanyofthebuildingsannouncingwhohadoncelivedthere.Onesuch
hungonthewalloftheAngel,anoldcoachinginnonBroadStreetnowsadlyandI
hopedonlytemporarilyboardedup.Accordingtotheplaque,thefamousAuroracoach
oncecoveredthehundredorsomilestoLondoninjustovertwentysevenhours,which
justshowsyouhowmuchwe'veprogressed.NowBritishRailcouldprobablydoitinhalf
thetime.
NearbyIchancedupontheheadquartersofanorganizationcalledtheLudlowand
DistrictCatsProtectionLeague,whichintriguedme.Whatever,Iwondered,didthe
peopleofLudlowdototheircatsthatrequiredthesettingupofaspecialprotective
agency?PerhapsI'mcomingatthisfromthewrongangle,butshortofsettingcatsalight
andactuallythrowingthematme,Ican'tthinkofwhatyouwouldhavetodotodriveme
tosetupacharitytodefendtheirinterests.Thereisalmostnothing,apartperhapsfroma
touchingfaithinthereliabilityofweatherforecastsandtheuniversalfondnessforjokes
involvingtheword'bottom',thatmakesmefeelmorelikeanoutsiderinBritainthanthe
nation'sattitudetoanimals.DidyouknowthattheNationalSocietyforthePreventionof
CrueltytoChildrenwasformedsixtyyearsafterthefoundingoftheRoyalSocietyforthe
PreventionofCrueltytoAnimals,andasanoffshootofit?Didyouknowthatin1994
BritainvotedforaEuropeanUniondirectiverequiringstatutoryrestperiodsfor
transportedanimals,butagainststatutoryrestperiodsforfactoryworkers?

Butevenagainstthiscuriousbackground,itseemedextraordinarytomethatthere
couldbeawhole,clearlywellfundedofficededicatedjusttothesafetyandwellbeingof
LudlowandDistrictcats.Iwasnolessintriguedbythecuriouslyspecificlimitsofthe
society'sselfimposedremittheideathattheywereinterestedonlyinthesafetyand
wellbeingofLudlowandDistrictcats.
Whatwouldhappen,Iwondered,ifthemembersoftheleaguefoundyouteasingacat
justoutsidethedistrictboundaries?Wouldtheyshrugresignedlyandsay,'Outofour
jurisdiction'?Whocansay?CertainlynotI,becausewhenIapproachedtheofficewitha
viewtomakingenquiries,Ifoundthatitwasshut,itsmembersevidentlyandIwishyou
toreadnothingintothisouttolunch.
WhichiswhereIdecidedtobe.Iwentacrosstheroadtoapleasantlittlesaladbar
restaurantcalledtheOliveBranch,whereIquicklymademyselfintoapariahbytakinga
tableforfour.TheplacewaspracticallyemptywhenIarrivedandasIwasstruggling
witharucksackandatippytray,Itookthefirstemptytable.ButimmediatelyIsatdown
peoplepouredinfromallquartersandfortherestofmybrieflunchperiodIcouldfeel
eyesburrowingintomefrompeoplewhoturnedfromthetilltofindmeoccupyinga
spaceobviouslynotdesignedforasolitarydinerandthattheywouldhavetotaketheir
traystotheunpopularMoreSeatingUpstairssection,evidentlyadisagreeableoption.As
Isatthere,tryingtoeatquicklyandbeobscure,amanfromtwotablesawaycameand
askedmeinapointedtoneifIwasusingoneofthechairs,andtookitwithoutawaiting
myreply.Ifinishedmyfoodandslunkfromtheplaceinshame.
IreturnedtothestationandboughtaticketforthenexttraintoShrewsburyand
ManchesterPiccadilly.Becauseofapointsfailuresomewherealongtheline,thetrain
wasfortyminuteslatearriving.Itwaspackedandthepassengersweretesty.Ifounda
seatbydisturbingatablefulofpeoplewhogaveuptheirspacegrudginglyandglaredat
mewithdisdainmoreenemies!WhatadayIwashaving!andsatcrammedintoatiny
spaceinmyovercoatinanoverheatedcarriagewithmyrucksackonmylap.Ihadvague
hopesofgettingtoBlackpool,butIcouldn'tmoveamuscleandcouldn'tgetatmyrail
timetabletoseewhereIneededtochangetrains,soIjustsatandtrustedthatIcould
catchanonwardtrainatManchester.
BritishRailwashavingabadday.Wecreptamileorsooutofthestation,andthen
satforalongtimefornoevidentreason.Eventually,avoiceannouncedthatbecauseof
faultsfurtherupthelinethistrainwouldterminateatStockport,whichelicitedageneral
groan.Finally,afterabouttwentyminutes,thetrainfalteringlystartedforwardand
limpedacrossthegreencountryside.Ateachstationthevoiceapologizedforthedelay
andannouncedanewthatthetrainwouldterminateatStockport.Whenatlastwereached
Stockport,ninetyminuteslate,Iexpectedeveryonetogetoff,butnoonemoved,so
neitherdidI.Onlyonepassenger,aJapanesefellow,dutifullydisembarked,thenwatched
indismayasthetrainproceededon,withoutexplanationandwithouthim,toManchester.
AtManchesterIdiscoveredthatIneededatraintoPreston,soIhadalookata
televisionscreen,buttheseonlygavethefinaldestinationandnotthestationsinbetween.
SoIwentoffandjoinedaqueueoftravellersaskingaBRguardfordirectionstovarious
places.ItwasunfortunateforhimthattherewerenostationsinBritaincalledFuckOff
becausethatwasclearlywhathewantedtotellpeople.Hetoldmetogotoplatform13,

soIsetoffforit,buttheplatformsendedat11.SoIwentbacktotheguyandinformed
himthatIcouldn'tfindaplatform13.Itturnedoutthatplatform13wasupsomesecret
stairsandoverafootbridge.Itappearedtobetheplatformformissingtrains.Therewasa
wholecrowdoftravellersstandingtherelookinglostanddoleful,likethepeopleinthat
MontyPythonmilkmansketch.Eventuallyweweresentbacktoplatform3.Thetrain,
whenitarrived,wasofcourseatwocarriageSprinter.Theusual700peoplesqueezed
ontoit.
Thusitwas,fourteenhoursaftersettingofffromPorthmadogthatmorning,thatI
arrivedtired,dishevelled,hungryandfullofwoe,inBlackpool,aplacethatIdidn't
particularlywanttobeinanyway.
CHAPTERTWENTYTWO
BLACKPOOLANDIDON'TCAREHOWMANYTIMESYOUHEARTHIS,IT
neverstopsbeingamazingattractsmorevisitorseveryyearthanGreeceandhasmore
holidaybedsthanthewholeofPortugal.Itconsumesmorechipspercapitathan
anywhereelseontheplanet.(Itgetsthroughfortyacresofpotatoesaday.)Ithasthe
largestconcentrationofrollercoastersinEurope.Ithasthecontinent'ssecondmost
populartouristattraction,thefortytwoacrePleasureBeach,whose6.5millionannual
visitorsareexceededinnumberonlybythosegoingtotheVatican.Ithasthemost
famousilluminations.AndonFridayandSaturdaynightsithasmorepublictoiletsthan
anywhereelseinBritain;elsewheretheycallthemdoorways.
Whateveryoumaythinkoftheplace,itdoeswhatitdoesverywellorifnotvery
wellatleastverysuccessfully.Inthepasttwentyyears,duringaperiodinwhichthe
numberofBritonstakingtraditionalseasideholidayshasdeclinedbyafifth,Blackpool
hasincreaseditsvisitornumbersby7percentandbuilttourismintoa250milliona
yearindustrynosmallachievementwhenyouconsidertheBritishclimate,thefactthat
Blackpoolisugly,dirtyandalongwayfromanywhere,thatitsseaisanopentoilet,and
itsattractionsnearlyallcheap,provincialanddire.
Itwastheilluminationsthathadbroughtmethere.Ihadbeenhearingandreading
aboutthemforsolongthatIwasgenuinelykeentoseethem.So,aftersecuringaroomin
amodestguesthouseonabackstreet,Ihastenedtothefrontinasenseofsome
expectation.Well,allIcansayisthatBlackpool'silluminationsarenothingifnot
splendid,andtheyarenotsplendid.Thereis,ofcourse,alwaysadangerof
disappointmentwhenyoufinallyencountersomethingyouhavewantedtoseeforalong
time,butintermsofletdownitwouldbehardtoexceedBlackpool'slightshow.Ithought
therewouldbelaserssweepingthesky,strobelightstattooingthecloudsandothergasp
makingdazzlements.Insteadtherewasjustarumblingprocessionofoldtramsdecorated
asrocketshipsorChristmascrackers,andseveralmilesofpaltrydecorationson
lampposts.Isupposeifyouhadneverseenelectricityinaction,itwouldbepretty
breathtaking,butI'mnotevensureofthat.Italljustseemedtackyandinadequateon
ratheragrandscale,likeBlackpoolitself.
Whatwasnolessamazingthanthemeagrenessoftheilluminationswerethecrowds
ofpeoplewhohadcometowitnessthespectacle.Trafficalongthefrontwasbumperto

bumper,withchildishfacespressedtothewindowsofeverycreepingcar,andtherewere
massesofpeopleamblinghappilyalongthespaciouspromenade.Atfrequentintervals
hawkerssoldluminousnecklacesandbraceletsorothershortliveddiversions,andwere
doingaroaringtrade.IreadsomewhereoncethathalfofallvisitorstoBlackpoolhave
beenthereatleasttentimes.Goodnessknowswhattheyfindintheplace.Iwalkedfora
mileorsoalongtheprom,andcouldn'tunderstandtheappealofitandI,asyoumay
haverealizedbynow,amanenthusiastfortat.PerhapsIwasjustwearyaftermylong
journeyfromPorthmadog,butIcouldn'twakeupanyenthusiasmforitatall.Iwandered
throughbrightlylitarcadesandpeeredinbingohalls,butthefestiveatmospherethat
seemedtoseizeeveryonefailedtoruboffonme.Eventually,feelingverytiredandvery
foreign,Iretiredtoafishrestaurantonasidestreet,whereIhadaplateofhaddock,chips
andpeas,andwaslookedatlikeIwassomekindofsouthernpansywhenIaskedfor
tartaresauce,andafterwardstookyetanotherearlynight.
Inthemorning,IgotupearlytogiveBlackpoolanotherchance.Ilikeditconsiderably
betterbydaylight.Thepromenadehadsomenicebitsofcastironandelaboratehutswith
oniondomessellingrock,nougatandotherstickythings,whichhadescapedmeinthe
darknessthenightbefore,andthebeachwasvastandemptyandveryagreeable.
Blackpool'sbeachissevenmileslongandthecuriousthingaboutitisthatitdoesn't
officiallyexist.Iamnotmakingthisup.Inthelate1980s,whentheEuropean
Communityissuedadirectiveaboutminimumstandardsofoceanbornesewage,it
turnedoutthatnearlyeveryBritishseasidetownfailedtocomeanywhereneareven
theminimumlevels.MostofthebiggerplaceslikeBlackpoolwentrightofftheedgeof
theturdometer,orwhateveritistheymeasurethesethingswith.Thispresentedan
obviousproblemtotheGovernment,whichwasloathtospendmoneyonBritishbeaches
whentherewereperfectlygoodbeachesforrichpeopleinMustiqueandBarbados,soit
drewupapolicyunderwhichitofficiallydecreedthisissobizarreIcanhardlystandit,
butIswearitistruethatBrighton,Blackpool,Scarboroughandmanyotherleading
resortsdidnothave,strictlyspeaking,bathingbeaches.Christknowswhattheythen
termedtheseexpansesofsandintermediatesewagebuffers,Isupposebutinanycase
itdisposedoftheproblemwithouteithersolvingitorcostingtheExchequerapenny,
whichis,ofcourse,themainthing,orinthecaseofthepresentGovernment,theonly
thing.
Butenoughofpoliticalsatire!LetusawayinhastetoMorecambe.Iwenttherenext,
onaseriesofrattlingSprinters,partlytomakepoignantcomparisonswithBlackpool,but
mostlybecauseIlikeMorecambe.I'mnotatallsurewhy,butIdo.
Lookingatitnow,itishardtobelievethatnotsoverylongagoMorecamberivalled
Blackpool.Infact,startinginabout1880andformanydecadesafterwards,Morecambe
wasthenorthernEnglishseasideresort.IthadBritain'sfirstseasideilluminations.Itwas
thebirthplaceofbingo,letteredrockandthehelterskelter.DuringthecelebratedWakes
Weeks,whenwholenorthernfactorytownswentonholidaytogether(theycalled
MorecambeBradfordbySea),upto100,000visitorsatatimeflockedtoitsboarding
housesandhotels.Atitspeakithadtwomainlinerailwaystations,eightmusichalls,
eightcinemas,anaquarium,afunfair,amenagerie,arevolvingtower,aboatinggarden,a
SummerPavilion,aWinterGardens,thelargestswimmingpoolinBritain,andtwopiers.

Oneofthese,theCentralPier,wasoneofthemostbeautifulandelaborateinBritain,
withfabuloustowersanddomedroofsanArabianpalaceafloatonMorecambeBay.
Ithadoverathousandboardinghousescateringforthemasses,butalsoclassier
diversionsforthosewithmoreextravagantambitions.TheOldVieandSadler'sWells
spentwholeseasonsthere.ElgarconductedorchestrasintheWinterGardensandNellie
Melbasang.AnditwasthehomeofmanyhotelsthatweretheequalofanyinEurope,
liketheGrandandtheBroadway,whereintheearly1900swellheeledpatronscould
choosebetweenadozentypesofhydrobath,including'Needle,Brine,Foam,Plombiere
andScotchDouche'.
IknowallthisbecauseIhadbeenreadingabookcalledLostResort:TheFlowand
EbbofMorecambe,byalocalvicarnamedRogerK.Bingham,whichwasnotonly
exceptionallywellwritten(anditisquiteextraordinary,letmesayhere,howmuchgood
localhistorythereisinthiscountry)butfullofphotosofMorecambefromitsheyday
thatwerejuststaggeringlyatvariancewiththesceneIfoundbeforemenowasIstepped
fromthetrain,oneofonlythreepassengerstoalight,andambledoutintothesunnybut
breathtakinglyfadedcharmsofMarineRoad.
ItishardtosaywhenorwhyMorecambe'sdeclinestarted.Itremainedpopularwell
intothe1950saslateas1956ithad1,300hotelsandguesthouses,tentimesthenumber
ithastodaybutitsdescentfromgreatnesshadbegunlongbefore.ThefamousCentral
Pierwasextensivelydamagedbyafireinthe1930s,thengraduallysankintoan
embarrassingwreck.By1990thetownofficialshadremoveditfromthelocalmap
simplypretendedthatthederelictheapprojectingintothesea,dominatingthefront,
wasn'tthere.TheWestEndPier,meanwhile,wassweptawaybyawinterstormin1974.
ThemagnificentAlhambramusichallburneddownin1970andtheRoyallyTheatrewas
razedtomakewayforashoppingcentretwoyearslater.
Bytheearly1970sMorecambe'sdeclinewasprecipitate.Onebyonethelocal
landmarksvanishedthevenerableswimmingpoolin1978,theWinterGardensin1982,
thetrulysumptuousGrandHotelin1989aspeopleabandonedMorecambefor
BlackpoolandtheSpanishCostas.Bythelate1980s,accordingtoBingham,youcould
buyalarge,onceproudseafronthotellikethefivestoreyGrosvenorforthesamepriceas
asemidetachedhouseinLondon.
TodayMorecambe'statteredfrontconsistslargelyoflittleusedbingohallsand
amusementarcades,everythingforlshops,andthekindofcutpriceboutiqueswhere
theclothesaresocheapandundesirablethattheycanbesafelyputoutsideonracksand
leftunattended.Manyoftheshopsareempty,andmostoftherestlooktemporary.Ithas
becomeonceagainironyofironiesBradfordbySea.SolowhadMorecambe's
fortunessunkthattheprevioussummerthetowncouldn'tevenfindsomeonetotakeon
thedeckchairconcession.Whenaseasideresortcan'tfindanyonewillingtosetup
deckchairs,youknowthatbusinessisbad.
AndyetMorecambehasitscharms.Itsseafrontpromenadeishandsomeandwell
maintainedanditsvastbay(174squaremiles,ifyou'retakingnotes)iseasilyoneofthe
mostbeautifulintheworld,withunforgettableviewsacrosstothegreenandblue
Lakelandhills:Scafell,ConistonOldMan,theLangdalePikes.
TodayalmostallthatremainsofMorecambe'sgoldenageistheMidlandHotel,a

jaunty,cheery,radiantwhiteartdecoedificewithasweeping,streamlinedfrontage
erectedontheseafrontin1933.Concretestructureswerealltheragein1933,but
concreteapparentlywasbeyondthecapabilitiesoflocalbuilders,soitwasbuiltof
Accringtonbrickandrenderedinplastersothatitlookedlikeconcrete,whichIfindvery
endearing.Todaythehotelisgentlycrumblingaroundtheedgesandstreakedhereand
therewithruststains.Mostoftheoriginalinteriorfittingswerelostduringperiodicand
carelessrefurbishmentsovertheyears,andseverallargeEricGillstatuesthatoncegraced
theentrancewayandpublicroomssimplydisappeared,butitstillhasanimperishable
1930scharm.
Icouldn'tbegintoguesswheretheMidlandgetsitscustomthesedays.Theredidn't
seemtobeanycustomofanysortwhenIwentinnowandhadacupofcoffeeinan
emptysunloungeoverlookingthebay.Oneofthesmallendearmentsofmodern
Morecambeisthatwhereveryougotheyaregratefulforyourpatronage.Ienjoyedsuperb
serviceandaniceview,twothingswhollyunobtainableinBlackpoolasfarasIcantell.
AsIwasdeparting,myeyewascaughtbyalargewhiteplasterstatuebyGillofa
mermaidintheemptydiningroom.Iwentandhadalookatitandfoundthatthetailof
thestatue,whichIpresumeisworthasmallfortune,washeldonwithamassofsticky
tape.Itseemedanotinappropriatesymbolforthetown.
Itookaroominaseafrontguesthouse,whereIwasreceivedwithakindofstartled
gratitude,asiftheownershadforgottenthatallthoseemptyroomsupstairsweretolet,
andspenttheafternoonstrollingaroundwithRogerBingham'sbooklookingatthe
sights,tryingtoimaginethetowninitsheyday,andoccasionallybestowingmy
patronageonpatheticallygratefultearooms.
Itwasamilddayandtherewereanumberofpeople,mostlyelderly,walkingalong
thepromenade,butlittlesignofanyonespendingmoney.Withnothingbettertodo,I
tookalongwalkalongthefrontnearlytoCarnforthandthenwalkedbackalongthe
sandssincethetidewasout.ThesurprisingthingaboutMorecambe,itoccurredtome,
isn'tthatitdeclined,butthatiteverprospered.Itwouldbehardtoimaginealesslikely
placeforaresort.Itsbeachesconsistofhorriblegooeymudanditsvastbayspendslarge
periodsdevoidofwaterthankstothevagariesofthetides.Youcanwalksixmilesacross
thebaytoCumbriawhenthetideisout,buttheysayitisdangeroustodosowithouta
guide,orsandpilotastheyareknownhereabouts.Ioncespentsometimewithoneof
thesepilots,whotoldalarmingstoriesaboutcoachesandhorsesthattriedtocrossthebay
atlowtideanddisappearedintothetreacherousquicksands,nevertobeseenagain.Even
nowpeoplesometimesstrollouttoofarandthengetcutoffwhenthetidecomesin,
aboutasdisagreeableawaytofinishanafternoonasIcouldimagine.
Feelingdaring,Iwalkedafewhundredyardsoutontothesandsnow,studyingworm
castsandtheinterestingcorrugatedimprintsleftbytherecedingwaters,andkeepingan
eyeoutforquicksandwhichisn'treallysandatall,butsiltymudanditreallydoes
hooveryouupifyoublunderintoit.ThetidesatMorecambedon'trushinandoutlike
theSevernbore,butcreepinfromvariousangles,whichisallthemoremenacingsince
youcaneasilyfind,ifyouarethesorttogetlostinthought,thatyouaresuddenly
strandedonalargebutinsidiouslyshrinkingsandbarinthemiddleofagreatwetbay,so
Ikeptmyeyesoutanddidn'tventuretoofar.

ItwasquitewonderfulcertainlybetterthananythingBlackpoolcouldoffer.Itisan
oddsensationtobewalkingaboutonaseabedandtothinkthatanytimenowthiscould
beunderthirtyfeetofwater.Iespeciallylikedthesolitude.Oneofthehardestthingsto
adjustto,ifyoucomefromalargecountry,isthatyouareseldomreallyaloneoutof
doorsinEnglandthatthereisscarcelyanopenspacewhereyoucould,say,safelystand
andhaveapeewithoutfearofappearinginsomebirdwatcher'sbinocularsorhaving
somematronlyramblerboundroundthebendsothesenseofalonenessontheopen
sandswasratherluxurious.
Fromafewhundredyardsout,Morecambelookedquitefetchinginthelateafternoon
sun,andevenupclose,asIleftthesandsandclamberedupsomemossyconcretestepsto
theprom,itdidn'tlookhalfbadawayfromthedesolatebingoparloursandnoveltyshops.
ThelineofguesthousesalongtheeasternlengthofMarineRoadlookedneatandtrimand
sweetlyhopeful.Ifeltsorryfortheownerswhohadinvestedtheirhopesandfound
themselvesnowinadyingresort.ThedeclinethatbeganintheFiftiesandaccelerated
outofcontrolintheSeventiesmusthaveseemedbewilderingandinexplicableto
thesepoorpeopleastheywatchedBlackpool,justtwentymilestothesouth,goingfrom
strengthtostrength.
Foolishly,butnotunnaturally,Morecamberespondedbytryingtocompetewith
Blackpool.Itbuiltanexpensivedolphinariumandanewoutdoorswimmingpool,and
recentlytherehadbeensomehalfassedplantoopenaMrBlobbyamusementpark.But
reallyitscharm,andcertainlyitshope,liesinbeingnotBlackpool.ThatiswhatIliked
aboutitthatitisquietandfriendlyandwellbehaved,thatthereisplentyofroominthe
pubsandcafes,thatyouaren'tbowledoffthekerbbyswaggeringyouthsanddon'tgo
sidewalksurfingonabandonedstyrofoamchipplattersandvomitslicks.
Oneday,Iwouldliketothink,peoplewillrediscoverthecharmsofaquietbreakat
theseaside,thesimplepleasuresofstrollingalongawellkeptfront,leaningonrailings,
drinkinginviews,sittinginacafewithabook,justpotteringabout.Thenperhaps
Morecambecanthriveagain.HowniceitwouldbeiftheGovernmentactuallyerecteda
policytothisend,tookstepstorestorefadingplaceslikeMorecamberebuiltthepierto
itsoriginalplans,gaveagrantforanewWinterGardens,insistedontherestorationof
seafrontbuildings,perhapsmovedadivisionoftheInlandRevenueorsomeother
bureaucracytothetowntogiveitabitofyearroundlife.
Withalittleprimingandathoughtfullongtermplan,Iamsureyoucouldattractthe
sortofpeoplewhowouldwanttoopenbookshops,littlerestaurants,antiqueshops,
galleries,maybeeventapasbarsandtheoddboutiquehotel.Well,whynot?
MorecambecouldbecomealittlenorthernEnglishequivalentofSausalitoorStIves.
Youmaysmirkatthethoughtofit,butwhatotherpossiblefutureisthereforaplacelike
Morecambe?Peoplecouldcomeforweekendstoeatqualitymealsinnewseafront
restaurantsoverlookingthebayandperhapstakeinaplayorconcertattheWinter
Gardens.Yuppiefellwalkerscouldspendthenightthereandthuseasepressureonthe
LakeDistrict.Itwouldallmakeeminentsense.Butofcourseitwillneverhappen,and
partly,ifImaysayso,becauseyousmirk.
CHAPTERTWENTYTHREE

IHAVEASMALL,TATTEREDCLIPPINGTHATISOMETIMESCARRYWITH
MEandpulloutforpurposesofprivateamusement.It'saweatherforecastfromthe
'WesternDailyMailanditsays,intoto:'Outlook:Dryandwarm,butcoolerwithsome
rain.'
ThereyouhaveinasinglepithysentencetheEnglishweathercapturedtoperfection:
drybutrainywithsomewarm/coolspells.TheWesternDailyMailcouldrunthat
forecasteverydayforallIknow,itmayandscarcelyeverbewrong.
ToanoutsiderthemoststrikingthingabouttheEnglishweatheristhatthereisn'tvery
muchofit.Allthosephenomenathatelsewheregivenatureanedgeofexcitement,
unpredictabilityanddangertornadoes,monsoons,ragingblizzards,runforyourlife
hailstormsarealmostwhollyunknownintheBritishIsles,andthisisjustfinebyme.I
likewearingthesametypeofclothingeverydayoftheyear.Iappreciatenotneedingair
conditioningormeshscreensonthewindowstokeepoutthekindofinsectsandflying
animalsthatdrainyourbloodoreatawayyourfacewhileyouaresleeping.Ilike
knowingthatsolongasIdonotgowalkingupBenNevisincarpetslippersinFebruaryI
willalmostcertainlyneverperishfromtheelementsinthissoftandgentlecountry.
ImentionthisbecauseasIsateatingmybreakfastinthediningroomoftheOld
EnglandHotelinBownessonWindermere,twodaysafterleavingMorecambe,Iwas
readinganarticleinTheTimesaboutanunseasonablesnowstorma'blizzard',The
Timescalleditthathad'gripped'partsofEastAnglia.AccordingtoTheTimesreport,
thestormhadcoveredpartsoftheregionwith'more
thantwoinchesofsnow'andcreated'driftsuptosixincheshigh'.Inresponsetothis,I
didsomethingIhadneverdonebefore:Ipulledoutmynotebookanddraftedaletterto
theeditorinwhichIpointedout,inakindly,helpfulway,thattwoinchesofsnowcannot
possiblyconstituteablizzardandthatsixinchesofsnowisnotadrift.Ablizzard,I
explained,iswhenyoucan'tgetyourfrontdooropen.Driftsarethingsthatmakeyou
loseyourcartillspring.Coldweatheriswhenyouleavepartofyourfleshondoorknobs,
mailboxhandlesandothermetalobjects.AndthenIcrumpledtheletterupbecauseI
realizedIwasinseriousdangerofturningintooneoftheColonelBlimptypeswhosat
aroundmeinconsiderablenumbers,eatingcornflakesorporridgewiththeirblimpish
wives,andwithoutwhomhotelsliketheOldEnglandwouldnotbeabletosurvive.
IwasinBownessbecauseIhadtwodaystokilluntilIwastobejoinedbytwofriends
fromLondonwithwhomIwasgoingtospendtheweekendwalking.Iwaslooking
forwardtothatverymuch,butratherlesstotheprospectofanotherlong,purposelessday
inBowness,potteringabouttryingtofilltheemptyhourstilltea.Thereare,Ifind,only
somanywindowsfulofteatowels,PeterRabbitdinnerwareandpatternedjumpersIcan
lookatbeforemyinterestinshoppingpalls,andIwasn'tatallsurethatIcouldface
anotherdayofpokingaboutinthismostchallengingofresorts.
IhadcometoBownessmoreorlessbydefaultsinceitistheonlyplaceinsidethe
LakeDistrictNationalParkwitharailwaystation.Besides,theideaofspendingacouple
ofquietdaysbesidethetranquilbeautyofWindermere,andwallowingintheplump
comfortsofagracious(ifcostly)oldhotel,hadseemeddistinctlyappealingfromthe
vantageofMorecambeBay.Butnow,withonedaydownandanothertogo,Iwas

beginningtofeelstrandedandfidgety,likesomeoneattheendofalongperiodof
convalescence.Atleast,Ireflectedoptimistically,theunseasonabletwoinchesofsnow
thathadbrutallylashedEastAnglia,causingchaosontheroadsandforcingpeopleto
battletheirwaythroughperiloussnowdrifts,someofthemashighastheirankletops,had
mercifullypassedthiscornerofEnglandby.Heretheelementswerebenignandthe
worldoutsidethediningroomwindowsparkledweaklyunderapalewintrysun.
IdecidedtotakethelakesteamertoAmbleside.Thiswouldnotonlykillanhourand
letmeseethelake,butdelivermetoaplacerathermorelikearealtownandlesslikea
misplacedseasideresortthanBowness.InBowness,Ihadnotedthedaybefore,thereare
nofewerthaneighteenshopswhereyoucanbuyjumpersandatleasttwelvesellingPeter
Rabbitstuff,butjustonebutcher's.Amblesideontheotherhand,thoughhardly
unfamiliarwiththemanifoldpossibilitiesforenrichmentpresentedbyhordesofpassing
tourists,didatleasthaveanexcellentbookshopandanynumberofoutdoorshops,which
IfindhugelyifinexplicablydivertingIcaiPspendhourslookingatrucksacks,
kneesocks,compassesandsurvivalrations,thengotoanothershopandlookatprecisely
thesamethingsalloveragain.SoitwaswithacertainanimatedkeennessthatImademy
waytothesteamerpiershortlyafterbreakfast.Alas,thereIdiscoveredthatthesteamers
runonlyinthesummermonths,whichseemedshortsightedonthismildmorningbecause
evennowBownessgentlyteemedwithtrippers.SoIwasforced,asafallback,topickmy
waythroughthescattered,shufflingthrongstothelittleferrythatshuntsbackandforth
betweenBownessandtheoldferryhouseontheoppositeshore.Ittravelsonlyafew
hundredyards,butitdoesatleastrunallyear.
Amodestlineupofcarswaspatientlyidlingontheferryapproach,andtherewere
eightortenwalkersaswell,allwithMustos,rucksacksandsturdyboots.Onefellowwas
evenwearingshortsalwaysasignofadvanceddementiainaBritishwalker.Walking
walking,thatis,intheBritishsensewassomethingthatIhadcomeintoonlyrelatively
recently.IwasnotyetatthepointwhereIwouldwearshortswithmanypockets,butI
hadtakentotuckingmytrousersintomysocks(thoughIhaveyettofindanyonewho
canexplaintomewhatbenefitsthisactuallyconfers,otherthanmakingonelookserious
andcommitted).
IrememberwhenIfirstcametoBritainwanderingintoabookstoreandbeing
surprisedtofindawholesectiondedicatedto'WalkingGuides'.Thisstruckmeasfaintly
bizarreandcomicalwhereIcamefrompeopledidnotasarulerequirewritten
instructionstoachievelocomotionbutthengraduallyIlearnedthatthereare,infact,
twokindsofwalkinginBritain,namelytheeverydaykindthatgetsyoutothepuband,
allbeingwell,backhomeagain,andthemoreearnesttypethatinvolvesstoutboots,
OrdnanceSurveymapsinplasticpouches,rucksackswithsandwichesandflasksoftea,
and,initsterminalphase,thewearingofkhakishortsininappropriateweather.
Foryears,Iwatchedthesewalkertypestoilingoffupcloudhiddenhillsinwetand
savageweatherandpresumedtheywere
genuinelyinsane.AndthenmyoldfriendJohnPrice,whohadgrownupinLiverpool
andspenthisyouthdoingfoolishthingsonsheerfacedcragsintheLakes,encouraged
metojoinhimandacoupleofhisfriendsforanamblethatwasthewordheusedup
Haystacksoneweekend.Ithinkitwasthecombinationofthosetwountaxingsounding

words,'amble'and'Haystacks',andthepromiseoflotsofdrinkafterwards,thatlulledme
frommynaturalcaution.
'Areyousureit'snottoohard?'Iasked.
'Nah,justanamble,'Johninsisted.
Well,ofcourseitwasanythingbutanamble.Weclamberedforhoursupvast,
perpendicularslopes,overclatteringscreeandlumpytussocks,roundtoweringcitadelsof
rock,andemergedatlengthintoacold,bleak,loftynetherworldsoremoteand
forbiddingthateventhesheepwerestartledtoseeus.Beyonditlayevengreaterand
remotersummitsthathadbeenquiteinvisiblefromtheribbonofblackhighway
thousandsoffeetbelow.Johnandhischumstoyedwithmywilltoliveinthecruellest
possibleway;seeingmefallingbehind,theywouldloungearoundonboulders,Smoking
andchartingandresting,buttheinstantIcaughtupwiththemwithaviewtofallingat
theirfeet,theywouldbounduprefreshedand,withafewencouragingwords,setoff
anewwithlarge,manlystrides,sothatIhadtostumbleafterandnevergotarest.I
gaspedandachedandsputtered,andrealizedthatIhadneverdoneanythingremotelythis
unnaturalbeforeandvowednevertoattemptsuchfollyagain.
Andthen,justasIwasabouttoliedownandcallforastretcher,wecrestedafinalrise
andfoundourselvesabruptly,magically,ontopoftheearth,onaplatforminthesky,
amidanoceanofswellingsummits.Ihadneverseenanythinghalfsobeautifulbefore.
'Fuckme,'IsaidinamomentofspecialeloquenceandrealizedIwashooked.Eversince
thenIhadcomebackwhenevertheywouldhaveme,andnevercomplainedandeven
startedtuckingmytrousersinmysocks.Icouldn'twaitforthemorrow.
TheferrydockedandIshuffledonboardwiththeothers.Windermerelookedserene
andexceedinglyfetchinginthegentlesunshine.Unusuallytherewasn'tasinglepleasure
boatdisturbingitsglassycalmness.TosaythatWindermereispopularwithboatersisto
flirtrecklesslywithunderstatement.Some14,000powerboatsletmerepeatthat
number:14,000ateregisteredtousethelake.Onabusysummer'sday,asmanyas
1,600powerboatsmaybeoutonthewateratanyonetime,agoodmanyofthemzipping
alongatupto40mphwithwaterskiersintow.Thisisinadditiontoallthethousandsof
othertypesoffloatingobjectsthatmaybeoutonthewateranddon'tneedtoregister
dinghies,sailboats,sailboards,canoes,inflatables,lilos,variousexcursionsteamersand
theoldchuggingferryIwasonnowallofthemsearchingforaboatsizedpieceof
water.ItisallbutimpossibletostandonalakesidebankonanAugustSundaywatching
waterskiersslicingthroughpackedshoalsofdinghiesandotherfloatingdetritusandnot
endupwithyourmouthopenandyourhandsonyourhead.
IhadspentsomeweeksintheLakesayearorsobeforeworkingonanarticlefor
NationalGeographicandoneofthepassingthrillsoftheexperiencewasbeingtakenout
foramorningonthelakeonanationalparklaunch.Toshowmejusthowdangerousit
couldbetolethighpoweredcraftracearoundinthiskindofcrowdedenvironment,the
parkwardenpootledthelaunchoutintothemiddleofthelake,toldmetohangon1
smiledatthis:listen,Ido90onthemotorwaysthenopenedthethrottle.Well,letme
saythis:40mphinaboatisnothinglike40mphonaroad.Wetookoffwithavelocity
thatsnappedmebackintheseatandhadmeclutchingonfordearlifewithbothhands,
andbouncedacrossthewaterlikeaflatstonefiredfromagun.Ihaveseldombeenso

petrified.Evenonaquietmorningoutofseason,Windermerewascloggedwith
impediments.Weshotbetweenlittleislandsandskitteredsidewayspastheadlandsthat
loomedupwithalarmingsuddenness,likefrightsonafunfairride.Imaginesharingthis
spacewith1,600othersimilarlydashingcraft,mostoftheminthecontrolofsomepot
belliedurbanhalfwitwithnexttonoexperienceofpoweredcraft,plusallthefloating
jetsamofrowboats,kayaks,pedalosandthelikeanditisawonderthattherearen'tbodies
alloverthewater.
Theexperiencetaughtmetwothingsfirst,thatvomitvaporizesat40mphinanopen
boatandsecondthatWindermereisanexceedinglycompactbodyofwater.Andherewe
cometothepointofallthis.Britainis,forallitstopographicaldiversityandtimeless
majesty,anexceedinglysmallscaleplace.Thereisn'tasinglenaturalfeatureinthe
countrythatranksanywhereinworldtermsnoAlplikemountains,nostunninggorges,
notevenasinglegreatriver.YoumaythinkoftheThamesasasubstantialartery,butin
worldtermsitislittlemorethananambitiousstream.
PutitdowninNorthAmericaanditwouldn'tevenmakethetoponehundred.It
wouldcomeinatnumber108,tobeprecise,outclassedbysuchrelativeobscuritiesasthe
Skunk,theKuskokwimandeventhelittleMilk.Windermeremayhaveprideofplace
amongEnglishlakes,butforeachtwelvesquareinchesofWindermere'ssurface,Lake
Superioroffers268squarefeetofwater.ThereisinIowaabodyofwatercalledDan
GreenSlough,whichevenmostlowanshaveneverheardof,anditisbiggerthan
Windermere.TheLakeDistrictitselftakesuplessspacethantheTwinCities.
Ithinkthat'sjustwonderfulnotthatthesefeaturesaremodestintheirdimensionsbut
thattheyaremodest,inthemiddleofadenselycrowdedislandandstillwonderful.What
anachievementthatis.Doyouhaveanyidea,otherthaninavaguetheoreticalsense,just
howdesperatelycrowdedBritainis?Didyouknow,forinstance,thattoachievethesame
densityofpopulationinAmericayouwouldhavetouproottheentirepopulationsof
Illinois,Pennsylvania,Massachusetts,Minnesota,Michigan,ColoradoandTexasand
packthemallintoIowa?TwentymillionpeoplelivewithinadaytripoftheLakeDistrict
and12million,roughlyaquarterofEngland'spopulation,cometotheLakeseachyear.
NowonderonsomesummerweekendsitcantaketwohourstogetthroughAmbleside
andthatyoucouldalmostwalkacrossWindermerebysteppingfromboattoboat.
Andyetevenatitsworst,theLakeDistrictremainsmorecharmingandless
rapaciouslycommercializedthanmanyfamedbeautyspotsinmorespaciouscountries.
AndawayfromthecrowdsawayfromBowness,HawksheadandKeswick,withtheirtea
towels,tearooms,teapotsandendlessBeatrixPottershititretainspocketsofsheer
perfection,asIfoundnowwhentheferrynosedintoitslandingandwetumbledoff.For
aminutethelandingareawasahiveofactivityasonegroupofcarsgotoff,anothergot
onandtheeightortenfootpassengersdepartedinvariousdirections.Andthenallwas
blissfulsilence.Ifollowedapretty,woodedroadaroundthelake'sedgebeforeturning
inlandandheadingforNearSawrey.
NearSawreyisthehomeofHilltop,thecottagewheretheinescapablePotterdrewher
sweetlittlewatercoloursandcontrivedhersoppystories.Formostoftheyear,itis
overrunwithtouristsfromfarandwide.Muchofthevillageisgivenovertolarge(but
discreetlysited)carparksandthetearoomevenhasasignoutfrontadvertisingitsfarein

Japanese,egads.Buttheapproachestothevillageactually,it'sjustahamlet(anddoyou
knowthedifference,bytheway,between'village'and'hamlet'?Surprisinglyfewpeople
do,butit'squitesimplereally:oneisaplacewherepeopleliveandtheotherisaplayby
Shakespeare)fromeverydirectionareexquisiteandunspoiled:ameadowygreenEden
lacedwithwanderingslatewalls,woodlandclumpsandlowwhitefarmsagainsta
backdropofblue,beckoninghills.EvenNearSawreyitselfhasabeguiling,well
concoctedcharmthatbeliestheoverwhelminghordeswhocometoshufflethroughits
mostfamousresidence.SuchindeedisHilltop'salarmingpopularitythattheNational
Trustdoesn'tevenactivelyadvertiseitanymore.Yetstillthevisitorscome.Twocoaches
weredisgorgingchatteringwhitehairedoccupantswhenIarrivedandthemaincarpark
wasalreadynearlyfull.
IhadbeentoHilltoptheyearbefore,soIwanderedpastitandupalittleknowntrack
toatarnonsomehighgroundbehindit.OldMrsPotterusedtocomeuptothistarn
regularlytothrashaboutonitinarowingboatwhetherforhealthfulexerciseorasa
kindofflagellationIdon'tknowbutitwasverylovelyandseeminglyquiteforgotten.I
hadthedistinctfeelingthatIwasthefirstvisitortoventureupthereforyears.Acrossthe
way,afarmerwasmendingastretchoffallenwallandIstoodandwatchedhimfora
whilefromadiscreetdistance,becauseifthereisonethingnearlyassoothingtothespirit
asmendingadrystonewallitiswatchingsomeoneelsedoingit.Irememberonce,not
longafterwemovedtotheYorkshireDales,goingforastrollandhappeningacrossa
farmerIknewslightlyrebuildingawallonaremotehill.ItwasarottenJanuarydayfull
ofdriftingfogandrainandthethingistherewasn'tanydiscerniblepointinhisrebuilding
thewall.Heownedthefieldsoneithersideandinanycasetherewasagatethatstood
permanentlyopenbetweenthetwosoitwasn'tasifthewallhadanyrealfunction.I
stoodandwatchedhimawhileandfinallyaskedhimwhyhewasstandingoutinacold
rainrebuildingthewall.HelookedatmewiththatspecialpainedlookYorkshirefarmers
saveforonlookersandothermoronsandsaid:'Becauseit'sfallendown,ofcourse.'From
thisIlearned,firstofall,nevertoaskaYorkshirefarmeranyquestionthatcan'tbe
answeredwith'pintofTetley's'andthatoneoftheprimaryreasonssomuchoftheBritish
landscapeissounutterablylovelyandtimelessisthatmostfarmers,forwhateverreason,
takethetroubletokeepitthatway.
Itcertainlyhasverylittletodowithmoney.DidyouknowthattheGovernment
spendslessperpersoneachyearonnationalparks*"*thanyouspendonasingledaily
newspaper,thatitgivesmoretotheRoyalOperaHouseatCoventGardenthanitdoesto
alltennationalparkstogether?TheannualbudgetfortheLakeDistrictNationalPark,an
areawidelyperceivedasthemostbeautifulandenvironmentallysensitiveinEngland,is
2.4million,aboutthesameasforasinglelargecomprehensiveschool.Fromthatsum
theparkauthoritiesmustmanagethepark,runteninformationcentres,pay127fulltime
staffandfortyparttimestaffinsummer,replaceandmaintainequipmentandvehicles,
fundimprovementstothelandscape,implementeducationalprogrammesandactasthe
localplanningauthority.ThattheLakesaresogenerallywonderful,soscrupulously
maintained,soseldomtroublingtomindandspiritisaringingtestamenttothepeople
whoworkinthem,thepeoplewholiveinthemandthepeoplewhousethem.Irecently
readthatmorethanhalfofBritonssurveyedcouldn'tthinkofasinglethingabouttheir

countrytobeproudof.Well,beproudofthat.
Ispentahappyfewhourstrampingaboutthroughthesumptuousandeasygoing
landscapebetweenWindermereandConistonWater,andwouldgladlyhavestayed
longerexceptthatitbegantorainasteady,dispiritingrainthatIfoolishlyhadnot
allowedforinregardtomywalkingapparelandanywayIwasgrowinghungry,soI
mademywaybacktotheferryandBowness.
ThusitwasthatIfoundmyselfanhourorsoandanoverpricedtunasandwichlater,
backintheOldEngland,staringoutatthewetlakethroughalargewindowandfeeling
boredandlistlessinthatspecialwaypeculiartowetafternoonsspentinplush
surroundings.Topassahalfhour,Iwenttotheresidents'loungetoseeifIcouldn'tscare
upapotofcoffee.Theroomwascasuallystrewnwithageingcolonelsandtheirwives,
sittingamidcarelesslyfoldedDailyTelegraphs.Thecolonelswereallshortish,round
menwithtweedyjackets,wellslickedsilveryhair,anoutwardlygruffmannerthat
concealedwithinaheartofflint,and,whentheywalked,arakishlimp.Theirwives,
lavishlyrougedandpowdered,lookedasiftheyhadjustcomefromacoffinfitting.Ifelt
seriouslyoutofmyelement,andwassurprisedtofindoneofthemagreyhairedlady
whoappearedtohaveputonherlipstickduringanearthtremoraddressingmeina
friendly,conversationalmanner.Italwaystakesmeamomenttorememberinthese
circumstancesthatIamnowareasonablyrespectablelookingmiddleagedmanandnota
ganglyyoungrubestraightoffthebananaboat.
Webegan,inthecustomaryfashion,withafewwordsaboutthebeastlinessofthe
weather,butwhenthewomandiscoveredIwasanAmericanshewentoffonsome
elaboratetangentaboutatripsheandArthurArthur,Igathered,beingtheshylysmiling
clotbesideherhadrecentlytakentovisitfriendsinCalifornia,andthisgraduallyturned
intowhatappearedtobeawellwornrantabouttheshortcomingsofAmericans.Inever
understandwhatpeoplearethinkingwhentheydothis.DotheythinkI'llappreciatetheir
candour?Aretheywindingmeup?OrhavetheysimplyforgottenthatIamoneofthe
speciesmyself?Thesamethingoftenhappenswhenpeopletalkaboutimmigrationin
frontofme.
They'resoforward,don'tyouthink?'theladysniffedandtookasipoftea.'You've
onlytochattoastrangerforfiveminutesandtheythinkyou'vebecomefriends.Ihad
somemaninEncinoaretiredpostalworkerorsomesuchthingaskingmyaddressand
promisingtocallroundnexttimehe'sinEngland.Canyouimagineit?I'dnevermetthe
maninmylife.'Shetookasipofteaandgrewmomentarilythoughtful.'Hehadthemost
extraordinarybeltbuckle.Allsilverandlittlegemstones.'
'It'sthefoodthatgetsme,'saidherhusband,raisinghimselfalittletoembarkona
soliloquy,butitquicklybecameevidentthathewasoneofthosemenwhonevergetto
sayanythingbeyondthefirstsentenceofastory.
'Ohyes,thefood!'criedhiswife,seizingthepoint.'Theyhavethemostextraordinary
attitudetofood.'
'What,becausetheylikeittasty?'Ienquiredwithathinsmile.
'No,mydear,theportions.TheportionsinAmericaarepositivelyobscene.''
'Ihadasteakonetime,'themanbeganwithalittlechortle.
'Andthethingstheydotothelanguage!TheysimplycannotspeaktheQueen's

English.'
Nowwaitaminute.SaywhatyouwillaboutAmericanportionsandfriendlyguys
withcolourfulbeltbuckles,butmindwhatyousayaboutAmericanEnglish.'Whyshould
theyspeaktheQueen'sEnglish?'Iaskedatriflefrostily.'She'snottheirqueen,afterall.'
'Butthewordstheyuse.Andtheiraccents.What'sthatwordyousodislike,Arthur?'
'Normalcy,'saidArthur.'Imetthisonefellow.'
'Butnormalcyisn'tanAmericanism,'Isaid.'ItwascoinedinBritain.'
'Oh,Idon'tthinkso,dear,'saidthewomanwiththecertaintyofstupidityand
bestowedacondescendingsmile.'No,I'msurenot.'
'In1687,'Isaid,lyingthroughmyteeth.Well,Iwasrightinthefundamentals
normalcyisananglicism.Ijustcouldn'trecallthedetails.'DanielDefoeinMoll
Flanders,'Iaddedinaflashofinspiration.Oneofthethingsyougetusedtohearingwhen
youareanAmericanlivinginBritainisthatAmericawillbethedeathofEnglish.Itisa
sentimentexpressedtomesurprisinglyoften,usuallyatdinnerparties,usuallyby
someonewhohashadalittletoomuchtodrink,butsometimesbyasemidemented,
overpowderedoldcronelikethisone.Therecomesatimewhenyoulosepatiencewith
thissortofthing.SoItoldherItoldthemboth,forherhusbandlookedasifhewas
abouttoutteranotherfractionofthoughtthatwhethertheyappreciateditornotBritish
speechhasbeenenlivenedbeyondmeasurebywordscreatedinAmerica,wordsthatthey
couldnotdowithout,andthatoneofthesewordswasmoron.Ishowedthemmyteeth,
drainedmycoffee,andwithatouchofhauteurexcusedmyself.ThenIwentofftowrite
anotherlettertotheeditorofTheTimes.
Byeleventhenextmorning,whenJohnPriceandaverynicefellownamedDavid
PartridgerolledupatthehotelinPrice'scar,Iwaswaitingforthembythedoor.I
forbadethemacoffeestopinBownessonthegroundsthatIcouldstanditnolonger,and
madethemdrivetothehotelnearBassenthwaitewherePricehadbookedusrooms.
Therewedumpedourbags,hadacoffee,acquiredthreepackedlunchesfromthekitchen,
accoutredourselvesinstylishfellwareandsetoffforGreatLangdale.Nowthiswas
morelikeit.
Despitethreateningweatherandthelatenessoftheyear,thecarparksandverges
alongthevalleywerecrowdedwithcars.Everywherepeopledelvedforequipmentin
bootsorsatwithcardoorsopenpullingonwarmsocksandstoutboots.Wedressedour
feet,thenfellinwithastragglyarmyofwalkers,allwithrucksacksandkneehighwoolly
socks,andsetoffforalong,grassyhumpbackhillcalledtheBand.Wewereheadedfor
thefabledsummitofBowFell,at2,960feetthesixthhighestoftheLakelandhills.
Walkersaheadofusformedwellspaceddotsofslowmovingcolourleadingtoan
impossiblyremotesummit,lostincloud.Asever,Iwasquietlyastoundedtofindthatso
manypeoplehadbeenseizedwiththenotionthatstrugglingupamountainsideonadamp
SaturdayonthewinterendofOctoberwasfun.
Weclimbedthroughthegrassylowerslopesintoeverbleakerterrain,pickingourway
overrocksandscree,untilwewereupamongtheraggedshredsofcloudthathungabove
thevalleyfloorperhapsathousandfeetbelow.Theviewsweresensationalthejagged
peaksoftheLangdalePikesrisingoppositeandcrowdingagainstthenarrowand
gratifyinglyremotevalley,lacedwithtiny,stonewalledfields,andofftothewesta

swellingseaofheftybrownhillsdisappearinginmistandlowcloud.
Aswepressedontheweatherseverelyworsened.Theairfilledwithswirlingparticles
oficethathittheskinlikerazornicks.BythetimewenearedThreeTarnstheweather
wastrulymenacing,withthickfogjoiningthejaggedsleet.Ferociousgustsofwind
buffetedthehillsideandreducedourprogresstoacreepingplod.Thefogcutvisibilityto
afewyards.Onceortwicewebrieflylostthepath,whichalarmedmeasIdidn't
particularlywanttodieuphereapartfromanythingelse,Istillhad4,700unspent
ProfilespointsonmyBarclaycard.Outofthemurkaheadofusemergedwhatlooked
disconcertinglylikeanorangesnowman.Itprovedoncloserinspectiontobeahitech
hiker'soutfit.Somewhereinsideitwasaman.
'Bitfresh,'thebundleofferedunderstatedly.
JohnandDavidaskedhimifhe'dcomefar.
'JustfromBleaTarn.'BleaTarnwastenmilesawayovertaxingterrain.
'Badoverthere?'JohnaskedinwhatIhadcometorecognizewastheabbreviated
speechoffellwalkers.
'Handsandkneesjob,'saidtheman.
Theynoddedknowingly.
'Belikethatheresoon.'
Theynoddedagain.
'Well,bestbeoff,'announcedthemanasifhecouldn'tspendthewholedayjabbering,
andtrundledoffintothewhitesoup.Iwatchedhimgo,thenturnedtosuggestthat
perhapsweshouldthinkaboutretreatingtothevalley,toawarmhostelrywithhotfood
andcoldbeer,onlytofindPriceandPartridgedematerializingintothemiststhirtyfeet
aheadofme.
'Hey,waitforme!'Icroakedandscrambledafter.
Wemadeittothetopwithoutincident.Icountedthirtythreepeoplethereaheadofus,
huddledamongthefogwhitened
boulderswithsandwiches,flasksandmadlyflutteringmaps,andtriedtoimaginehow
IwouldexplainthistoaforeignonlookertheideaofthreedozenEnglishpeoplehaving
apicniconamountaintopinanicestormandrealizedtherewasnowayyoucould
explainit.Wetrudgedovertoarock,whereacouplekindlymovedtheirrucksacksand
shranktheirpicnicspacetomakeroomforus.Wesatanddelvedamongourbrownbags
inthepiercingwind,crackingopenhardboiledeggswithnumbedfingers,sippingwarm
pop,eatingfloppycheeseandpicklesandwiches,andstaringintoanimpenetrablemurk
thatwehadspentthreehoursclimbingthroughtogethere,andIthought,Iseriously
thought:God,Ilovethiscountry.
CHAPTERTWENTYFOUR
IWASHEADINGFORNEWCASTLE,BYWAYOFYORK,WHENIDIDanother
impetuousthing.IgotoffatDurham,intendingtopokearoundthecathedralforanhour
orsoandfellinlovewithitinstantlyinaseriousway.Why,it'swonderfulaperfect
littlecityandIkeptthinking:'Whydidnoonetellmeaboutthis?'Iknew,ofcourse,
thatithadafineNormancathedralbutIhadnoideathatitwassosplendid.Icouldn't

believethatnotonceintwentyyearshadanyonesaidtome,'You'veneverbeento
Durham?GoodGod,man,youmustgoatonce!Pleasetakemycar.'Ihadread
countlesstravelpiecesinSundaypapersaboutweekendsawayinYork,Canterbury,
Norwich,evenLincoln,butIcouldn'trememberreadingasingleoneaboutDurham,and
whenIaskedfriendsaboutit,Ifoundhardlyanywhohadeverbeenthere.Soletmesay
itnow:ifyouhaveneverbeentoDurham,goatonce.Takemycar.It'swonderful.
Thecathedral,amountainofreddishbrownstonestandinghighabovealazygreen
loopoftheRiverWear,is,ofcourse,itsglory.Everythingaboutitwasperfectnotjust
itssettingandexecutionbutalso,nolessnotably,thewayitisruntoday.Forastartthere
wasnonaggingformoney,no'voluntary'admissionfee.Outside,therewassimplya
discreetsignannouncingthatitcost700,000ayeartomaintainthecathedralandthatit
wasnowengagedona400,000renovationprojectontheeastwingandthattheywould
verymuchappreciateanysparemoneythatvisitorsmightgivethem.Inside,therewere
twomodestcollectingboxesandnothingelsenoclutter,nonaggingnotices,noirksome
bulletinboardsor
stupidEisenhowerflags,nothingatalltodetractfromtheunutterablesoaringmajesty
oftheinterior.Itwasaperfectdaytoseeit.Sunslantedlavishlythroughthestainedglass
windows,highlightingthestoutpillarswiththeirsumptuouslygroovedpatternsand
spatteringthefloorswithmotesofcolour.Therewereevenwoodenpews.
I'mnojudgeofthesethings,butthewindowatthechoirendlookedtomeatleastthe
equalofthemorefamousoneatYork,andthisoneatleastyoucouldseeinallits
splendoursinceitwasn'ttuckedawayinatransept.Andthestainedglasswindowatthe
otherendwasevenfiner.Well,Ican'ttalkaboutthiswithoutbabblingbecauseitwasjust
sowonderful.AsIstoodthere,oneofonlyadozenorsovisitors,avergerpassedand
issuedacheeryhello.Iwascharmedbythisshowoffriendlinessandcaptivatedtofind
myselfamidsuchperfection,andIunhesitatinglygaveDurhammyvoteforbest
cathedralonplanetEarth.
WhenIhaddrunkmyfill,Ishoweredthecollectionpotwithcoinsandwanderedoff
forthemostfleetingoflooksattheoldquarteroftown,whichwasnolessancientand
beguiling,andreturnedtothestationfeelingsimultaneouslyimpressedanddesolateat
justhowmuchtherewastoseeinthislittlecountryandwhatfollyithadbeentosuppose
thatImightseeanythingmorethanafractionofitinsevenflyingweeks.
ItookanintercitytraintoNewcastleandthenalocaltoPegswood,eighteenmilesto
thenorth,whereIemergedintomoresplendid,unseasonalsunshineandhikedamileor
twoalonganarrowstraightroadtoAshington.
Ashingtonhaslongcalleditselfthebiggestminingvillageintheworld,butthereisno
mininganymoreand,withapopulationof23,000,itisscarcelyavillage.Itisfamousas
thebirthplaceofaslewoffootballersJackieandBobbyCharlton,JackieMilburnand
somefortyothersskilledenoughtoplayinthefirstdivision,aremarkableoutpouringfor
amodestcommunitybutIwasdrawnbysomethingelse:theoncefamousandnow
largelyforgottenpitmenpainters.
In1934,underthedirectionofanacademicandartistfromDurhamUniversitynamed
RobertLyon,thetownformedapaintingclubcalledtheAshingtonGroup,consisting
almostexclusivelyofminerswhohadneverpaintedinmanycaseshadneverseenareal

paintingbeforetheystartedgatheringinahutonMondayevenings.Theyshowedan
unexpectedamountoftalentand'carriedthenameofAshingtonoverthegreymountains',
asacriticfortheGuardian(whoclearlyknewfuckallaboutfootball)laterputit.Inthe
1930sand'40sparticularly,theyattractedhugeattention,andwerethefrequentfocusof
articlesinnationalpapersandartmagazines,aswellasexhibitionsinLondonandother
leadingcities.MyfriendDavidCookhadanillustratedbookbyWilliamFeavercalled
PitmenPainters,whichhehadonceshownme.Theillustrationsofthepaintingswere
quitecharming,butitwasthephotographsofburlyminers,dressedupinsuitsandties
andcrowdedintoalittlehut,earnestlyhunchedovereaselsanddrawingboards,that
stuckinmymind.Ihadtoseeit.
AshingtonwasnothinglikeIexpectedittobe.InthephotographsfromDavid'sbook
itappearedtobeastraggly,overgrownvillage,surroundedbyfilthywasteheapsand
layeredwithsmokefromthethreelocalpits,aplaceofmuddylaneshunchedundera
perpetualwashofsootydrizzle,butwhatIfoundinsteadwasamodern,busycommunity
swimminginclean,clearair.Therewasevenanewbusinessparkwithfluttering
pennants,spindlynewtreesandanimpressivebrickgatewayonwhatwasclearly
reclaimedground.Themainstreet,StationRoad,hadbeensmartlypedestrianizedandits
manyshopsappearedtobedoingagoodtrade.Itwasobviousthattherewasnotagreat
dealofmoneyinAshingtonmostoftheshopswereofthePriceBusters/
Superdrug/WottaLoadaCrapvariety,theirwindowspaperedwithstridentpromisesof
specialofferswithinbutatleasttheyappearedtobethrivinginawaythatthoseof
Bradford,forinstance,werenot.
Iwenttothetownhalltoaskthewaytothesiteoftheoncefamoushut,andsetoff
downWoodhornRoadinsearchoftheoldCoopbuildingbehindwhichithadstood.The
fameoftheAshingtonGroup,itmustbesaid,restedonalargemeasureofwellmeaning
butfaintlyobjectionablepaternalism.Readingtheoldaccountsoftheirexhibitionsin
placeslikeLondonandBath,itishardtoescapetheconclusionthattheAshingtonartists
wereregardedbycriticsandotheraesthetesratherlikeDrJohnson'sperformingdog:the
wonderwasnotthattheydiditwellbutthattheydiditatall.
YettheAshingtonpaintersrepresentedonlyasmallfragmentofagreaterhungerfor
bettermentinplaceslikeAshington,wheremostpeoplewereluckytocomeawaywith
morethanafewyearsofprimaryeducation.Itisquiteastonishing,seeingitnow,to
realizejusthowrichlifewas,andhowenthusiasticallyopportunitieswereseized,in
Ashingtonintheyearsbeforethewar.Atonetimethetownboastedaphilosophical
society,withabusyyearroundprogrammeoflectures,concertsandeveningclasses;an
operaticsociety;adramaticsociety;aworkers'educationalassociation;aminers'welfare
institutewithworkshopsandyetmorelecturerooms;andgardeningclubs,cyclingclubs,
athleticsclubs,andothersinsimilarveinalmostbeyondcounting.Eventhework
ingmen'sclubs,ofwhichAshingtonboastedtwentytwoatitspeak,offeredlibrariesand
readingroomsforthosewhocravedmorethanapintortwoofFederationAle.Thetown
hadathrivingtheatre,aballroom,fivecinemas,andaconcertchambercalledthe
HarmonicHall.When,inthe1920s,theBachChoirfromNewcastleperformedona
SundayafternoonattheHarmonicHall,itdrewanaudienceof2,000.Canyouimagine
anythingremotelylikethatnow?

Andthen,onebyone,theyfadedawaytheThespians,theOperaticSociety,the
readingroomsandlecturehalls.Eventhefivecinemasallquietlyclosedtheirdoors.
TodaytheliveliestdiversioninAshingtonisaNoble'samusementarcade,whichIpassed
nowonmywaytotheCoopbuilding,whichwasn'thardtofind.AtthebackoftheCo
opstoodalarge,unpavedcarparksurroundedbyascatteringoflowbuildingsa
builder'smerchants,aboyscouthut,aDHScompound,aVeterans'Institutebuilding
madeofwoodandpaintedabrightveridiangreen.IknewfromWilliamFeaver'sbook
thattheAshingtonGrouphuthadstoodbesidetheVeterans'Institute,butonwhichsideI
didn'tknowandnowtherewasnotelling.
TheAshingtonGroupwasoneofthelastlocalinstitutionstogo,thoughitsdecline
wasslowandpainful.Throughoutthe1950s,itsnumbersinexorablyfellastheolder
membersdiedoffandyoungerpeopledecidedthatitwasnafftoputonasuitandtieand
ponceaboutwithpaintboxes.Forthelastseveralyears,onlytwosurvivingmembers,
OliverKilbournandJackHarrison,regularlyshoweduponMondaynights.Inthe
summerof1982,theyreceivedanoticethatthegroundrentonthehutwastoberaised
from50payearto14.'That,'asFeavernotes,'plusthe7standingquarterlychargefor
electricityseemedtoomuch.'InOctober1983,justshortofitsfiftiethanniversaryandfor
wantof42ayearinrunningcosts,theAshingtonGroupwasdisbandedandthehut
pulleddown.Nowthereisnothingtolookatbutacarpark,butthepaintingsarefaithfully
preservedintheWoodhornCollieryMuseumanothermileorsoupWoodhornRoad.I
walkedtherenow,pastendlessranksofformerminers'cottages.Theoldcollierystill
lookslikeacolliery,itsbrickbuildingsintact,itsoldwindingwheelhangingintheair
likesomekindofcuriousandforlornfairgroundride.Rustingirontracksstillcurve
acrossthegrounds.Butallisquietnowandthemarshallingyardshavebeenturnedto
tidygreenlawns.Iwasalmosttheonlyvisitor.
TheWoodhornCollierycloseddownin1981,sevenyearsshortofitshundredth
anniversary.Onceitwasoneof200pitsinNorthumberland,andofsome3,000inthe
countryasawhole.Inthe1920s,attheindustry'speak,1.2millionmenworkedinBritish
coalmines.Now,atthetimeofmyvisit,therewerejustsixteenworkingpitsinthe
countryandthenumberemployedhadfallenby98percent.
Allofwhichseemsalittlesaduntilyoustepintothemuseumandarereminded
throughphotographsandaccidentstatisticsjusthowharshanddrainingtheworkwas,
andhowcarefullyitsystematizedgenerationsofpoverty.It'snowonderthetown
producedsomanyfootballers;fordecadestherewasnootherwayout.
Themuseumwasfreeandfullofcleverlyengagingdisplaysshowinglifedownthe
pitsandinthebusyvillageaboveit.Ihadnoidea,otherthaninaloosenotionalsense,
justhowhardlifewasinthemines.Wellintothiscentury,morethanathousandmena
yeardiedinminesandeverypithadatleastonefableddisaster.(Woodhorn'swasin
1916whenthirtymendiedinanexplosioncausedbycriminallylaxsupervision;the
mine'sownersweresternlytoldnottoletithappenagainornexttimetheywouldreally
gettoldoff.)Until1847,childrenasyoungasfourcanyoubelievethis?workedinthe
minesforuptotenhoursaday,anduntilrelativelyrecenttimesboysoftenwereputto
workastrapperlads,confinedintotaldarknessinasmallspacewithnothingtodobut
openandshutventilationtrapswhenacoalcartpassedby.Oneboy'sshiftranfrom3

a.m.to4p.m.sixdaysaweek.Andthosewerethesoftjobs.
Goodnessknowshowpeoplefoundthetimeorstrengthtohaulthemselvesoffto
lecturesandconcertsandpaintingclubs,buttheymostassuredlydid.Inabrightlylit
roomhangthirtyorfortypaintingsexecutedbymembersoftheAshingtonGroup.So
modestwere
thegroup'sresourcesthatmanyarepaintedwithwalpamur,akindofprimitive
emulsion,onpaper,cardorfibreboard.Hardlyanyareoncanvas.Itwouldbecruelly
misleadingtosuggestthattheAshingtonGroupharbouredabuddingTintoretto,oreven
aHockney,butthepaintingsprovideacompellingrecordoflifeinaminingcommunity
overaperiodoffiftyyears.Nearlyalldepictlocalscenes'SaturdayNightattheClub',
'Whippets'orlifedownthepits,andseeingtheminthecontextofaminingmuseum,
ratherthaninsomegalleryinametropolis,addsappreciablytotheirlustre.Forthe
secondtimeinadayIwasimpressedandcaptivated.
Andhere'sasmall,incidentalpoint.AsIwasleaving,Inoticedonalabelrecording
themine'sownersthatoneoftheprincipalbeneficiariesofallthissweatandtoilatthe
coalfacewasnoneotherthanouroldfriendW.J.C.ScottBentinck,thefifthDukeof
Portland,anditoccurredtome,notforthefirsttime,whataremarkably,cherishably
smallworldBritainis.
Thatisitsglory,youseethatitmanagesatoncetobeintimateandsmallscaleandat
thesametimepackedtoburstingwithincidentandinterest.Iamconstantlyfilledwith
admirationatthisatthewayyoucanwanderthroughatownlikeOxfordandinthe
spaceofafewmomentspassthehomeofChristopherWren,thebuildingswhereHalley
foundhiscometandBoylehisfirstlaw,thetrackwhereRogerBannisterranthefirstsub
fourminutemile,themeadowwhereLewisCarrollstrolled;orhowyoucanstandon
Snow'sHillatWindsorandsee,inasinglesweep,WindsorCastleandtheplayingfields
ofEton,thechurchyardwhereGraywrotehiselegy,thesitewhereTheMerryWivesof
Windsorwasfirstperformed.Canthereanywhereonearthbe,insuchamodestspan,a
landscapemorepackedwithcenturiesofbusy,productiveattainment?
IreturnedtoPegswoodlostinasmallglowofadmirationandcaughtatrainto
Newcastle,whereIfoundahotelandpassedaneveninginastateofsomeserenity,
walkingtilllatethroughtheechoingstreets,surveyingthestatuesandbuildingswith
fondnessandrespect,andIfinishedthedaywithasmallthought,whichIshallleaveyou
withnow.Itwasthis:
Howisitpossible,inthiswondrouslandwheretherelicsofgeniusandenterprise
confrontyouateverystep,whereeveryrealmofhumanpossibilityhasbeenprobedand
challengedandgenerallyextended,wheremanyoftheverygreatestaccomplishments
ofindustry,commerceandtheartsfindtheirseat,howisitpossibleinsuchaplacethat
whenatlengthIreturnedtomyhotelandswitchedonthetelevisionitwasCagneyand
Laceyagain?
CHAPTERTWENTYFIVE
ANDSOIWENTTOEDINBURGH.CANTHEREANYWHEREBEAMORE
beautifulandbeguilingcitytoarriveatbytrainearlyonacrisp,darkNovembery

evening?Toemergefromthebustling,subterraneanbowelsofWaverleyStationandfind
yourselfintheveryheartofsuchagloriouscityisahappyexperienceindeed.Ihadn't
beentoEdinburghforyearsandhadforgottenjusthowcaptivatingitcanbe.Every
monumentwaslitwithgoldenfloodlightsthecastleandBankofScotlandheadquarters
onthehill,theBalmoralHotelandtheScottMonumentdownbelowwhichgavethema
certaineeriegrandeur.Thecitywasabustlewithendofdayactivity.Busesswept
throughPrincesStreetandshopandofficeworkersscurriedalongthepavements,
hasteninghometohavetheirhaggisandcockaleekiesoupandindulgeinafewskirlsor
whateveritisScotsdowhenthesungoesdoon.
I'dbookedaroomintheCaledonianHotel,whichwasarashandextravagantthingto
do,butit'saterrificbuildingandanEdinburghinstitutionandIjusthadtobepartofit
foronenight,soIsetoffforitdownPrincesStreet,pasttheGothicrocketshipofthe
ScottMonument,unexpectedlyexhilaratedtofindmyselfamongthehurryingthrongs
andthesightofthecastleonitscraggymountoutlinedagainstapaleeveningsky.
Toasurprisingextent,andfarmorethaninWales,Edinburghfeltlikeadifferent
country.ThebuildingswerethinandtallinanunEnglishfashion,themoneywas
different,eventheairandlightfeltdifferentinsomeineffablenorthernway.Every
bookshopwindowwasfullofbooksaboutScotlandorbyScottishauthors.Andofcourse
thevoicesweredifferent.Iwalkedalong,feelingasifIhadleftEnglandfarbehind,and
thenIwouldpasssomethingfamiliarandthinkinsurprise,Oh,look,theyhaveMarks
&CSpencerhere,asifIwereinReykjavikorStavangerandoughtn'ttoexpecttofind
Britishthings.Itwasmostrefreshing.
IcheckedintotheCaledonian,dumpedmythingsintheroom,andimmediately
returnedtothestreets,eagertobeoutintheopenairandtotakeinwhateverEdinburgh
hadtooffer.Itrudgedupalong,curvingbackhilltothecastle,butthegroundswereshut
forthenight,soIcontentedmyselfwithashufflingambledowntheRoyalMile,which
wasnearlyemptyoflifeandveryhandsomeinadour,Scottishsortofway.Ipassedthe
timebrowsinginthewindowsofthemanytouristshopsthatstandalongit,reflectingon
whatalotofthingstheScotshavegiventheworldkilts,bagpipes,tamo'shanters,tins
ofoatcakes,brightyellowjumperswithbigdiamondpatternsofthesortfavouredby
RonnieCorbett,plastercastsofGreyfriarsBobbylookingsoulful,sacksofhaggisand
howlittleanyonebutaScotwouldwantthem.
Letmesayrighthere,flatout,thatIhavethegreatestfondnessandadmirationfor
Scotlandandherclever,cherrycheekedpeople.DidyouknowthatScotlandproduces
moreuniversitystudentspercapitathananyothernationinEurope?Andithaschurned
outarollcallofworthiesfaroutofproportiontoitsmodestsizeStevenson,Watt,Lyell,
Lister,Burns,Scott,ConanDoyle,J.M.Barrie,AdamSmith,AlexanderGrahamBell,
ThomasTelford,LordKelvin,JohnLogicBaird,CharlesRennieMackintoshandlan
McCaskill,tonamebutafew.AmongmuchelseweowetheScotsarewhisky,raincoats,
rubberwellies,thebicyclepedal,thetelephone,tarmac,penicillinandanunderstanding
oftheactiveprinciplesofcannabis,andthinkhowinsupportablelifewouldbewithout
those.Sothankyou,Scotland,andnevermindthatyouseemquiteunabletoqualifyfor
theWorldCupthesedays.
AtthebottomoftheRoyalMile,IcameupagainsttheentrancetothePalaceof

Holyroodhouse,andpickedmywaytothecentreofthingsalongaseriesofdarkened
backlanes.EventuallyIendedupinanunusualpubonStAndrewSquarecalledTiles
anaptnamesinceeveryinchofitfromfloortoceilingwascoveredinelaborate,chunky,
Victoriantiles.ItfeltabitlikedrinkinginPrinceAlbert'slooanotdisagreeable
experience,asithappens.Inanycase,somethingaboutitmusthaveappealedtome
becauseIdrankafoolishamountofbeerandemergedtofindthatnearlyallthe
restaurantsroundaboutwereclosed,soItoddledbacktomyhotel,whereIwinkedat
thenightstaffandputmyselftobed.
Inthemorning,Iawokefeelingfamished,perkyandunusuallyclearheaded.I
presentedmyselfintheentrancetothediningroomoftheCaledonian.WouldIlike
breakfast?askedamaninablacksuit.
'DoestheFirthhaveaForth?'Ireplieddrollyandnudgedhimintheribs.Iwasshown
toatableandwassohungrythatIdispensedwiththemenuandtoldthemantobringme
thefullwhack,whateveritmightconsistof,thensatbackhappilyandidlyglancedatthe
menu,whereIdiscoveredthatthefullcookedbreakfastwaslistedat14.50.1snareda
passingwaiter.
'Excuseme,'Isaid,'butitsaysherethatthebreakfastisfourteenfifty.'
That'sright,sir.'
Icouldfeelasuddenhangoverbangingonthecranialgates.'Areyoutellingme,'I
said,'thatontopofthelavishsumIpaidforaroomImustadditionallypayfourteenfifty
forafriedeggandanoatcake?'
Heallowedthatthiswas,inessence,so.Iwithdrewmyorderandaskedinsteadfora
cupofcoffee.Well,honestly.
Perhapsitwasthissuddenearlyblotonmyhappinessthatputmeinagrumpymood
orperhapsitwasthedrippyrainIemergedinto,butEdinburghdidn'tlookhalfsofinein
daylightasithadappearedthenightbefore.Nowpeopleploddedthroughthestreetswith
umbrellasandcarsswishedthroughpuddleswithanoisethatsoundedtestyand
impatient.GeorgeStreet,thecoreoftheNewTown,presentedanunquestionablyfine,if
damp,prospectwithitsstatuesandstatelysquares,butfartoomanyoftheGeorgian
buildingshadbeenclumsilyabusedbytheadditionofmodernfrontages.Justaroundthe
cornerfrommyhotelwasanofficesupplyshopwithplateglasswindowsthathadbeen
graftedontoaneighteenthcenturyfrontageinawaythatwasnothingshortofcriminal,
andtherewereothersinlikeveinhereandtherealongthesurroundingstreets.
Iwanderedaroundlookingforsomeplacetoeat,andendeduponPrincesStreet.It,
too,seemedtohavechangedovernight.Then,withhomewardboundworkersscurrying
past,ithadseemedbeguilingandvibrant,excitingeven,butnowinthedulllightofdayit
merelyseemedlistlessandgrey.Ishuffledalongitlookingforacafeorbistro,butwith
theexceptionofacoupleoftrulydumpydiscountwoollensplaceswherethegoods
seemedtohavebeendropkickedontodisplaycountersorwerespontaneouslyclimbing
outofbins,PrincesStreetappearedtooffernothingbuttheusualarrayofchain
establishmentsBoots,Littlewoods,VirginRecords,BHS,Marks&Spencer,Burger
King,McDonald's.WhatcentralEdinburghlacked,itseemedtome,wasavenerableand
muchlovedinstitutionaViennesestylecoffeehouseortreasuredtearoom,someplace
withnewspapersongripperrods,pottedpalmsandperhapsafatlittleladyplayinga

grandpiano.
Intheend,fractiousandimpatient,IwentintoacrowdedMcDonald's,waiteda
centuryinalong,raggedline,whichmademeevenmorefractiousandimpatient,and
finallyorderedacupofcoffeeandanEggMcMuffin.
'Doyouwantanappleturnoverwiththat?'askedthespottyyoungmanwhoserved
me.
'I'msorry,'Isaid,'doIappeartobebraindamaged?'
'Pardon?'
'CorrectmeifI'mwrong,butIdidn'taskforanappleturnover,didI?'
'Uh...no.'
'SodoIlookasifIhavesomementalconditionthatwouldrendermeunableto
requestanappleturnoverifIwantedone?'
'No,it'sjustthatwe'retoldtoaskeveryonelike.'
'What,youthinkeveryoneinEdinburghisbraindamaged?'
'We'rejusttoldtoaskeveryonelike.'
'Well,Idon'twantanappleturnover,whichiswhyIdidn'taskforone.Isthere
anythingelseyou'dliketoknowifIdon'twant?'
'We'rejusttoldtoaskeveryone.'
'DoyourememberwhatIdowant?'
Helookedinconfusionathistill.'Uh,anEggMcMuffinandacupofcoffee.'
'DoyouthinkImighthaveitthismorningorshallwetalksomemore?'
'Oh,uh,right,I'lljustgetit.'
'Thankyou.'
Well,honestly.
Afterwards,feelingonlyfractionallylessfractious,Isteppedouttofindtherain
beatingdown.Isprintedacrosstheroadand,onanimpulse,duckedintotheRoyal
ScottishAcademy,agrandpseudohellenicedificewithbannerssuspendedbetweenthe
columns,whichmakeitlookalittlelikealostoutpostoftheReichstag.Ipaid1.50fora
ticketand,shakingmyselfdrylikeadog,shuffled
in.Theywerehavingtheirautumnshoworperhapsitwastheirwintershowor
perhapsitwastheirannualshow.Icouldn'tsaybecauseIdidn'tnoticeanysignsandthe
pictureswerelabelledwithnumbers.Youhadtopayanextra2foracataloguetofind
outwhatwaswhat,whichfranklyannoysmewhenIhavejustpartedwith1.50.(The
NationalTrustdoesthis,tooputsnumbersontheplantsandtreesinitsgardensandso
on,sothatyouhavetobuyacataloguewhichisonereasonwhyIwon'tbeleavingmy
fortunetotheNationalTrust.)TheworksintheRSAexhibitionextendedovermany
roomsandappearedtofallchieflyintofourcategories:(1)boatsonbeaches,(2)lonely
crofts,(3)halfcladgirlfriendsengagedintheirtoilette,and,forsomereason,(4)French
streetscenes,alwayswithatleastoneshopfrontsayingBOULANGERIEorEPICERIE
sothattherewasnopossibilityofmistakingthesettingforFraserburghorArbroath.
Manyofthepicturesindeedmostwereoutstanding,andwhenIsawredgummed
circlesattachedtosomeofthemInotonlyrealizedthattheywereforsalebutdeveloped
asudden,strangehankeringtobuyonemyself.SoIstartedmakingtripstotheladyatthe
frontdeskandsaying,'Excuseme,howmuchisnumber125?'Shewouldlookitupand

stateafigureseveralhundredpoundsbeyondwhatIwaspreparedtopay,soIwould
wanderoffagainandafterabitcomebackandsay,'Excuseme,howmuchisnumber
47?'Atonepoint,IsawapictureIparticularlylikedapaintingofSolwayFirthbya
fellownamedColinParkandshelookeditupandtoldmethatitwas125.Thiswasa
goodpriceandIwaspreparedtobuyitthenandthereevenifIhadtocarryitalltheway
toJohnO'Groatsundermyarm,butthenshediscoveredthatshehadreadthewrongline,
thatthe125picturewasalittlethingaboutthreeinchessquareandthattheColinPark
wasveryconsiderablymorethanthat,soIwentoffagain.Eventually,whenmylegs
begantotire,Itriedanewtackandaskedherwhatshehadfor50orless,andwhenit
turnedouttherewasnothing,Ileft,discouragedinmyquestbut2richerinregardtothe
catalogue.
ThenIwenttotheScottishNationalGallery,whichIlikedevenbetterandnotjust
becauseitwasfree.TheScottishNationalGalleryistuckedawaybehindtheRSAand
doesn'tlookmuchfromoutside,butinsideitwasverygrandinanimperial,nineteenth
centurysortofway,withredbaizewalls,outsizedpicturesinextravagantframes,
scatteredstatuesofnakednymphsandfurnituretrimmedingilt,sothatitratherbrought
tomindastrollthroughQueenVictoria'sboudoir.Thepictureswerenotonlyoutstanding,
buttheyhadlabelstellingyoutheirhistoricalbackgroundandwhatthepeopleinthem
weredoing,whichIthinkistobehighlycommendedandinfactshouldbemade
mandatoryeverywhere.
Ireadtheseinstructivenotesgratefully,pleasedtoknow,forinstance,thatthereason
Rembrandtlookedsogluminhisselfportraitwasthathehadjustbeendeclared
insolvent,butinoneofthesalonsInoticedthattherewasaman,accompaniedbyaboy
ofaboutthirteen,whodidn'tneedthelabelsatall.
TheywerefromwhatIsuspecttheQueenMotherwouldcallthelowerorders.
Everythingaboutthemmurmuredpoornessandmaterialwantpoordiet,poorincome,
poordentistry,poorprospects,evenpoorlaunderingbutthemanwasdescribingthe
pictureswithafondnessandfamiliaritythatweretrulyheartwarmingandtheboywas
raptlyattentivetohiseveryword.'NowthisisalaterGoya,yousee,'hewassayingina
quietvoice.'Justlookathowcontrolledthosebrushstrokesareacompletechangein
stylefromhisearlierwork.D'yerememberhowItoldyouthatGoyadidn'tpaintasingle
greatpicturetillhewasnearlyfifty?Well,thisisagreatpicture.'Hewasn'tshowingoff,
youunderstand;hewassharing.
IhaveoftenbeenstruckinBritainbythissortofthingbyhowmysteriouslywell
educatedpeoplefromunprivilegedbackgroundssooftenare,howthemostunlikely
peoplewilltellyouplantnamesinLatinorturnouttobeexpertsonthepoliticsof
ancientThraceorirrigationtechniquesatGlanum.Thisisacountry,afterall,wherethe
grandfinalofaprogrammelikeMastermindisfrequentlywonbycabdriversand
footplatemen.Ihaveneverbeenabletodecidewhetherthatisdeeplyimpressiveorjust
appallingwhetherthisisacountrywhereenginedriversknowaboutTintorettoand
LeibnizoracountrywherepeoplewhoknowaboutTintorettoandLeibnizendupdriving
engines.AllIknowisthatitexistsmoreherethananywhereelse.
Afterwards,Iclimbedupthesteepslopetothecastlegrounds,whichseemedoddly,
almostspookily,familiar.Ihadn'tbeenherebefore,soIcouldn'tthinkwhythisshould

be,andthenIrealizedthataregimentaltattoofromEdinburghCastlehadbeenoneofthe
featuresofThisIsCineramabackinBradford.Thecastleprecinctwasjustasithadbeen
inthefilm,apartfromachangeofweatherandamercifulabsenceofstruttingGordon
Highlanders,butone
otherthinghadchangedmightilysince1951theviewofPrincesStreetfromthe
terrace.
In1951,PrincesStreetremainedoneoftheworld'sgreatstreets,agracious
thoroughfarelinedalongitsnorthernsidewithsolid,weightyVictorianandEdwardian
edificesthatbespokeconfidence,greatnessandempiretheNorthBritishMercantile
InsuranceCompany,thesumptuous,classicalNewClubbuilding,theoldWaverley
Hotel.Andthen,onebyone,theywereunaccountablytorndown,andreplacedforthe
mostpartwithgreyconcretebunkers.AttheeasternendofthestreetthewholeofSt
James'Square,anopengreenspacesurroundedbyacrowdofeighteenthcentury
tenements,wasbulldozedtomakewayforoneofthesquattest,ugliestshopping
centre/hotelcomplexesevertospillfromanarchitect'spen.Nowaboutallthatisleftof
PrincesStreet'sageofconfidentgrandeurareoddfragmentsliketheBalmoralHoteland
theScottMonumentandpartofthefrontofJennersDepartmentStore.
Later,whenIwasbackhome,IfoundinmyAABookofBritishTownsanartist's
illustrationofcentralEdinburghasitmightbeseenfromtheair.ItshowedPrincesStreet
linedfromendtoendwithnothingbutfineoldbuildings.Thesamewastrueofallthe
otherartists'impressionsofBritishcitiesNorwichandOxfordandCanterburyand
Stratford.Youcan'tdothat,youknow.Youcan'tteardownfineoldstructuresand
pretendtheyarestillthere.ButthatisexactlywhathashappenedinBritaininthepast
thirtyyears,andnotjustwithbuildings.
Andonthatsournote,Iwentofftotrytofindsomerealfood.
CHAPTERTWENTYSIX
SOLET'STALKABOUTSOMETHINGHEARTENING.LET'STALK
ABOUTJohnFallows.Onedayin1987FallowswasstandingatawindowinaLondon
bankwaitingtobeservedwhenawouldberobbernamedDouglasBathsteppedinfront
ofhim,brandishedahandgunanddemandedmoneyfromthecashier.Outraged,Fallows
toldBathto'buggerofftothebackofthelineandwaithisturn,tothepresumed
approvingnodsofothersinthequeue.Unpreparedforthisturnofevents,Bathmeekly
departedfromthebankemptyhandedandwasarrestedashortdistanceaway.
Ibringthisupheretomakethepointthatifthereisonegoldenqualitythat
characterizestheBritishitisaninnatesenseofgoodmannersandyoudefyitatyour
peril.Deferenceandaquietconsiderationforothersaresuchafundamentalpartof
Britishlife,infact,thatfewconversationscouldevenstartwithoutthem.Almostany
encounterwithastrangerbeginswiththewords'I'mterriblysorrybut'followedbya
requestofsomesort'couldyoutellmethewaytoBrighton,''helpmefindashirtmy
size,''getyoursteamertrunkoffmyfoot.'Andwhenyou'vefulfilledtheirrequest,they
invariablyofferahesitant,apologeticsmileandsaysorryagain,beggingforgivenessfor
takingupyourtimeorcarelesslyleavingtheirfootwhereyoursteamertrunkclearly

neededtogo.Ijustlovethat.
Asiftoillustratemypoint,whenIcheckedoutoftheCaledonianlatethenext
morning,Iarrivedtofindawomanaheadofmewearingahelplesslookandsayingtothe
receptionist:'I'mterriblysorrybutIcan'tseemtogetthetelevisioninmyroomtowork.'
Shehad
comeallthewaydownstairs,youunderstand,toapologizetothemfortheirTVnot
working.Myheartswelledwithfeelingsofwarmthandfondnessforthisstrangeand
unfathomablecountry.
Anditisalldonesoinstinctively,that'stheotherthing.IrememberwhenIwasstill
newtothecountryarrivingatarailwaystationonedaytofindthatjusttwoofthedozen
orsoticketwindowswereopen.(Forthebenefitofforeignreaders,Ishouldexplainthat
asaruleinBritainnomatterhowmanywindowsthereareinabank,postofficeorrail
station,onlytwoofthemwillbeopen,exceptatverybusytimes,whenjustonewillbe
open.)Bothticketwindowswereoccupied.Now,inothercountriesoneoftwothings
wouldhavehappened.Eithertherewouldbeacrushofcustomersateachwindow,all
demandingsimultaneousattention,orelsetherewouldbetwoslowmovinglines,each
fullofgloomypeopleconvincedthattheotherlinewasmovingfaster.
HereinBritain,however,thewaitingcustomershadspontaneouslycomeupwitha
muchmoresensibleandingeniousarrangement.Theyhadformedasinglelineafewfeet
backfrombothwindows.Wheneitherpositionbecamevacant,thecustomeratthehead
ofthelinewouldstepuptoitandtherestofthelinewouldshuffleforwardaspace.It
wasawonderfullyfairanddemocraticapproachandtheremarkablethingwasthatno
onehadcommandeditorevensuggestedit.Itjusthappened.
Muchthesamesortofthingoccurrednow,forwhentheladywiththerecalcitrantTV
sethadfinishedwithherapology(whichthereceptionist,Imustsay,acceptedwith
uncommonlygoodgrace,goingsofarastohintthatifanythingelseinthewoman'sroom
wasfoundtobeoutoforder,shewasn'ttoblameherselfforaminute),thereceptionist
turnedtomeandanothergentlemanwhowasalsowaitingandsaid,'Who'snext?'andhe
andIwentthroughanelaborateafteryou,noafteryou,butIinsist,wellthat'smost
graciousofyouroutine,whichmademyheartswellfurther.
Andso,onmysecondmorninginEdinburgh,Isteppedfromthehotelinhappy
spirits,atonewiththeworld,buoyedbythischeerfulandcivilizedencounter,tofindthe
sunshiningandthecitytransformedyetagain.Onthisday,GeorgeStreetandQueen
Streetlookedpositivelyravishing,theirstonefrontsburnishedwithsunlight,thedamp,
broodingdarknessthathadsuffusedthemthedaybeforebanishedutterly.TheFirthof
Forthgleamedinthedistanceandthelittleparksandsquaresseemedalivewithgreen.I
trudgedUPTheMoundtotheOldTownterracestotakeintheviewandwasastonished
toseehowdifferentthecitylooked.PrincesStreetwasstillascarofarchitectural
regrettabilities,butbeyonditthehillswerethrongedwithjauntyroofsandthrusting
steeplesthatgavethecityacharacterandgraciousnessthathadentirelyescapedmethe
daybefore.
IspentthemorningdoingtouristythingsIwenttoStGiles'Cathedralandhadalook
atHolyroodhouse,climbedtothetopofCaltonHillandfinallyfetchedmypackand
returnedtothestation,happytohavemademypeacewithEdinburghandpleasedtobe

onthemoveagain.
Andwhatafinethingatrainjourneyis.Iwasinstantlylulledbythemotionofthe
trainaswelumberedoutthroughEdinburghanditsquietsuburbsandovertheForth
Bridge.(And,gosh,whatamightystructureitis;suddenlyIunderstoodwhytheScots
arealwaysonaboutit.)Thetrainwasmostlyemptyandrathersplendidlyposh.Itwas
doneupinrestfulbluesandgreys,whichprovidedasharpcontrasttoalltheSprintersI
hadbeenoninrecentdaysandprovedsodeeplysoothingthatsoonmyeyelidswere
growingunsustainablyheavyandmyneckseemedtobeturningtoarubberymaterial.In
notimeatall,myheadwasslumpedonmychestandIwasengagedinthequiet,steady
manufactureofseveralgallonsofsalivaallofthem,alas,spare.
Somepeoplesimplyshouldnotbeallowedtofallasleeponatrain,or,havingfallen
asleep,shouldbediscreetlycoveredwithatarpaulin,andI'mafraidIamoneofthem.I
awoke,someindeterminatetimelater,witharuttingsnortandabrief,wildflailandlifted
myheadfrommychesttofindmyselfmiredinacobwebofdroolfrombeardtobelt
buckle,andwiththreepeoplegazingatmeinacuriouslydispassionatemanner.AtleastI
wassparedtheusualexperienceofwakingtofindmyselfstaredatopenmouthedbya
groupofsmallchildrenwhowouldfleewithshrieksatthediscoverythatthedribbling
hulkwasalive.
Shrinkingfrommyaudienceanddaubingmyselfdiscreetlywiththesleeveofmy
jacket,Iattendedtotheview.Wewererattlingthroughanopenlandscapethatwas
pleasantratherthandramaticarablefarmlandrunningofftobigroundhillsunderasky
thatseemedreadytocollapseunderitsownweightofgrey.Fromtimetotimewe
stoppedinsomeinertlittletownwithadeadlittlestationLadybank,Cupar,Leuchars
beforeeventuallyenteringalarger,fractionallymoreactiveworldatDundee,Arbroath
andMontrose.Andthen,somethreehoursafterleaving
Edinburgh,wewereslidingintoAberdeeninathinandfastfading
light.
Ipressedmyfacetotheglasskeenly.IhadneverbeentoAberdeenbeforeanddidn't
knowanyonewhohad.Iknewalmostnothingaboutit,otherthanthatitwasdominated
bytheNorthSeaoilindustryandproudlycalleditselfthe'GraniteCity'.Ithadalways
seemedtomeexoticallyremote,aplaceIwasunlikelyevertogetto,soIwaseagerto
seeit.
Ihadbookedintoahotelwhichwaswarmlydescribedinmyguidebook(atomethat
laterwentforkindling),butturnedoutto'beadreary,overpricedbackstreetblock.My
roomwassmallandilllit,withbatteredfurniture,anarrow,prisoncellbedwithathin
blanketandasinglegrudgingpillow,andwallpaperdoingitsbesttofleeadampwall.
Once,inamomentofambition,themanagementhadinstalledabedsideconsolethat
operatedlights,radioandTV,andincorporatedanalarmclock,butnoneofthese
appearedtowork.Thealarmclockknobcameoffinmyhand.Withasigh,Idumpedmy
stuffonthebedandreturnedtothedarkstreetsofAberdeenlookingforfood,drinkand
granitesplendour.
OnethingIhavelearnedovertheyearsisthatyourimpressionsofacityare
necessarilycolouredbytherouteyoutakeintoit.EnterLondonbywayoftheleafy
suburbsofRichmond,BarnesandPutneyandalightat,say,KensingtonGardensor

GreenParkandyouwouldthinkthatyouwereinthemidstofsomevast,welltended
Arcadia.EnteritbywayofSouthend,RomfordandLiverpoolStreetandyouwould
perceiveitinanotherwayaltogether.SoperhapsitwassimplytherouteItookfrommy
hotel.AllIknowisthatIwalkedfornearlythreehoursupstreetsanddownandIcouldn't
findanythingremotelyadorableaboutAberdeen.Thereweresomebrieflydiverting
vignettesanopenpedestrianizedspacearoundtheMercatCross,aninterestinglooking
littlemuseumcalledJohnDun'sHouse,someimposinguniversitybuildingsbutno
matterhowmanytimesIcrisscrossedthroughitsheart,allIseemedtoencounterwasa
vast,glossynewshoppingcentrethatwasadamnablenuisancetocircumnavigate(Ikept
endingup,mutteringandlost,indeadenddeliverybaysandcollectingcompoundsfor
cardboardboxes)andasinglebroadendlessstreetlinedwithpreciselythesamestoresI
hadseenineveryothercityforthelastsixweeks.Itwaslikeanywhereandnowhere
likeasmallManchesterorarandomfragmentofLeeds.InvainIsoughtasingleplace
whereIcouldstandwithhandsonhipsandsay,'Aha,sothisisAberdeen.'Perhaps,too,it
wasthedrearytimeofyear.IhadreadsomewherethatAberdeenhadwontheBritainin
Bloomcompetitionninetimes,butIsawhardlyanygardensorgreenspaces.Aboveall,I
hadscantsenseofbeinginthemidstofarich,proudcitybuiltofgranite.
Ontopofthat,Icouldn'tsettleonaplacetoeat.Ihankeredforsomethingdifferent,
somethingIhadn'tencounteredahundredtimesalreadyonthistripThaiorMexican,
perhaps,ormaybeIndonesianorevenScottishbutthereseemednothingbuttheusual
scatteringofChineseandIndianestablishments,usuallyonasidestreet,usuallyupa
flightofstairsthatlookedasiftheyhadbeenrecentlyusedforamotorcyclerally,andI
couldn'tbringmyselftomakethatterribleclimbintotheunknown.Inanycase,Iknew
exactlywhatwouldbeuptherelowlighting,areceptionareawithapaddedbar,twangy
Asianmusic,tablescoveredwithglassesoflagerandstainlesssteelplatewarmers.I
couldn'tfaceit.Intheend,Iengagedinadesperatesessionofeeniemeenieminiemoon
astreetcornerandoptedforanIndian.Itwas,ineverydegree,exactlylikeeveryIndian
mealIhadhadinthepreviousweeks.Eventhepostdinnerburptastedexactlythesame.
Ireturnedtomyhotelinadimandrestlessframeofmind.
Inthemorning,IwentforawalkaroundthetownsincerelyhopingthatIwouldlikeit
better,butalas,alas.Itwasn'tthattherewasanythingwrongwithAberdeenexactly,more
thatitsufferedfromasurfeitofinnocuousness.Ihadashuffleroundthenewshopping
centreandrangedsomedistanceoutintothesurroundingstreets,buttheyallseemed
equallycolourlessandforgettable.AndthenIrealizedthattheproblemreallywasn'twith
AberdeensomuchaswiththenatureofmodernBritain.Britishtownsarelikeadeckof
cardsthathavebeenshuffledandendlesslyredealtsamecards,differentorder.IfIhad
cometoAberdeenfreshfromanothercountry,itwouldprobablyhaveseemedpleasant
andagreeable.Itwasprosperousandclean.Ithadbookshopsandcinemasanda
universityandprettymucheverythingelseyoucouldwantinacommunity.Itis,I'veno
doubt,aniceplacetolive.It'sjustthatitwassomuchlikeeverywhereelse.Itwasa
Britishcity.Howcoulditbeotherwise?
OnceIhadpackedthissmallthoughtintomyheadIlikedAberdeenmuchbetter.I
can'tsayIachedtoupsticksandmovetherebutthenwhyshouldIwhenIcouldget
exactlythesamethings,thesameshopsandlibrariesandleisurecentres,the

samepubsandtelevisionprogrammes,thesamephoneboxes,postoffices,traffic
lights,parkbenches,zebracrossings,marineairandpostIndiandinnerburpsanywhere
else?InanoddwaytheverythingsthathadmadeAberdeenseemsodullandpredictable
thenightbeforenowmadeitseemcomfortableandratherhomey.ButIstillneverhad
theslightestsensethatIwasinthemidstofalotofgranite,anditwaswithoutregretthat
Ifetchedmythingsfromthehotelandreturnedtothestationtoresumemystately
progressnorth.
Thetrainwasagainverycleanandnearlyempty,withmoreS0othingbluesand
greys.Itwasjusttwocarriages,butithadatrolleyservice,whichimpressedme.The
difficultywasthattheyoungchapinchargewasobviouslykeenIhadtheimpression
thathehadjuststartedthejobandwasstillatthepointwhereitwasfuntodispenseteas
andmakechangebutastherewereonlytwootherpassengersandjustsixtyyardsof
carriagetopatrol,hecamebyaboutonceeverythreeminutes.Still,theconstantruckus
ofthepassingtrolleykeptmefromnoddingoffandfallingintoastateofembarrassing
hypersalivation.
Werodethroughapleasantbutunexcitinglandscape.Allmypreviousexperienceof
theHighlandswasupthemoredramaticwestcoast,andthiswasdecidedlymutedin
comparisonroundedhills,flatfarms,occasionalglimpsesofanempty,steelgreysea
butbynomeansdisagreeable.NothingofincidenthappenedexceptthatatNairnabig
planetookoffanddidallkindsofastonishingthingsinthesky,climbingverticallyfor
hundredsoffeet,thenslowlytippingoverandplungingtowardsearthbeforepullingout
inasteepbankatnearlythelastmoment.Isupposeditwassomesortofatestbasefor
RAFplanes,butitwasmoreexcitingtoimaginethatithadbeenhijackedbyasuicidal
madman.Andthenanarrestingthinghappened.Theplanebegancomingtowardsthe
train,reallybearingdownonit,asifthepilothadspottedusandthoughtthatitwouldbe
interestingtotakeuswithhim.ItgotlargerandlargerandnearerandnearerIlooked
arounduneasilybuttherewasnoonetosharetheexperiencewithuntilitnearlyfilled
thewindowandthenthetrainwentintoacuttingandtheplanedisappearedfromview.I
boughtacupofcoffeeandapacketofbiscuitsfromthetrolleytosteadymynervesand
waitedforInvernesstoappear.
IlikedInvernessimmediately.Itisnevergoingtowinanybeautycontests,butithas
somelikeablefeaturesanoldfashionedlittlecinemacalledLaScala,awellpreserved
marketarcade,alargeandadorablyoverthetopnineteenthcenturysandstonecastleona
hill,somesplendidriverwalks.Iwasparticularlytakenwiththedimlitmarketarcade,an
undercoverthoroughfareapparentlylockedinaperpetual1953.Ithadabarbershopwith
arevolvingpoleoutfrontandpicturesinsideofpeoplewholookedliketheyhad
modelledtheirhairstylesonThunderbirdscharacters.Therewasevenajokeshopselling
usefulandinterestingitemsthatIhadn'tseenforyears:sneezingpowderandplastic
vomit(veryhandyforsavingseatsontrains)andchewinggumthatturnstheteethblack.
Itwasshut,butImadeamentalnotetoreturninthemorningtostockup.
Aboveall,Invernesshasanespeciallyfineriver,greenandsedateandcharmingly
overhungwithtrees,linedononesidebybighouses,trimlittleparksandtheold
sandstonecastle(nowthehomeoftheregionalsheriff'scourts)andontheotherbyold
hotelswithsteeppitchedroofs,morebighousesandthestolid,NotreDamelike

grandeurofthecathedral,standingonabroadlawnbesidetheriver.Icheckedintoa
hotelatrandomandimmediatelysetoffforawalkthroughthegatheringtwilight.The
riverwaslinedonbothsidesbygraciouspromenadesthoughtfullypunctuatedwith
benches,whichmadeitveryagreeableforaneveningstroll.Iwalkedforsomedistance,
perhapstwomiles,ontheHaughRoadsideoftheriver,pastlittleislandsreachedby
Victoriansuspensionfootbridges.
Nearlyallthehousesonbothsidesoftheriverwereramblingplacesbuiltforanage
ofservants.What,Iwondered,hadbroughtallthislateVictorianwealthtoInverness,and
whosupportedthesehandsomeheapstoday?Notfarfromthecastle,onspaciousgrounds
inwhatIsupposeadeveloperwouldcallaprimelocation,stoodaparticularlygrandand
elaboratemansion,withturretsandtowers.Itwasawonderful,spacioushouse,thekind
youcouldimagineridingabicyclearoundin,anditwasboarded,derelictandupforsale.
Icouldn'tthinkhowsuchalikeableplacecouldhaveendedupinsuchaneglectedstate.
AsIwalkedalong,Ilostmyselfinareverieofbuyingitforasong,doingitup,and
livinghappilyeverafterontheselargegroundsbesidethisdeeplyfetchingriver,untilI
realizedwhatmyfamilywouldsayifItoldthemweweren'tafterallgoingtothelandof
shoppingmalls,100channeltelevisionandhamburgersthesizeofababy'shead,but
insteadtothedampnorthofScotland.
Andanyway,IregrettosaythatIcouldneverliveinInverness
becauseoftwosensationallyuglymodernofficebuildingsthatstandbythecentral
bridgeandblotthetowncentrebeyondanyhopeofredemption.Icameuponthemnow
asIreturnedtothetowncentreandwaspositivelyrivetedwithastonishmenttorealize
thatanentiretowncouldberuinedbytwoinanimatestructures.Everythingaboutthem
scale,materials,designwasmadlyinappropriatetothesurroundingscene.Theyweren't
justuglyandlargebutsoilldesignedthatyoucouldactuallywalkaroundthematleast
twicewithouteverfindingthefrontentrance.Inthelargerofthetwo,ontheriverside
wheretheremighthavebeenarestaurantorterraceoratleastshopsorofficeswitha
view,muchoftheroadfrontagehadbeengivenovertoahugedeliverybaywith
overheadmetaldoors.Thisinabuildingthatoverlookedoneofthehandsomestriversin
Britain.Itwasawful,awfulbeyond
words.
IhadrecentlybeentoHobartinTasmania,wheretheSheratonchainhadbuiltahotel
ofstunningplainnessonitslovelywaterfront.Ihadbeentoldthatthearchitecthadn't
actuallyvisitedthesiteandhadputthehotelrestaurantattheback,wheredinerscouldn't
seetheharbour.Sincethen,IhadthoughtthatwasthemostbrainlessthingIhadever
heardofarchitecturally.Idon'tsupposethispaircouldpossiblyhavebeendesignedby
thesamearchitectitwasterrifyingtothinkthattherecouldbetwoarchitectsinthe
worldthisbadbuthecouldcertainlyhaveworkedforthefirm.
OfallthebuildingsthatIwoulddeeplylovetoblowupinBritaintheMaples
buildinginHarrogate,theHiltonHotelinLondon,thePostOfficebuildinginLeeds,a
luckydipamongalmostanystructureownedbyBritishTelecom1havenohesitationin
sayingthatmyfirstchoicewouldbeeitherofthesetwo.
Andhereisthecruncher.Guesswhoinhabitsthesetwopilesofheartbreak?Well,I'll
tellyou.ThelargeristheregionalheadquartersoftheHighlandEnterpriseBoardandthe

otheristhehomeofInvernessandNairnEnterpriseBoard,thetwobodiesentrustedwith
theattractivenessandwellbeingofthislovelyandvitalcornerofthecountry.God.
CHAPTERTWENTYSEVEN
IHADBIGPLANSFORTHEMORNING:IWASGOINGTOGOTOTHE
BANK,buysomeplasticvomit,havealookatthelocalartgallery,perhapstakeanother
strollalongthelovelyRiverNess,butIwokelateandhadnotimetodoanythingbut
fumblemywayintoclothes,checkoutofthehotelandwaddleinasweattothestation.
BeyondInvernesstrainsruninfrequentlyjustthreetimesadaytoThursoandWickso
Icouldn'taffordtobelate.
Asithappened,thetrainwaswaiting,hummingquietly,andleftrightontime.We
slidoutofInvernessagainstabackdropofroundmountainsandthecoldflatnessofthe
BeaulyFirth.Thetrainwassoonrattlingalongatafairoldclip.Thereweremore
passengersthistime,andtherewasatrolleyserviceagainallcredittoBRbutnoone
wantedanythingfromitbecausetheotherpassengerswerealmostallpensionersandthey
hadbroughttheirownprovisions.
Iboughtatandoorichickensandwichandacoffee.Howfarthingshavecome.Ican
rememberwhenyoucouldn'tbuyaBritishRailsandwichwithoutwonderingifthiswas
yourlastactbeforealongperiodonalifesupportmachine.Andanywayyoucouldn't
buyonebecausethebuffetcarwasnearlyalwaysclosed.AndnowhereIwassitting
eatingatandoorichickensandwichanddrinkingacreditablecupofcoffeebroughttome
inmyseatbyafriendlyandpresentableyoungmanonatwocarriagetrainacrossthe
Highlands.
Here'saninterestingstatisticforyou,whichiskindofboringbutmustbetakenin.
Railinfrastructurespendingperpersonperyear
inEuropeis20inBelgiumandGermany,31inFrance,morethan50m
Switzerland,andinBritainaslightlylessthanmunificent5Britainspendslessper
capitaonrailimprovementsthananyothercountryintheEuropeanUnionexceptGreece
andIreland.EvenPortugalspendsmore.Andthethingis,despitethispaucityofsupport
youactuallyhaveanexcellenttrainserviceinthiscountry,allthingsconsidered.Trains
arenowmuchcleanerthantheyusedtobeandstaffgenerallymorepatientandhelpful.
Ticketpeoplealwayssaypleaseandthankyou,blessthem,andyoucaneatthefood.
SoIatemytandoorichickensandwichanddrankmycupofcoffeewithpleasureand
gratification,andpassedthetimebetweennibbleswatchingawhitehairedcoupleata
tableacrossthewaydelvingamongtheirtravellingfare,settingoutlittleplasticboxesof
porkpiesandhardboiledeggs,liftingoutflasks,unscrewinglids,findinglittlesaltand
peppershakers.It'samazing,isn'tit,howyoucangiveacoupleofoldpeopleacanvas
holdall,anassortmentofTupperwarecontainersandaThermosflaskandtheycanamuse
.themselvesforhours.Theyworkedawaywithwellorderedprecisionandtotalsilence,
asiftheyhadbeenpreparingforthiseventforyears.Whenthefoodwaslaidout,theyate
forfourminuteswithgreatdelicacy,thenspentmostoftherestofthemorningquietly
packingeverythingaway.Theylookedveryhappy.
Theyremindedmeinanoddbutheartwarmingwayofmymother,assheis

somethingofaTupperwaredevoteeherself.Shedoesn'tpicnicontrains,sincethereare
nopassengertrainsinherpartofthecountryanymore,butshedoesliketoputstray
itemsoffoodinplasticcontainersofvarioussizesandfilethemawayinthefridge.It'san
oddthingaboutmothersgenerally,Ibelieve.Assoonasyouleavehometheymerrily
throwawayeverythingthatyoucherishedthroughchildhoodandadolescenceyour
valuablecollectionofbaseballcards,acompletesetofPlayboysfrom196675,your
highschoolyearbooksbutgivethemhalfapeachoraspoonfulofleftoverpeasand
theywillputitinaTupperwarecontaineratthebackofthefridgeandtreasureitmoreor
lessforever.
AndsothelongridetoThursopassed.Werattledonthroughanincreasinglyremote
andbarrenlandscape,treelessandcold,withheatherclingingtothehillsideslikelichen
onrockandthinlyscatteredwithsheepthattookfrightandscamperedoffwhenthetrain
passed.Nowandthenwepassedthroughwindingvalleysspeckledwithfarmsthatlooked
romanticandprettyfromadistance,butbleakandcomfortlessupclose.Mostlythey
weresmallholdingswithlotsofrustedtineverywheretinsheds,tinhenhuts,tinfences
lookingricketyandweatherbattered.Wewereenteringoneofthoseweirdzones,always
asignofremotenessfromtheknownworld,wherenothingiseverthrownaway.Every
farmyardwasclutteredwithpilesofcastoffs,asiftheownerthoughtthatonedayhe
mightneed132halfrottedfenceposts,atonofbrokenbricksandtheshellofa1964Ford
Zodiac.
TwohoursafterleavingInverness,wecametoaplacecalledGolspie.Itwasagood
sizedtownwithbigcouncilestatesandwindingstreetsofthosegreypebbledash
bungalowsthatseemtohavebeenmodelledonpublictoiletsandforwhichtheyhavea
strangefondnessinScotland,butnosignoffactoriesorworkplaces.What,Iwondered,
doallthepeopleinallthosehousesdoforalivinginaplacelikeGolspie?Thencame
Brora,anothergoodsizedcommunity,withaseafrontbutnoharbour,asfarasIcould
see,andnofactories.Whatdotheydointheselittleplacesinthemiddleofnowhere?
Afterthat,thelandscapebecamequiteempty,withneitherfarmhousesnorfield
animals.WerodeforaseemingeternitythroughagreatScottishvoid,fullofmilesof
nothingness,until,inthemiddleofthisgreatemptiness,wecametoaplacecalled
Forsinard,withtwohouses,arailwaystationandaninexplicablylargehotel.Whata
strangelostworldthiswas.AndthenatlonglastwearrivedinThurso,thenorthernmost
townontheBritishmainland,theendofthelineineverysenseoftheword.Istepped
fromthelittlestationonslightlyunsteadylegsandsetoffdownthelongmainstreet
towardsthecentre.
Ihadnoideawhattoexpect,butmyinitialimpressionswerefavourable.Itseemeda
tidy,wellorderedplace,comfortableratherthanshowy,considerablylargerthanIhad
expected,andwithseveralsmallhotels.ItookaroominthePentlandHotel,which
seemedaniceenoughplaceinadeathlyquiet,endoftheworldsortofway.Iaccepteda
keyfromthepleasantreceptionist,conveyedmythingstoadistantroomreachedthrough
spooky,windingcorridors,thenwentouttohavealookaround.
ThebigeventinThurso,accordingtocivicrecords,wasin1834whenSirJohn
Sinclair,alocalworthy,coinedtheterm'statistics'inthetown,thoughthingshave
calmeddownprettyconsiderablysince.Whenhewasn'tcontrivingneologisms,Sinclair

also
extensivelyrebuiltthetown,endowingitwithasplendidlibraryin
cautiouslybaroquestyleandasmallsquarewithalittleparkinthemiddle.Around
thesquaretodaystandsamodestdistrictofsmall,useful,friendlylookingshops
chemistsandbutchers,awinemerchant,aladies'boutiqueortwo,ascatteringofbanks,
lotsofhairsalons(whyistherealwaysanabundanceofhairsalonsinlittleoutofthe
waycommunities?)prettywelleverything,inshortyouwouldhopetofindinamodel
community.Therewasasmall'oldfashionedWoolworth's,butapartfromthatandthe
banks,nearlyeverythingelseappearedtobelocallyowned,whichgaveThursoanice,
homeyfeel.Ithadtheairofareal,selfcontainedcommunity.Ilikeditverymuch.
Ipotteredaboutforabitamongtheshoppingstreets,thenfollowedsomebacklanes
downtothewaterfront,wheretherewasalonelyfishwarehousemaroonedinanacreof
emptycarparkandavastemptybeachwiththunderouscrashingwaves.Theairwas
freshandvigorouslyabundantintheblowywayoftheseaside,andtheworldwasbathed
inanetherealnorthernlightthatgavetheseaacuriousluminescenceindeed,gave
everythinganodd,faintbluishcastthatintensifiedmysenseofbeingalongwayfrom
home.
Atthefarendofthebeachtherestoodaspectraltower,afragmentofoldcastle,andI
setofftoinvestigate.Arockystreamstoodbetweenmeandit,soIhadtobacktracktoa
footbridgesomedistancefromthebeach,thenpickmywayalongamuddypathliberally
strewnwithlitter.Thecastletowerwasderelict,itslowerwindowsanddooropenings
brickedover.Anoticebesideitannouncedthatthecoastalpathwasclosedbecauseof
soilerosion.Istoodforalongtimebythislittleheadlandgazingouttosea,thenturnedto
facethetownandwonderedwhattodonext.
ThursowastobemyhomeforthenextthreedaysandIwasn'tatallsurehowIwas
goingtofillsuchanexpanseofemptytime.Betweenthesmellofseaairandthesenseof
utterremoteness,Ihadamomentofquietpanicatfindingmyselfalonehereatthetopof
theearth,wheretherewasnoonetotalktoandthemostexcitingdiversionwasanold
brickeduptower.IwanderedbackintotownthewayIhadcomeand,forwantof
anythingbettertodo,hadanotherpotteringlookintheshopwindows.Andthen,outside
agreengrocer's,ithappenedsomethingthatsoonerorlateralwayshappenstomeona
longtripawayfromhome.ItisamomentIdread.Istartedaskingmyselfunanswerable
questions.
Prolongedsolitarytravel,yousee,affectspeopleindifferentways.Itisanunnatural
businesstofindyourselfinastrangeplacewithanunderutilizedbrainandnoparticular
reasonforbeingthere,andeventuallyitmakesyougoalittlecrazy.I'veseenitinothers
often.Somesolitarytravellersstarttalkingtothemselves:littlesilentlymurmured
conversationsthattheythinknooneelsenotices.Somedesperatelyseekthecompanyof
strangers,strikingupsmalltalkatshopcountersandhotelreceptiondesksandthen
lingeringforanuncomfortablylongperiodbeforefinallydeparting.Somebecome
ravenous,obsessivesightseers,trampingfromsighttosightwithaguidebookinalonely
questtoseeeverything.Me,Igetasortofinterrogativediarrhoea.Iaskprivate,internal
questionsscoresandscoresofthemforwhichIcannotsupplyanswers.AndsoasI
stoodbyagreengrocer'sinThurso,lookingatitsdarkenedinteriorwithpursedlipsanda

moreorlessemptyhead,fromoutofnowhereIthought,Whydotheycallitagrapefruit?
andIknewthattheprocesshadstarted.
It'snotabadquestion,asthesethingsgo.Imeantosay,whydotheycallita
grapefruit?Idon'tknowaboutyou,butifsomeonepresentedmewithanunfamiliarfruit
thatwasyellow,thesizeofacannonballandtastedsourIdon'tbelieveIwouldthink:
Well,youknow,itratherputsmeinmindofagrape.
Thetroubleisthatoncethesethingsstartthereisnostoppingthem.Acoupleofdoors
awaywasashopthatsoldjumpersandIthought:WhydotheBritishcallthemjumpers?
I'veactuallybeenwonderingthisforyears,offandon,usuallyinlonelyplaceslike
Thurso,andIwouldsincerelyliketoknow.Dotheymakeyouwanttojump?Doyou
thinktoyourselfwhenyouputoneoninthemorning:NownotonlyshallIbewarmall
day,nosmallconsiderationinanationwherecentralheatingstillcannotbeassumed,but
ifIshouldberequiredtodosomejumpingIshallbesuitablyattired.
Andsoitwenton.Iproceededthroughthestreetsunderameteorshowerof
interrogations.Whydotheycallthemmilkfloats?Theydon'tfloatatall.Whydowefoot
abillratherthan,say,headit?Whydowesaythatournoseisrunning'}(Mineslides.)
Whoatethefirstoysterandhowonearthdidanyoneeverfigureoutthatambergris
wouldmakeanexcellentfixativeforperfumes?
Whenthishappens,Iknowfromyearsofexperience,ittakesaspecialdistractionto
shockthemindfromthissolitarytorment,
HfortunatelyThursohadone.Onasidestreet,asIwasjustbeginningtowonderwhy
wesayweareheadoverheelswhenwerehappywheninfactourheadnormallyisover
ourheels,IhappenedonanextraordinarylittleestablishmentcalledtheFountain
Restaurant,whichofferedthreecompletebutdifferentmenusaChinesemenu,an
Indianmenuanda'European'menu.Thursoevidentlycouldn'tmaintainthreeseparate
restaurants,soithadonerestaurantofferingthreekindsofcuisines.
Immediatelytakenwiththisconcept,Iwentinandwasshowntoatablebyapretty
youngladywholeftmewithamenuthatrantomanypages.Itwasapparentfromthe
titlepagethatallthreekindsofmealswerecookedbyasingleScottishchef,soIpored
throughtheentrieshopingtofind'sweetandsouroatcakes'or'haggisvindaloo',butthe
disheswerestrictlyconventional.IoptedforChinese,thensatbackandenjoyedastateof
blissfulmindlessness.
Whenitcame,thefoodtasted,Ihavetosay,likeaChinesemealcookedbyaScottish
chefwhichisnottosaythatitwasn'tgood.ItwasjustcuriouslyunlikeanyChinese
mealIhadeverhad.ThemoreIateitthemoreIlikedit.Atleastitwasdifferent,and
that,bythisstageofthetrip,wasallIcraved.
WhenIemerged,Ifeltmuchbetter.Lackinganythingbettertodo,Istrolledback
downtothevicinityofthefishwarehousetotaketheeveningair.AsIstoodthereinthe
darkness,listeningtothepoundingsurfandgazingcontentedlyatthegreatstarrydome
ofskyaboveme,Ithought,WhodecidedthatHerefordandWorcesterwouldmakea
zippynameforacounty?andIknewthenthatitwastimeforbed.
Inthemorning,Iwasrousedearlybymyalarmclockandrosereluctantly,forIwas
havingmyfavouritedreamtheonewhereIownalarge,remoteisland,notunlikethose
offthissectionofScottishcoast,towhichIinvitecarefullyselectedpeople,liketheguy

whoinventedtheChristmastreelightsthatgooutwhenonebulbblows,thepersonin
chargeofescalatormaintenanceatHeathrowAirport,nearlyanyonewhohaseverwritten
auser'smanualforapersonalcomputer,andofcourseJohnSelwynGummer,letthem
loosewithaverysmallamountofsurvivalrations,andthengooutwithbrayingdogsand
mercilesslyhuntthemdownbutthenIrememberedthatIhadabig,excitingdayin
frontofme.IwasgoingtoJohnO'Groats.IhadbeenhearingaboutJohnO'Groatsfor
years,butIhadnotthefaintestideaofwhatitwouldbelike.Itseemedexoticbeyond
wordsandIachedtoseeit.SoIbreakfastedinaspiritofkeennessatthePentlandHotel,
theonlypersoninthediningroom,andthenrepairedatthestrokeofninetoWilliam
Dunnet's,thelocalForddealer,whereIhadarrangedbyphonesomedaysearliertohirea
carfortheday,sincetherewasnootherwaytogettoJohnO'Groatsatthistimeofyear.
Ittookthemanintheshowroomamomenttorecallthearrangement.'Ah,you'rethe
chapfromdownsouth,'hesaid,remembering,whichthrewmealittle.Itisn'toftenyou
hearYorkshirereferredtoasdownsouth.
'Isn'teveryplacedownsouthfromhere?'Iasked.
'Yes.Why,yes,Isupposeitis,'hesaidasifIhadstumbledonarareprofundity.
HewasafriendlyfelloweveryoneinThursoisfriendlyandwhilehescratched
awayatthevoluminouspaperworkthatwouldputmeinchargeoftwotonsofdangerous
metal,wechattedamiablyaboutlifeinthisremoteoutpostofcivilization.Hetoldmeit
tooksixteenhourstodrivetoLondon,notthatanyonemucheverdid.Formostpeople,
Inverness,fourhourstothesouthbycar,wasthesouthernlimitoftheknownworld.
ItseemedlikemonthssinceIhadhadaconversation,andIbabbledawayathimwith
questions.WhatdidpeopleinThursodoforaliving?Howdidthecastlecometobe
derelict?Wheredidtheygoiftheywantedtobuyasofa,seeamovie,haveaChinese
mealnotcookedbyaScotsmanorotherwiseexperiencesomethingbeyondthemodest
rangeofpleasuresavailablelocally?
ThusIlearnedthatthelocaleconomywasunderpinnedbytheDounreaynuclear
reactordowntheroad,thatthecastlehadoncebeenathingofwellmaintainedbeautybut
hadbeenallowedtofallintodecrepitudebyaneccentricowner,thatInvernesswasthe
seatofallformsofexcitement.Imusthavebetrayedaflutterofastonishmentatthis
becausehesmiledandsaiddrily,'Well,ithasaMarks8cSpencer.'
Thenhetookmeoutside,satmeinthedriver'sseatofaFordThesaurus(or
something;I'mnotverygoodatcarnames),gavemeaquickrundownonallthemany
moveablestalksanddashboardbuttons,andthenstoodbywithakindofnervousfrozen
smilewhileIactivatedcontrolsthatmadetheseatbackjettisonawayfrommyback,the
bootpopopenandthewindscreenwipersgointomonsoonmode.Andthen,witha
worrisomegrindingofgears
andseveraljerkymovements,Iblazedatrailfromthecarparkbyanovelandlavishly
bumpyrouteandtooktotheroad.
Momentslater,forsuchisThurso'sdiminutivesize,Iwasoutontheopenhighway
andcruisingwithalighthearttowardsJohnO'Groats.Itwasanarrestinglyempty
landscape,withnothingmuchbutfieldsofbillowywinterbleachedgrassrunningdown
toachoppyseaandthehazyOrkneysbeyond,butthefeelingofspaciousnesswas
exhilaratingandforthefirsttimeinyearsIfeltcomparativelysafebehindawheel.There

wasabsolutelynothingtocrashinto.
Youreallyareontheedgeofagreatdealofemptinesswhenyou'reachthefarnorth
ofScotland.Only27,000peopleliveinthewholeofCaithnessroughlythepopulation
ofHaywardsHeathorEastleighinanareaconsiderablylargerthanmostEnglish
counties.Morethanhalfofthatpopulationisaccountedforbyjusttwotowns,Thurso
andWick,andnoneofitbyJohnO'GroatssinceJohnO'Groatsisn'tacommunityatall
butjustaplacetostopandbuypostcardsandicecreams.
ItisnamedforJandeGroot,aDutchmanwhoranaferryservicefromthereto
somewhereelse(Amsterdamifhehadanysense)inthefifteenthcentury.Hecharged4d
atripapparently,andtheywilltellyouinthesepartsthatthatsumbecameknownever
afterasagroat,butalasitisapatheticfiction.ItismoreprobablethatGrootwasnamed
Groatafterthemoneyratherthanitforhe.Butanywaywhogivesashit?
TodayJohnO'Groatsconsistsofacapaciouscarpark,alittleharbour,alonelywhite
hotel,acoupleoficecreamkiosksandthreeorfourshopssellingpostcards,sweatersand
videosbyasingernamedTommyScott.Ithoughttherewassupposedtobeafamous
fingersigntellingyouhowfaritwastoSydneyandLosAngeles,butIcouldn'tfindit;
perhapstheytakeitinoutofseasonsothatpeoplelikemedon'tcarryitoffasasouvenir.
Onlyoneoftheshopswasopen.Iwentinandwassurprisedtofindthattherewerethree
middleagedladiesworkingthere,whichseemedabitexcessiveasIwasobviouslythe
onlytouristfor400miles.Theladieswereexceedinglycheerfulandchipperandgreeted
mewarmlywiththosewonderfulHighlandaccentssoclinicallypreciseandyetso
dulcet.IunfoldedsomejumperssothattheywouldhavesomethingtodoafterIleft,
watchedopenmouthedademovideoforTommyScottsingingperkyScottishtuneson
variousblowyheadlands(I'msayingnothing),boughtsomepostcards,hadalingering
cupofcoffee,chattedwiththeladiesabouttheweather,thensteppedoutintothegusty
carparkandrealizedthatIhadaboutexhaustedthepossibilitiespresentedbyJohn
O'Groats.
Iwanderedaroundabovetheharbour,peeredwithhoodedhandsintothewindowsof
thelittlemuseum,whichwasclosedtillspring,lookedappreciativelyattheviewacross
thePentlandFirthtoStromaandtheOldManofHoy,andthenwanderedbacktothecar.
Youprobablyknowthisalready,butJohnO'Groatsisnotthenorthernmostpointofthe
Scottishmainland.ThatdistinctionbelongstoaspotcalledDunnetHead,fiveorsix
milesawaydownanearbysinglelaneroad,soIwenttherenow.DunnetHeadoffers
evenlesstotheworldinthewayofdiversionsthanJohnO'Groats,butithasahandsome
unmannedlighthouseandsensationalseaviews,andanicesenseofbeingalongway
fromanywhere.
Istoodonthegustyeminencegazingattheviewforalongtime,waitingforsome
profunditytostealoverme,sincethiswastheendoftheline,asfarasIwasgoing.Part
ofmelongedtocatchaferrytotheoutwardislands,tofollowthescatteredoutcropsof
stoneallthewayuptodistantShetland,butIwasoutoftimeandanywaytheredidn't
seemagreatdealofneed.Whateveritsbleakandairycharms,Shetlandwouldstillbe
justanotherpieceofBritain,withthesameshops,thesametelevisionprogrammes,the
samepeopleinthesameMarks&Spencercardigans.Ididn'tfindthisdepressingatall
ratherthecontrarybutIdidn'tfeelanypressingneedtoseeitjustnow.Itwouldstillbe

therenexttime.
IhadonemoreportofcallinmyhiredFord.SixorsevenmilessouthofThursolies
thevillageofHalkirk,nowforgottenbutfamousduringtheSecondWorldWarasa
deeply,deeplyunpopularpostingforBritishsoldiersonaccountofitsremotenessandthe
reputedunfriendlinessofthelocals.Thesoldierssangacharminglittlerefrainthatwent
Thisfuckingtown'safuckingcussNofuckingtrams,nofuckingbus,Nobodycares
forfuckingusInfuckingHalkirk
Nofuckingsport,nofuckinggames.Nofuckingfun.ThefuckingdamesWon'teven
givetheirfuckingnamesInfuckingHalkirk
andcarriesoninasimilarlyaffectionatespiritforanothertenstanzas.(Inanswerto
theobviousquestion,I'dlookedearlierand,noitwasn'toneofTommyScott'sstandards.)
SoIwenttoHalkirknow,alongthelonelyB874.Well,therewasnothingmuchto
Halkirkjustacoupleofstreetsonaroadtonowhere,withabutcher's,abuilder's
merchants,twopubs,alittlegrocery,andavillagehallwithawarmemorial.Therewas
nosignthatHalkirkhadeverbeenmorethanadrearylittleinterruptiontothegeneral
emptinessaroundit,butthememorialcontainedthenamesofsixtythreedeadfromthe
FirstWorldWar(nineofthemnamedSinclairandfivenamedSutherland)andeighteen
fromtheSecondWorldWar.
Youcouldseeformilesacrossgrassyplainsfromtheedgesofthevillage,butthere
wasnosignanywhereoftumbledownarmybarracks.Infact,therewasnosignthatthere
hadeverbeenanythinginthisdistrictbutendlessgrassyplains.Iwentintothegroceryin
investigativemood.Itwasthestrangestgroceryalargeshedlikeroom,barelylitand
nearlyemptyexceptforacoupleof.racksofmetalshelvesnearthedoor.These,too,
werenearlyemptybutforafewscatteredpacketsofoddsandends.Therewasamanon
thetillandanoldguyaheadofmemakingsomesmallpurchase,soIaskedthemabout
thearmycamp.
'Oh,aye,'saidtheproprietor.'BigPOWcamp.WehadfourteenthousandGermans
hereattheendofthewar.There'sabookhereallaboutit.'Tomysmallastonishment,
giventhemeagrenessoftheotherstocks,hehadastackofpicturebooksbythetillcalled
CaithnessintheWarorsomethinglikethatandhehandedmeonetoexamine.Itwasfull
oftheusualpicturesofbombedouthousesandpubswithpeoplestandingaround
scratchingtheirheadsinconsternationorlookingatthecamerawiththoseidiotgrinsthat
peopleindisasterpicturesalwayswear,asifthey'rethinking,Well,atleastwe'llbein
PicturePost.Ididn'tfindanypicturesofsoldierslookingboredinHalkirk,andthere
wasn'tanymentionofthevillageintheindex.Thebookwasambitiouslypricedat
15.95.
'Lovelybook,'saidtheproprietorencouragingly.'Goodvalue.'
'WehadfourteenthousandGermanshereduringthewar,'saidtheoldboyinadeaf
bellow.
Icouldn'tthinkofatactfulwayofaskingaboutHalkirk'sdirereputation.'Itmusthave
beenprettylonelyfortheBritishsoldiers,Ibet,'Isuggestedspeculatively.
'Oh,no,Idon'tthinkso,'disagreedtheman.'There'sThursojustdowntheroad,you
see,andWickifyoufancyachange.Therewasdancingbackthen,'headdedatrifle
ambiguously,thennoddedatthebookinmyhands.'Goodvalue,that.'

'Isthereanythingleftoftheoldbase?'
'Well,thebuildingsaregone,ofcourse,butifyougooutthebackway'hegestured
intheappropriatedirection'youcanstillseethefoundations.'Hewassilentfora
momentandthenhesaid,'Sowillyoubehavingthebook?'
'Ohwell,Imightcomebackforit,'Iliedandhandeditback.
'It'sgoodvalue,'saidtheman.
'FourteenthousandGermanstherewas,'calledtheoldermanasIleft.
Ihadanotherlookaroundthesurroundingcountrysideonfoot,andthendrovearound
forabitinthecar,butIcouldn'tfindanysignofaprisoncamp,andgraduallyitdawned
onmethatithardlymattered,sointheendIdrovebacktoThursoandreturnedthecarto
theForddealer,tothefranksurpriseofthefriendlyfellowsinceitwasonlyalittleafter
twointheafternoon.
'Areyousurethereisn'tanywhereelseyouwanttogo?'hesaid.'Itseemsashame
whenyou'vehiredthecarfortheday.'
'WhereelsecouldIgo?'Iasked.
Hethoughtforaminute.'Well,nowherereally.'Helookedalittledowncast.
'It'sallright,'Isaid,'I'veseenplenty,'andImeantitinthebroadestsense.
CHAPTERTWENTYEIGHT
NOWHEREISWHYIWILLALWAYSSTAYATTHEPENTLANDHOTEL
WHENIaminThurso.ThenightbeforeIleftIaskedthekindlyladyatthecheckout
deskforawakeupcallat5a.m.asIhadtocatchanearlytrainsouth.Andshesaidtome
perhapsyoushouldsitdownifyouarenotsittingalreadyshesaid,'Wouldyoulikea
cookedbreakfast?'
Ithoughtshemustbeabitdim,frankly,soIsaid:'I'msorry,Imeantfivea.m.I'llbe
leavingathalfpastfive,yousee.Halfpastfivea.m.Inthemorning.'
'Yes,dear.Wouldyoulikeacookedbreakfast?'
'Atfivea.m.?'
'It'sincludedintheroomrate.'
Anddamnmeifthiswonderfullittleestablishmentdidn'tfixmeupwithahandsome
plateoffriedfoodandapotofhotcoffeeat5.15thefollowingpredawn.
AndsoIleftthehotelahappyandfractionallyfatterman,andwaddleduptheroadin
darknesstothestationandtheremetmysecondsurpriseofthemorning.Theplacewas
packedwithwomen,allstandingaroundontheplatforminfestivespirits,fillingthechill,
darkairwithcloudsofbreathandhappyHighlandchatter,andwaitingpatientlyforthe
guardtofinishhisfagandopenthetraindoors.
IaskedaladywhatwasupandshetoldmetheywereallofftoInvernesstodotheir
shopping.ItwaslikethiseverySaturday.Theywouldrideforthebestpartoffourhours,
stockuponMarks&cSpencer'sknickersandplasticvomitandwhateverelse
InvernesshadthatThursohadn't,whichwasquitealot,thencatchthe6p.m.trainhome,
arrivingbackintimeforbed.
Andsowerodethroughthemistyearlymorning,agreatcrowdofus,crammed
snuglytogetheronatwocarriagetrain,inhappy,expectantmood.AtInvernessthetrain

terminatedandweallpiledoff,theladiestodotheirshopping,Itocatchthe10.35to
Glasgow.AsIwatchedthemgo,IfoundtomysmallsurprisethatIratherenviedthem.It
seemedanextraordinarybusiness,theideaofrisingbeforedawntodoalittleshoppingin
aplacelikeInvernessandthennotgettinghometillafterten,butontheotherhandIdon't
thinkIhadeverseensuchahappybandofshoppers.
ThelittletraintoGlasgowwasnearlyemptyandthecountrysidelushlyscenic.We
wentthroughAviemore,Pitlochry,PerthandontoGleneagles,withaprettystation,now
sadlyboarded.Andthenatlast,someeighthoursafterrisingfrommybedthatmorning,
wewereinGlasgow.Itseemedoddaftersomanylonghoursoftravellingtostepfrom
QueenStreetStationandfindmyselfstillinScotland.
Atleastitwasn'tashocktothesystem.IrememberwhenIfirstcametoGlasgowin
1973steppingfromthisverystationandbeingprofoundlystunnedathowsuffocatingly
darkandsootblackenedthecitywas.Ihadneverseenaplacesochokedandgrubby.
Everythinginitseemedblackandcheerless.Eventhelocalaccentseemedbornof
clinkersandgrit.StMungo'sCathedralwassodarkthatevenfromacrosstheroadit
lookedlikeatwodimensionalcutout.Andtherewerenotouristsnoneatall.Glasgow
maybethelargestcityinScotland,butmyLet'sGoguidetoEuropedidn'tevenmention
it.
InthesubsequentyearsGlasgowhas,ofcourse,gonethroughaglitteringand
celebratedtransformation.Scoresofoldbuildingsinthecitycentrehavebeen
sandblastedandlovinglybuffed,sothattheirgranitesurfacesgleamanew,anddozens
morewerevigorouslyerectedintheheadyboomyearsofthe1980smorethanlbillion
ofnewofficesinthepreviousdecadealone.Thecityacquiredoneofthefinestmuseums
intheworldintheBurrellCollectionandoneofthemostintelligentpiecesofurban
renewalinthePrincesSquareshoppingcentre.Suddenlytheworldbegancautiouslyto
cometoGlasgowandthereupondiscoveredtoitsdelightthatthiswasacitydensely
endowedwithsplendidmuseums,livelypubs,worldclassorchestras,andnofewerthan
seventyparks,morethananyothercityofitssizeinEurope.In
1990GlasgowwasnamedEuropeanCityofCulture,andnoonelaughed.Never
beforehadacity'sreputationundergoneamoreDramaticandsuddentransformation
andnone,asfarasIamconcerned,deservesitmore.
Amongthecity'smanytreasures,noneshinesbrighter,inmyviewthantheBurrell
Collection.Aftercheckingintomyhotel,Ihastenedtherenowbytaxi,foritisalong
wayout.
'D'yenaealangroon?'saidthedriveraswespedalongamotorwaytowardsPollok
ParkbywayofClydebankandOban.
Tmsorry,'IsaidforIdon'tspeakGlaswegian.
'D'yedackmafanny?'
IhateitwhenthishappenswhenapersonfromGlasgowspeakstome.Tmsosorry,'
Isaidandflounderedforanexcuse.'Myearsareverybad.'
'Aye,yenaehaedoonalangroon,'hesaid,whichIgatheredmeantTmgoingtotake
youaverylongwayaroundandlookatyoualotwiththesemenacingeyesofmineso
thatyou'llbegintowonderifperhapsI'mtakingyoutoadisusedwarehousewhere
friendsofminearewaitingtobeatyouupandtakeyourmoney,'buthesaidnothing

furtheranddeliveredmeattheBurrellwithoutincident.
HowIliketheBurrellCollection.ItisnamedforSirWilliamBurrell,aScottish
shipowner,whoin1944leftthecityhisartcollectionontheunderstandingthatitbe
placedinacountrysettingwithinthecityboundaries.Hewasworriednotunreasonably
aboutairpollutiondamaginghisartworks.Unabletodecidewhattodowiththis
sumptuouswindfall,thecitycouncildid,astonishingly,nothing.Forthenextthirtynine
years,sometrulyexceptionalworksofartlaycratedawayinwarehouses,allbut
forgotten.Finallyinthelate1970s,afternearlyfourdecadesofdithering,thecity
engagedagiftedarchitectnamedBarryGasson,whodesignedatrimandrestrained
buildingnotedforitsairyroomssetagainstawoodlandbackdropandfortheingenious
wayarchitecturalfeaturesfromBurrelPsCollectionmedievaldoorwaysandlintelsand
thelikewereincorporatedintothefabricofthebuilding.Itopenedin1983to
widespreadacclaim.
Burrellwasnotanespeciallyrichman,butgoodnessmehecouldselect.Thegallery
containsonly8,000itemsbuttheycomefromalloverfromMesopotamia,Egypt,
GreeceandRomeandnearlyeveryoneofthem(withtheexceptionofsomeglazed
porcelain"gurinesofflowergirls,whichhemusthavepickedupduringafever)is
stunning.Ispentalong,happyafternoonwanderingthroughthemanyrooms,pretending,
asIsometimesdointhesecircumstances,thatIhadbeeninvitedtotakeanyoneobject
homewithmeasagiftfromtheScottishpeopleinrecognitionofmyfinenessasa
person.Intheend,aftermuchagonizing,IsettledonaHeadofPersephonefromfifth
centuryBCSicily,whichwasnotonlyasstunninglyflawlessasifithadbeenmade
yesterday,butwouldhavelookedjustperfectontopoftheTV.Andthuslateinthe
afternoon,IemergedfromtheBurrellandintotheleafyagreeabilityofPollokParkina
happyframeofmind.
Itwasamildday,soIdecidedtowalkbacktotowneventhoughIhadnomapand
onlythevaguestideaofwherethedistantcentreofGlasgowlay.Idon'tknowifGlasgow
istrulyawonderfulcityforwalkingorwhetherIhavejustbeenluckythere,butIhave
neverwanderedthroughitwithoutencounteringsomememorablesurprisethegreen
allureofKelvingrovePark,theBotanicGardens,thefabulousNecropoliscemeterywith
itsranksofornatetombsandsoitwasnow.Isetoffhopefullydownabroadavenue
calledStAndrewsDriveandfoundmyselfadriftinahandsomedistrictofhousesof
substanceandprivilegewithacomelyparkwithalittlelake.AtlengthIpassedthe
ScotlandStreetPublicSchool,awonderfulbuildingwithairystairwellsthatIpresumed
wasoneofMackintosh's,andsoonafterfoundmyselfinaseamierbutnolessinteresting
district,whichIeventuallyconcludedmustbetheGorbals.AndthenIgotlost.
IcouldseetheClydefromtimetotime,butIcouldn'tfigureouthowtogettoitor,
morecrucially,overit.Iwanderedalongaseriesofbacklanesandsoonfoundmyselfin
oneofthosedeaddistrictsthatconsistofwindowlesswarehousesandgaragedoorsthat
sayNOPARKINGGARAGEINCONSTANTUSE.Itookaseriesofturnsthat
seemedtoleadeverfurtherawayfromsocietybeforefinallybumblingintoashortstreet
thathadapubonthecorner.Fancyingadrinkandasitdown,Iwanderedinside.Itwasa
darkplace,andbattered,andtherewereonlytwoothercustomers,apairoflarcenous
lookingmensittingsidebysideatthebardrinkinginsilence.Therewasnoonebehind

thebar.Itookastanceatthefarendofthecounterandwaitedforabit,butnoonecame.
Idrummedmyfingersonthecounterandpuffedmycheeksandmadeassortedpuckery
shapeswithmylipsthewayyoudowhenyouarewaiting.(Andjustwhydowedothat,
doyousuppose?Itisn'tevenprivatelyentertainingintheextremelylowlevelwaythat,
say,peelingablisterorcleaningyourfingernailswithathumbnailis.)Icleanedmy
nailswithathumbnailandpuffedmycheekssomemore,butstillnoonecame.
EventuallyInoticedoneofthemenatthebareyeingme.
'Haeyanaehookmadooky?'hesaid.
'I'msorry?'Ireplied.
'He'llnaybedoonamooning.'Hehoikedhisheadinthedirectionofabackroom.
'Oh,ah,'Isaidandnoddedsagely,asifthatexplainedit.
Inoticedthattheywerebothstilllookingatme.
'D'yehaeahooandapoo?'saidthefirstmantome.
'I'msorry?'Isaid.
'D'yehaeahooandapoo?'herepeated.Itappearedthathewasatrifleintoxicated.
Igaveasmall,apologeticsmileandexplainedthatIcamefromtheEnglishspeaking
world.
'D'yenaehaeinMay?'themanwenton.'Ifyedinnadockmadonny.'
'DooninTroontheycrooninJune,'saidhismate,thenadded:'Wi'aspoon.'
'Oh,ah.'Inoddedthoughtfullyagain,pushingmylowerlipoutslightly,asifitwasall
verynearlycleartomenow.Justthen,tomysmallrelief,thebarmanappeared,looking
unhappyandwipinghishandsonateatowel.
'Fuckinmucklefucketinthefuckinmuckle,'hesaidtothetwomen,andthentomein
awearyvoice:'Ahhaethenoo.'Icouldn'ttellifitwasaquestionorastatement.
'ApintofTennent's,please,'Isaidhopefully.
Hemadeanimpatientnoise,asifIwereavoidinghisquestion.'Haeyanaehookma
dooky?'
Tmsorry?'
'Ahhaethenoo,'saidthefirstcustomer,whoapparentlysawhimselfasmy
interpreter.
Istoodforsomemomentswithmymouthopen,tryingtoimaginewhattheywere
sayingtome,wonderingwhatmadimpulsehadbiddenmetoenterapubinadistrictlike
this,andsaidinaquietvoice:'JustapintofTennent's,Ithink.'
Thebarmansighedheavilyandgotmeapint.Aminutelater,Irealizedthatwhatthey
weresayingtomewasthatthiswastheworstpubintheworldinwhichtoorderlager
sinceallIwouldgetwasaglassofwarmsoapsuds,dispensedfromagasping,
reluctanttap,andthatreallyIshouldfleewithmylifewhileIcould.Idranktwosipsof
thisinterestingconcoction,and,makingasifIweregoingtotheGents',slippedoutaside
door.
AndsoIreturnedtothetwilitstreetsalongthesouthbankoftheClydeandtriedto
findmywaybacktotheknownworld.It'snearlyimpossibletoimaginewhattheGorbals
musthavebeenlikebeforetheystartedtartingitupandinvitingdaringyuppiestomove
intosmartnewblocksofflatsarounditsfringes.Afterthewar,Glasgowdidthemost
extraordinarything.Itbuiltvastestatesofshinytowerblocksoutinthecountrysideand

decantedtensofthousandsofpeoplefrominnercityslumsliketheGorbalsintothem,
butitforgottoprovideanyinfrastructure.Fortythousandpeopleweremovedtothe
Easterhouseestatealoneandwhentheygottheretheyfoundsmartnewflatswithindoor
plumbing,butnocinemas,noshops,nobanks,nopubs,noschools,nojobs,nohealth
centres,nodoctors.Soeverytimetheywantedanything,likeadrinkorworkormedical
attention,theyhadtoclimbaboardabusandrideformilesbackintothecity.In
consequenceofthisandotherconsiderationslikeliftsthatwereforeverbreakingdown
(andwhy,incidentally,doesBritainaloneamongnationshavesomuchdifficultywith
movingconveyanceslikeescalatorsandlifts?Ithinksomeheadsshouldroll,frankly)
theygrewpeevishandturnedthemintonewslums.TheresultisthatGlasgowhassome
oftheworsthousingproblemsinthedevelopedworld.GlasgowCouncilisthelargest
landlordinEurope.Its160,000housesandflatsrepresenthalfthecity'stotalhousing
stock.Byitsownestimatesthecouncilneedstospendsomethinglike3billiontobring
thehousinguptostandard.Thatdoesn'tincludeprovisionsfornewhousing,butsimply
makingexistinghousinghabitable.Atthemomentitsentirehousingbudgetisabout
100millionayear.
Atlength,Ifoundmywayovertheriverandbackintothegleamingcentre.Ihada
lookatGeorgeSquare,whichistomymindthehandsomestinBritain,andthentrudged
uphilltoSauchiehallStreet,whereIrememberedmyfavouriteGlasgowjoke.(Alsomy
onlyGlasgowjoke.)It'snotaverygoodone,butIlikeit.Apolicemancollarsathiefat
thecornerofSauchiehallandDalhousie,thendragshimbythehairforahundredyards
toRoseStreettobookhim.
'Oi,why'dyedotha'?'askstheaggrievedculprit,rubbinghishead.
'BecauseIcanspellRoseStreet,yethievingcunt,'saysthepoliceman.
That'sthethingaboutGlasgow.Ithasallthisnewfoundprosperityandpolish,but
rightattheveryedgeofthingsthereisalwaysthissenseofgritandmenace,whichIfind
oddlyexhilarating.YoucanwanderthroughthestreetsonaFridaynight,asIdidnow,
andneverknowwhenyouturnacornerwhetheryouaregoingtobumpintoagroupof
tonyrevellersindinnerjacketsorapassleofidleyoungyobboeswhomightdecidetofall
uponyouandcarvetheirinitialsinyourforeheadforpurposesofpassingamusement.
Givestheplaceacertaintang.
CHAPTERTWENTYNINE
ISPENTANOTHERDAYINGLASGOWPOKINGABOUT,NOTSOMUCH
becauseIwantedtobethere,butbecauseitwasaSundayandIcouldn'tgetatrainhome
beyondCarlisle.(TheSettletoCarlisleservicedoesn'trunonSundaysinwinterbecause
thereisnodemandforitsservices.Thattheremaybenodemandforitsservicesbecause
itdoesn'trunappearsnottohaveoccurredtoBritishRail.)SoIwanderedfarandwide
throughthewintrystreets,andhadarespectfullookroundthemuseums,Botanic
GardensandNecropolis,butreallyallIwantedtodowasgohome,whichwas
understandable,Ithink,becauseImissedmyfamilyandmyownbedand,besides,when
IwalkaroundmyhomeIdon'thavetowatchoutfordogshitandvomitslickswithevery
stepItake.

Andsothefollowingmorning,inastateofgiddyexcitement,Iboardedthe8.10from
GlasgowCentraltoCarlisleandthere,afterarefreshingcupofcoffeeinthestation
buffet,caughtthe11.40traintoSettle.
TheSettletoCarlislelineisthemostcelebratedobscurelineintheworld.BritishRail
hasbeenwantingtocloseitdownforyearsonthegroundsthatitdoesn'tpayitsway,
whichisthemostmadandpreposterouslineofargumentimaginable.
We'vebeenhearingthiswarpedreasoningforsolongaboutsomanythingsthatithas
becomereceivedwisdom,butwhenyouthinkaboutitforevenananoseconditis
perfectlyobviousthatmostworthwhilethingsdon'tbegintopayforthemselves.Ifyou
followedthisabsurdlogicanydistanceatall,youwouldhavetoget
ridoftrafficlights,laybys,schools,drains,nationalparks,museums,universities,old
peopleandmuchelsebesides.Sowhyonearthshouldsomethingasusefulasarailway
line,whichisgenerallymuchmoreagreeablethanoldpeople,andcertainlylessinclined
tobitchandtwitter,havetodemonstrateeventhetiniestmeasureofeconomicviabilityto
ensureitscontinuedexistence?Thisisalineofthinkingthatmustbeabandonedatonce.
Havingsaidthat,itcan'tbedeniedthattheSettletoCarlislelinehasalwayshad
somethingoftheairoffollyaboutit.In1870,whenJamesAllport,generalmanagerof
theMidlandRailway,tookitintohisheadtobuildamainlinenorth,therewasalreadyan
eastcoastlineandawestcoastline,sohedecidedtodriveoneupthemiddle,even
thoughitwentfromnowheremuchtonowheremuchbywayofnothingatall.Thewhole
thingcost3.5million,whichdoesn'tsoundmuchnow,buttranslatestosomefantastic
sumlike487trillionbillionorsomething.Anyway,itwasenoughtoconvinceeveryone
whoknewanythingaboutrailwaysthatAllportwastotallyoffhisheadasinfacthe
was.
Becausethelinewentthroughaninsanelybleakandforbiddingstretchofthe
Pennines,Allport'sengineershadtocomeupwithallkindsofcontrivancestomakeit
work,includingtwentyviaductsandtwelvetunnels.Thiswasn'tsomeeccentric,pootling
narrowgaugeline,youunderstand;thiswasthenineteenthcentury'sbullettrain,
somethingthatwouldallowpassengerstoflyacrosstheYorkshireDalesif,thatis,
anyonehadwantedto,andhardlyanyonedid.
Sofromtheverybeginningitlostmoney.Butwhocares?Itisawonderfulline,
gorgeousineveryrespect,andIintendedtoenjoyeveryminuteofmyonehourand
fortyminute,71%milejourney.EvenwhenyoulivenearSettle,itisn'toftenyoufinda
reasontousetheline,soIsatwithmyfaceclosetotheglassandwaitedeagerlyforthe
line'sfamouslandmarksBleaMoorTunnel,almost2,300yardslong;DentStation,the
highestinthecountry;thegloriousRibbleheadViaduct,aquarterofamilelong,104feet
highandwithtwentyfourgracefularchesandinbetweenIenjoyedthescenery,which
isnotjustspectacularandunrivalledbutspeakstomewithaparticularsirenvoice.
Isupposeeverybodyhasapieceoflandscapesomewherethathefindscaptivating
beyondwordsandmineistheYorkshireDales.Ican'taltogetheraccountforitbecause
youcaneasilyfindmoredramaticlandscapeselsewhere,eveninBritain.AllIcansayis
thattheDalesseizedmelikeahelplessinfatuationwhenIfirstsawthemandwillnotlet
mego.Partly,Isuppose,itistheexhilaratingcontrastbetweenthehighfells,withtheir
endlessviews,andtherelativelushnessofthevalleyfloors,withtheirclusteredvillages

andgreenfarms.TodrivealmostanywhereintheDalesistomakeaconstanttransition
betweenthesetwohypnoticzones.Itiswonderfulbeyondwords.Andpartlyitisthe
snugairofselfcontainmentthattheenclosinghillsgive,asensethattherestoftheworld
isfarawayandunnecessary,whichissomethingyoucometoappreciateverymuchwhen
youlivethere.
Everydaleisalittleworldofitsowntoanextraordinarydegree.Irememberone
sunnyafternoonwhenwewerenewtoourdaleacaroverturnedintheroadoutsideour
gatewithafrightfulbangandanoiseofscrapingmetal.Thedriver,itturnedout,had
clippedagrassbankandrunupagainstafieldwall,whichhadflippedthecarontoits
roof.Irushedouttofindalocalwomanhangingupsidedownbyherseatbelt,bleeding
gentlyfromascalpwoundandmutteringdazedsentimentsalongthelinesofhavingto
gettothedentistandthatthiswouldn'tdoatall.WhileIwashoppingaroundandmaking
hyperventilatingnoises,twofarmersarrivedinaLandRoverandclimbedout.They
gentlyhauledtheladyfromthecarandsatherdownonarock.Thentheyrightedthecar
andmanoeuvreditoutoftheway.Whileoneofthemledtheladyofftohaveacupoftea
andgetherheadseentobyhiswife,theotherscatteredsawdustonanoilslick,directed
trafficforaminutetilltheroadwasclear,thenwinkedatmeandclimbedintohisLand
Roveranddroveoff.Thewholethingwasoverinlessthanfiveminutesandnever
involvedthepoliceorambulanceservicesorevenadoctor.Anhourorsolatersomeone
camealongwithatractorandhauledthecarawayanditwasasifithadneverhappened.
TheydothingsdifferentlyintheDales,yousee.Foronething,peoplewhoknowyou
comerightinyourhouse.Sometimestheyknockonceandshout'Hullo!'beforesticking
theirheadin,butoftentheydon'tevendothat.It'sanunusualexperiencetobestanding
atthekitchensinktalkingtoyourselfanimatedlyanddoinglavish,raisedlegfartsand
thenturningaroundtofindafreshpileofmaillyingonthekitchentable.AndIcan'ttell
youthenumberoftimesI'vehadtodartintothepantryinmyunderpantsatthesoundof
someone'sapproachandcoweredbreathlesswhilethey'veshouted,'Hullo!Hullo!
Anyonet'home?'Foracoupleof
minutesyoucanhearthemclumpingaroundinthekitchen,examiningthemessages
onthefridgeandholdingthemailtothelight.Thentheycomeovertothepantrydoor
andinaquietvoicetheysay,'Justtakingsixeggs,Billallright?'
WhenweannouncedtofriendsandcolleaguesinLondonthatweweremovingtoa
villageinYorkshire,asurprisingnumbermadeasourfaceandsaid:'Yorkshire?What,
withYorkshirepeople?Howvery...interesting.'Orwordstothateffect.
I'veneverunderstoodwhyYorkshirepeoplehavethisterriblereputationforbeing
meanspiritedanduncharitable.I'vealwaysfoundthemtobedecentandopen,andifyou
wanttoknowyourshortcomings,youwon'tfindmorehelpfulpeopleanywhere.It'strue
thattheydon'texactlysmotheryouwithaffection,whichtakesalittlegettingusedtoif
youhailfromamoregregariouspartoftheworld,likeanywhereelse.WhereIcome
fromintheAmericanMidwestifyoumoveintoavillageorlittletowneverybodycomes
toyourhousetowelcomeyoulikethisisthehappiestdayinthehistoryofthe
communityandeveryonebringsyouapie.Yougetapplepiesandcherrypiesand
chocolatecreampies.TherearepeopleintheMidwestwhomovehouseeverysixmonths
justtogetthepies.

InYorkshire,thatwouldneverhappen.Butgradually,littlebylittle,theyfindacorner
foryouintheirhearts,andbegintoacknowledgeyouwhentheydrivepastwithwhatI
calltheMalhamdalewave.Thisisanexcitingdayinthelifeofanynewarrival.Tomake
theMalhamdalewave,pretendforamomentthatyouaregraspingasteeringwheel.Now
veryslowlyextendtheindexfingerofyourrighthandasifyouwerehavingasmall
involuntaryspasm.That'sit.Itdoesn'tlooklikemuch,butitspeaksvolumes,believeme,
andIshallmissitverymuch.
Ilostmyselfinalittlereveriealongtheselinesandthen,withastart,IrealizedIwas
inSettleandmywifewaswavingtomefromtheplatform.Suddenlymytripwasover.I
hastenedfromthetraininastateofconfusion,likesomeonewakenedinthemiddleofthe
nightbyanemergency,andfeltasifthiswassomehownottherightterminationatall.
Thiswasalltooabrupt.
Wedrovehomeoverthetops,awinding,sixmiledriveofunutterableloveliness,up
ontotheWutheringHeightslikeexpansesaroundKirkbyFell,withboundlessviewsof
Northernglory,andthenbeganthedescentintotheserene,cuppedmajestyof
Malhamdale,thelittlelostworldthathadbeenmyhomeforsevenyears.Halfwaydown,I
hadmywifestopthecarbyafieldgate.Myfavouriteviewintheworldisthere,andIgot
outtohavealook.YoucanseealmostthewholeofMalhamdale;shelteredandsnug
beneathsteep,imposinghills,withitsarrowstraightdrystonewallsclimbingup
impossiblyambitiousslopes,itsclusteredhamlets,itswonderfullittletworoom
schoolhouse,theoldchurchwithitssycamoresandtumblingtombstones,theroofofmy
localpub,andinthecentreofitall,obscuredbytrees,ouroldstonehouse,whichitselfis
farolderthanmynativeland.
ItlookedsopeacefulandwonderfulthatIcouldalmosthavecried,andyetitwasonly
atinypartofthissmall,enchantedisland.Suddenly,inthespaceofamoment,Irealized
whatitwasthatIlovedaboutBritainwhichistosay,allofit.Everylastbitofit,good
andbadMarmite,villagefetes,countrylanes,peoplesaying'mustn'tgrumble'and'I'm
terriblysorrybut',peopleapologizingtomewhenIconkthemwithacarelesselbow,
milkinbottles,beansontoast,haymakinginJune,stingingnettles,seasidepiers,
OrdnanceSurveymaps,crumpets,hotwaterbottlesasanecessity,drizzlySundays
everybitofit.
Whatawondrousplacethiswascrazyasfuck,ofcourse,butadorabletothetiniest
degree.Whatothercountry,afterall,couldpossiblyhavecomeupwithplacenameslike
TootingBeeandFarleighWallop,oragamelikecricketthatgoesonforthreedaysand
neverseemstostart?Whoelsewouldthinkitnottheleastoddtomaketheirjudgeswear
littlemopsontheirheads,compeltheLordChancellortositonsomethingcalledthe
Woolsack,ortakeprideinanavalherowhosedyingwishwastobekissedbyafellow
namedHardy?('Please,Hardy,fullonthelips,withjustabitoftongue.')Whatother
nationintheworldcouldpossiblyhavegivenusWilliamShakespeare,porkpies,
ChristopherWren,WindsorGreatPark,theOpenUniversity,Gardeners'QuestionTime
andthechocolatedigestivebiscuit?None,ofcourse.
Howeasilywelosesightofallthis.WhatanenigmaBritainwillseemtohistorians
whentheylookbackonthesecondhalfofthetwentiethcentury.Hereisacountrythat
foughtandwonanoblewar,dismantledamightyempireinagenerallybenignand

enlightenedway,createdafarseeingwelfarestateinshort,didnearlyeverythingright
andthenspenttherestofthecenturylookingonitselfasachronicfailure.Thefactisthat
thisisstillthebestplaceintheworldformostthingstopostaletter,goforawalk,
watchtelevision,buyabook,ventureoutforadrink,gotoamuseum,usethebank,get
lost,seekhelp,orstandonahillsideandtakeinaview.
Allofthiscametomeinthespaceofalingeringmoment.I'vesaiditbeforeandI'll
sayitagain.Ilikeithere.IlikeitmorethanIcantellyou.AndthenIturnedfromthe
gateandgotinthecarandknewwithoutdoubtthatIwouldbeback.