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In Search of England
1930. 11th Edition. 286 pages. No dust jacket. Blue cloth. Pages are lightly tanned and thumbed at the edges, with light foxing. Binding has remained firm. Boards are a little rub worn, slight shelf wear to corners, spine and edges. Corners are a little bumped. Spine ends are mildly crushed. Light tanning to spine and edges. Slight forward lean to text block.
286 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 1927
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1056 people want to read
About the author
H.V. Morton
113 books50 followersHenry Canova Vollam (H.V.) Morton, FRSL, was a journalist and pioneering travel writer from Lancashire, England, best known for his prolific and popular books on Britain and the Holy Land. He first achieved fame in 1923 when, while working for the Daily Express, he scooped the official Times correspondent during the coverage of the opening of the Tomb of Tutankhamon by Howard Carter in Egypt.
In the late 1940s he moved to South Africa, settling near Cape Town in Somerset West and became a South African citizen.
In the late 1940s he moved to South Africa, settling near Cape Town in Somerset West and became a South African citizen.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 52 reviews
February 4, 2017
An enchanting journey through old England, Mr. Morton's meanderings and interactions with the village folk he meets along the way are nothing but enchanting!
August 25, 2013
In Search Of England by H.V. Morton
After many years abroad, H.V. Morton set out one morning in the mid-1920s, in his Morris two-seater car, on a tour of his home country.
This book was published on 2nd June 1927. It is now in its 40th printing with its original publisher in the UK. One British newspaper described the book as "travel writing at its best. Bill Bryson must weep when he reads it." I agree. The book is an absolute delight. The best travel writing inspires the reader to want to go and visit the places described. I came away from this book with a list of places to visit, or revisit. I was also inspired to look up many of the places he visited online. Many still look every bit as charming as H.V. Morton's descriptions.
H.V. Morton was writing at a time when people were less mobile. Interestingly he still describes traffic jams in the Lake District, and seems to encounter American tourists wherever he goes. He also stumbles across many old customs and skills that would have been in their death throes at the time he was writing, for example he describes flint-knappers in Norfolk, a skill that was already all but extinct.
Morton's writing is frequently sublime. It is fairly obvious that the reality cannot have been quite so perfect and that he must have made up some of the account. As the trauma of World War One started to diminish I suspect many readers wanted this type of pleasing portrait of England as a place of tradition, stability, history, country lanes, village greens, outstanding beauty, quirky characters and traditional pubs serving warm ale and cheese. The book's conclusion perfectly illustrates this romanticised view:
"I went out into the churchyard where the green stones nodded together, and I took up a handful of earth and felt it crumble and run through my fingers, thinking that as long as one English field lies against another there is something left in the world for a man to love.
'Well', smiled the vicar as he walked towards me between the yew trees, 'that, I am afraid, is all we have'.
'You have England', I said."
It is interesting to consider the extent to which it is acceptable to embellish or romanticise accounts of travel. For me it matters not a jot and I have no hesitation in recommending this delightful book.
After many years abroad, H.V. Morton set out one morning in the mid-1920s, in his Morris two-seater car, on a tour of his home country.
This book was published on 2nd June 1927. It is now in its 40th printing with its original publisher in the UK. One British newspaper described the book as "travel writing at its best. Bill Bryson must weep when he reads it." I agree. The book is an absolute delight. The best travel writing inspires the reader to want to go and visit the places described. I came away from this book with a list of places to visit, or revisit. I was also inspired to look up many of the places he visited online. Many still look every bit as charming as H.V. Morton's descriptions.
H.V. Morton was writing at a time when people were less mobile. Interestingly he still describes traffic jams in the Lake District, and seems to encounter American tourists wherever he goes. He also stumbles across many old customs and skills that would have been in their death throes at the time he was writing, for example he describes flint-knappers in Norfolk, a skill that was already all but extinct.
Morton's writing is frequently sublime. It is fairly obvious that the reality cannot have been quite so perfect and that he must have made up some of the account. As the trauma of World War One started to diminish I suspect many readers wanted this type of pleasing portrait of England as a place of tradition, stability, history, country lanes, village greens, outstanding beauty, quirky characters and traditional pubs serving warm ale and cheese. The book's conclusion perfectly illustrates this romanticised view:
"I went out into the churchyard where the green stones nodded together, and I took up a handful of earth and felt it crumble and run through my fingers, thinking that as long as one English field lies against another there is something left in the world for a man to love.
'Well', smiled the vicar as he walked towards me between the yew trees, 'that, I am afraid, is all we have'.
'You have England', I said."
It is interesting to consider the extent to which it is acceptable to embellish or romanticise accounts of travel. For me it matters not a jot and I have no hesitation in recommending this delightful book.
August 9, 2013
While ill and abroad, the author found that he missed England with a passion and, on his return, set out to find his version of the rural idyll. This is the story of his travels, by motor car, around England, which was first published in 1927. The 1920's were a time when coach trips were extremely popular and had made much of the countryside open to more people - even more so than the railways. The author both extols the delights of popular travel, while bemoaning the 'vulgarization' of the country. Although delightful, this is certainly not an unbiased version of the authors travels - his thoughts are clear for all to see. If he doesn't like a place, finds fault with a tourist spot or is unhappy, then you will certainly know about it. For example, he enters Wigan, "expecting the worst" and finds Norfolk, "the most suspicious county in England." Despite his many stereotypes and personal biases though, he is generally enthusiastic and willing to be pleased, as he strikes up endless conversations and searches out people and places of interest.
As the author says himself, it is a curious characteristic of the English scenery to change in a few miles. We certainly see a range of places through his eyes, from Stonehenge, to Dartmoor, the ruins of Glastonbury, Hadrian's Wall and endless inns, cathedrals and churches. Although this was written so long ago, it is reassuring to see that the generation gap was still the same, with a cockle gatherer claiming that they were the last of their kind as, "girls today want to be ladies.... and they don't like hard work either." Whether ill and writing essays while, "under the influence of a cocaine pill and a raw egg" or being side tracked by women luring him into teashops, "I believe the Crusades could have been stopped by a Dorsetshire tea," he is wonderful company. This travel book is a delight and will show you the England between the wars with a most enthusiastic and illuminating guide.
As the author says himself, it is a curious characteristic of the English scenery to change in a few miles. We certainly see a range of places through his eyes, from Stonehenge, to Dartmoor, the ruins of Glastonbury, Hadrian's Wall and endless inns, cathedrals and churches. Although this was written so long ago, it is reassuring to see that the generation gap was still the same, with a cockle gatherer claiming that they were the last of their kind as, "girls today want to be ladies.... and they don't like hard work either." Whether ill and writing essays while, "under the influence of a cocaine pill and a raw egg" or being side tracked by women luring him into teashops, "I believe the Crusades could have been stopped by a Dorsetshire tea," he is wonderful company. This travel book is a delight and will show you the England between the wars with a most enthusiastic and illuminating guide.
June 3, 2016
The England H V Morton is searching for is one untouched by the Industrial Revolution, which took some hunting for even in 1927. He revels in anywhere which has kept its sense of history. He tries to capture that history and give the feel of the places he visits.
Many of the places he visits are well known, on the 'tourist trail'; a few are quiet backwaters. I know all the places in the first three chapters very well, those in the next four well enough to recognise and have visited most of the rest at least once. Many details have changed since he wrote about these places, but this book is not about the details, it is about the atmosphere of each corner of England and that is often unchanged. There were many times when I thought he captured perfectly that atmosphere, that feel of a place, that sense of history, that England.
Morton motors around England from city to town to village, stops and chats to locals and tourists, ogles a few young women, relishes a few garrulous old men, diverts down country lanes which take his fancy and stays in a selection of hotels, inns ans private houses. Nothing very exciting happens, but he makes that very lack of excitement appealing.
This is a charming book.
It is very much his journey, he does not attempt to give an unbiased view, but he draws the reader in to travel with him and see England through his eyes and I enjoyed his company on the journey.
Many of the places he visits are well known, on the 'tourist trail'; a few are quiet backwaters. I know all the places in the first three chapters very well, those in the next four well enough to recognise and have visited most of the rest at least once. Many details have changed since he wrote about these places, but this book is not about the details, it is about the atmosphere of each corner of England and that is often unchanged. There were many times when I thought he captured perfectly that atmosphere, that feel of a place, that sense of history, that England.
Morton motors around England from city to town to village, stops and chats to locals and tourists, ogles a few young women, relishes a few garrulous old men, diverts down country lanes which take his fancy and stays in a selection of hotels, inns ans private houses. Nothing very exciting happens, but he makes that very lack of excitement appealing.
This is a charming book.
It is very much his journey, he does not attempt to give an unbiased view, but he draws the reader in to travel with him and see England through his eyes and I enjoyed his company on the journey.
Read
August 23, 2020A classic travelogue, rather dated but with some cracking lines and a healthy dislike of Wordsworth Useful for your 1920s countryside needs, and an interesting picture of the nostalgia of the times for an illusory great past. Also you have to appreciate the author's conviction that the right thing to do with the Glastonbury ruins would be to rebuild them as a modern Anglican chapel.
December 14, 2023
I am madly in love with H. V. Morton. (I refuse to give credence to those spurious claims that he was a philanderer and an anti-Semite.) I picture him driving in his sporty two-seater through the rolling hills of England, accompanied by a healthy knowledge of history, a playful imagination, and an eye for the beautiful. He starts each chapter with a most adorable summary:
Chapter One
I go in search of England. Describes how I leave the Place Where London Ends, meet a bowl-turner, stand beneath a gallows on a hill, enter Winchester, accept the wanderer's dole at St. Cross, and ends, quite properly, with a maiden in distress.
My 2002 edition had an insightful intro by Jan Morris, in which she cautions against trying to use this as a travel guide:
In Search of England is most decidedly a period piece, and that is half its charm. Foreigners who may be tempted to use it as a guide to modern England--even as a guide to the contemporary English flavor--will be stupefyingly disillusioned. . . . Not much that Morton describes or suggests is recognizable in today's England, beyond the bare bones of it, or the echo.
In a way, of course, she is right: gone are the days of pleasure drives and pockets of countryside untouched by industrialization, old women who comb the beach for clams, and evenings gathered beside the town's only radio.
But on the other hand, the fact that Morton had, even in 1927, to search for those pockets of tradition makes the time seem not so far away. And each time I looked a place or a custom up, unsure if it even existed in the present day, I found that it did.
In the first chapter, he visits the last traditional wood bowl-turner in England (a product called "treen"). Did he in fact catch a glimpse of an art that would die with its last practitioner? No! Today, (aptly named) Robin Wood has revived the tradition. (A bit romantically, Morton quotes the bowl-turner in his book as saying "unless you learn when you're a lad you can never catch the knack of it"; but it seems that Robin Wood has done just this.)
In Cornwall, he comes upon the Helston Floral, or Furry Dance, a parade and dance practiced since pagan times. Even Morton encounters "great crowds from all parts of the West Country." Today, the tradition continues.
Perhaps we can no longer visit Tintagel alone on a windy evening, borrowing a key from a lady in a tearoom, but plenty from Morton's world persists today. In many ways, the Twenties were the beginning of the modern era, and this, one of the first modern travel memoirs, is a lovely reminder of that.
Chapter One
I go in search of England. Describes how I leave the Place Where London Ends, meet a bowl-turner, stand beneath a gallows on a hill, enter Winchester, accept the wanderer's dole at St. Cross, and ends, quite properly, with a maiden in distress.
My 2002 edition had an insightful intro by Jan Morris, in which she cautions against trying to use this as a travel guide:
In Search of England is most decidedly a period piece, and that is half its charm. Foreigners who may be tempted to use it as a guide to modern England--even as a guide to the contemporary English flavor--will be stupefyingly disillusioned. . . . Not much that Morton describes or suggests is recognizable in today's England, beyond the bare bones of it, or the echo.
In a way, of course, she is right: gone are the days of pleasure drives and pockets of countryside untouched by industrialization, old women who comb the beach for clams, and evenings gathered beside the town's only radio.
But on the other hand, the fact that Morton had, even in 1927, to search for those pockets of tradition makes the time seem not so far away. And each time I looked a place or a custom up, unsure if it even existed in the present day, I found that it did.
In the first chapter, he visits the last traditional wood bowl-turner in England (a product called "treen"). Did he in fact catch a glimpse of an art that would die with its last practitioner? No! Today, (aptly named) Robin Wood has revived the tradition. (A bit romantically, Morton quotes the bowl-turner in his book as saying "unless you learn when you're a lad you can never catch the knack of it"; but it seems that Robin Wood has done just this.)
In Cornwall, he comes upon the Helston Floral, or Furry Dance, a parade and dance practiced since pagan times. Even Morton encounters "great crowds from all parts of the West Country." Today, the tradition continues.
Perhaps we can no longer visit Tintagel alone on a windy evening, borrowing a key from a lady in a tearoom, but plenty from Morton's world persists today. In many ways, the Twenties were the beginning of the modern era, and this, one of the first modern travel memoirs, is a lovely reminder of that.
June 15, 2025
H. V. Morton’s In Search of England (1927) is a record of a journey by car through a country on the cusp of enormous change, the most transformative element of which is implicit in the voyage itself, namely the way the internal combustion engine would alter much of the landscape and social structures that the author so values beyond recognition. It’s a romantic, largely joyful, occasionally smug, sometimes infuriating account marred by Morton’s predilection for ending sentences with exclamation marks! It’s also shot through with occasional moments that bring the reader suddenly up short with their poignant impact: the social transformation beginning to be made by the first wireless set in a remote Cornish village, or the almost unbearable description of Coventry as ‘a modern manufacturing city which is spread like thick butter over a slice of medievalism. It is a lucky city. Fire, which wiped old London from the map, has spared Coventry several of the finest buildings of their kind in the world’.
It’s hard to imagine what Morton, misty eyed romantic conservative that he is, would make of his beloved England almost a century later; certainly he would despair at the despoliation of much of the countryside by intensive farming and the tons of litter discarded alongside almost every main road, but as I write this in the Norfolk Broads there’s part of me that thinks there is still much that he would recognise and value, particularly when it comes to the essential goodness of most people and the continuation of much rural life and the increasing efforts among many agencies - National Parks, the National Trust, regional wildlife trusts among others to protect it and the living environment.
It’s hard to imagine what Morton, misty eyed romantic conservative that he is, would make of his beloved England almost a century later; certainly he would despair at the despoliation of much of the countryside by intensive farming and the tons of litter discarded alongside almost every main road, but as I write this in the Norfolk Broads there’s part of me that thinks there is still much that he would recognise and value, particularly when it comes to the essential goodness of most people and the continuation of much rural life and the increasing efforts among many agencies - National Parks, the National Trust, regional wildlife trusts among others to protect it and the living environment.
September 1, 2013
H. V. Morton starts the book with the reason why he wrote it. Believing he was dying in Palestine, and in pain, the style of his writing is established by him describing his homesickness for England, forgetting the pain in his neck for the pain in his heart.
He realised he hadn't written about his home country and he knew so little about England. He had wandered the world and neglected things near at home.
He vowed to go in search of England.
Travelling by car he starts his journey in the south where Christianity entered Britain and ends in the north. Written in beautiful prose, a charming, elegant style of writing. His style takes one back to that time. Reading it brought English music to mind, even Donovan and Pink Floyd. Reading through In Search of England again, it's the expressions and words of the time that have been forgotten that stand out, like 'Jove's bolts!' The vernacular of the times, the early Twentieth century, written in 1927. I have a hardcover 1949 edition still with its dust jacket printed in Great Britain which is most appropriate, I think, by Jove.
Travel writing is a flexible genre - compare H.V. Morton to Bill Bryson. Bryson is good at bringing humour into his observations. Morton is the master at illustrating the character of a place. The people, the towns and it's ways, always with interesting details of history, and not just his native land but with all his books. I recommend 'In Search of Italy', 'A Traveller in Rome', and 'A Stranger in Spain'. (I've only started on Spain).
Interesting to learn about Portland quarries. The stone that built London.
When I read "…English cities through whose streets history has been flowing for centuries…." I think
Britain and the English language have given the world so much.
He realised he hadn't written about his home country and he knew so little about England. He had wandered the world and neglected things near at home.
He vowed to go in search of England.
Travelling by car he starts his journey in the south where Christianity entered Britain and ends in the north. Written in beautiful prose, a charming, elegant style of writing. His style takes one back to that time. Reading it brought English music to mind, even Donovan and Pink Floyd. Reading through In Search of England again, it's the expressions and words of the time that have been forgotten that stand out, like 'Jove's bolts!' The vernacular of the times, the early Twentieth century, written in 1927. I have a hardcover 1949 edition still with its dust jacket printed in Great Britain which is most appropriate, I think, by Jove.
Travel writing is a flexible genre - compare H.V. Morton to Bill Bryson. Bryson is good at bringing humour into his observations. Morton is the master at illustrating the character of a place. The people, the towns and it's ways, always with interesting details of history, and not just his native land but with all his books. I recommend 'In Search of Italy', 'A Traveller in Rome', and 'A Stranger in Spain'. (I've only started on Spain).
Interesting to learn about Portland quarries. The stone that built London.
When I read "…English cities through whose streets history has been flowing for centuries…." I think
Britain and the English language have given the world so much.
December 1, 2012
"H. V. Morton made his name as one of the twentieth century's most wonderfully companionable travel writers with In Search of England, a book which has been through countless impressions and still stands as possibly the very best introduction to the country and its people.
"'I have gone round England like a magpip,' writes Morton, 'picking up the bright things that pleased me. A glance at the route followed will prove that this is not a guide book, and a glance at the contents will expose me to the scorn of local patriots who will see, with incredulous rage, that on many an occasion I passed silently through their favorite village. That was inevitable. It was a moody holiday, and I followed the roads; some of them led me aright and some astray. The first were the most useful; the others were the most interesting.'
"A vivid, engaging, witty and informative as it was on its first publication over seventy years ago, Morton's In Search of England ... like his books on Wales, Scotland and Ireland ... remains both an essential introduction to the country, and a sheer delight for anyone interested in the very best that travel writing can offer."
~~back cover
It was indeed a wonderful book, full of odd nooks and crannys, unexpected delights, and whimsical musings. If anything, it was too short -- most villages were covered in just a few pages, leaving me hungry to know more.
"'I have gone round England like a magpip,' writes Morton, 'picking up the bright things that pleased me. A glance at the route followed will prove that this is not a guide book, and a glance at the contents will expose me to the scorn of local patriots who will see, with incredulous rage, that on many an occasion I passed silently through their favorite village. That was inevitable. It was a moody holiday, and I followed the roads; some of them led me aright and some astray. The first were the most useful; the others were the most interesting.'
"A vivid, engaging, witty and informative as it was on its first publication over seventy years ago, Morton's In Search of England ... like his books on Wales, Scotland and Ireland ... remains both an essential introduction to the country, and a sheer delight for anyone interested in the very best that travel writing can offer."
~~back cover
It was indeed a wonderful book, full of odd nooks and crannys, unexpected delights, and whimsical musings. If anything, it was too short -- most villages were covered in just a few pages, leaving me hungry to know more.
June 21, 2025
In Search of England by H.V. Morton:
So here I am, in Charlotte, North Carolina aged thirty-two years old, writing a review for a book I just read that details a journalist's travels around England in 1927, nearly 100 years ago. Why, would I ever read something like this? Why is it still relevant? Specifically, I'm going on yet another trip to England in two months, and I felt that this would be a good read to get me ready. To put it simply and in more broader terms, good books, even good travel books, always remain relevant. This book is a direct window into the past and it's enchanting. Let me put it into perspective for you.
In the 1920s, England was damaged but victorious from World War I (or as Morton calls it, "The War"), the British Empire was the largest any had ever been and was the super power on Earth. Nazism and World War II were far off in the horizon, unimaginable at that time. Even the Great Depression was a few years away. To read a book that took place in such a specific time is enthralling because we know so much now that the author didn't know. Conversely, he knows more than we will ever know too, because the England he writes about is long gone.
It seems that many in Morton's generation, J.R.R. Tolkien was maybe the most prolific of them, were desperately trying to find "Merrie Olde England" and were disgusted at the sites of gasworks, factories, and other aspects of the modern world. They both dreamed of an England of the past. I will venture to say that Morton was far less anachronistic than Tolkien, as he wrote this book while winding around England in a "motor car". Both however, were veterans who had seen the horrors of war and machines.
Morton's England is an England of May Day Fairs, Morris Dancing, strong dialects, green fields, cathedrals, ghost tales, and much more. This was an England that was rapidly fading into twilight in his time. An England where towns and villages were shrinking, cities were growing and spreading, dialects were dying, and social norms were changing. Morris begins his journey where "London ends" and winds in a clock-wise circle. He goes to many places, a few of whom I've been fortunate enough to go to myself.
Morton takes you to abbeys and ruined castles. He takes you to distant Cornwall, where a wireless radio in a small village is the only one of its kind. He takes you to Glastonbury, where Christ's message first came to England and where King Arthur was said to live. You will go to York, Coventry (not yet destroyed by the Germans), Peterborough, Norwich, and many other places. You will see Roman ruins like Hadrian's Wall on the northern border and Uriconium on the Welsh border. Most interestingly, Lincoln, England was originally named Lindum Colonia (which the modern name was derived from). You will see cathedral after cathedral, which Morton clearly loves and describes in detail. His flourishing writing style truly makes you feel like you are right there with him all those years ago.
Morton meets many characters, from town folk to yokels in the country. He meets vicars and Londoners on holiday. Mainly, it felt like he met a lot of Americans. It doesn't shock me that Americans were touring England in the 1920s, I knew that they were, but in the numbers that he describes...wow. He seemed to run into us at every stop.
I've already mentioned that this is a great window into a place that no longer exists, which is true and sad. Another key takeaway is Morton's writing style, which is still remarkably readable in the modern day. There were a few words and phrases I had to look up, but over all, I felt comfortable reading this book. You must have a strong sense of English history to fully appreciate it. Native Brits will probably get on better than me due to British slang.
Morton, of course, has his prejudices. There is no judgement for me, as he lived a long time ago and was of a completely different era and place. His comments on women would certainly rattle some though.
I will conclude this by saying that I'm eager to know what Morton would think of England today, as multiculturalism and atheism has starkly changed the country in just a few generations. He would probably not be happy, but I'm sure he'd be happy with the fact that many of the places he visited are still able to be visited today. Morton heavily influenced Bill Bryson, one of my favorite authors, and I would love for someone to write a book tracing Morton's exact route around England in modern times.
So here I am, in Charlotte, North Carolina aged thirty-two years old, writing a review for a book I just read that details a journalist's travels around England in 1927, nearly 100 years ago. Why, would I ever read something like this? Why is it still relevant? Specifically, I'm going on yet another trip to England in two months, and I felt that this would be a good read to get me ready. To put it simply and in more broader terms, good books, even good travel books, always remain relevant. This book is a direct window into the past and it's enchanting. Let me put it into perspective for you.
In the 1920s, England was damaged but victorious from World War I (or as Morton calls it, "The War"), the British Empire was the largest any had ever been and was the super power on Earth. Nazism and World War II were far off in the horizon, unimaginable at that time. Even the Great Depression was a few years away. To read a book that took place in such a specific time is enthralling because we know so much now that the author didn't know. Conversely, he knows more than we will ever know too, because the England he writes about is long gone.
It seems that many in Morton's generation, J.R.R. Tolkien was maybe the most prolific of them, were desperately trying to find "Merrie Olde England" and were disgusted at the sites of gasworks, factories, and other aspects of the modern world. They both dreamed of an England of the past. I will venture to say that Morton was far less anachronistic than Tolkien, as he wrote this book while winding around England in a "motor car". Both however, were veterans who had seen the horrors of war and machines.
Morton's England is an England of May Day Fairs, Morris Dancing, strong dialects, green fields, cathedrals, ghost tales, and much more. This was an England that was rapidly fading into twilight in his time. An England where towns and villages were shrinking, cities were growing and spreading, dialects were dying, and social norms were changing. Morris begins his journey where "London ends" and winds in a clock-wise circle. He goes to many places, a few of whom I've been fortunate enough to go to myself.
Morton takes you to abbeys and ruined castles. He takes you to distant Cornwall, where a wireless radio in a small village is the only one of its kind. He takes you to Glastonbury, where Christ's message first came to England and where King Arthur was said to live. You will go to York, Coventry (not yet destroyed by the Germans), Peterborough, Norwich, and many other places. You will see Roman ruins like Hadrian's Wall on the northern border and Uriconium on the Welsh border. Most interestingly, Lincoln, England was originally named Lindum Colonia (which the modern name was derived from). You will see cathedral after cathedral, which Morton clearly loves and describes in detail. His flourishing writing style truly makes you feel like you are right there with him all those years ago.
Morton meets many characters, from town folk to yokels in the country. He meets vicars and Londoners on holiday. Mainly, it felt like he met a lot of Americans. It doesn't shock me that Americans were touring England in the 1920s, I knew that they were, but in the numbers that he describes...wow. He seemed to run into us at every stop.
I've already mentioned that this is a great window into a place that no longer exists, which is true and sad. Another key takeaway is Morton's writing style, which is still remarkably readable in the modern day. There were a few words and phrases I had to look up, but over all, I felt comfortable reading this book. You must have a strong sense of English history to fully appreciate it. Native Brits will probably get on better than me due to British slang.
Morton, of course, has his prejudices. There is no judgement for me, as he lived a long time ago and was of a completely different era and place. His comments on women would certainly rattle some though.
I will conclude this by saying that I'm eager to know what Morton would think of England today, as multiculturalism and atheism has starkly changed the country in just a few generations. He would probably not be happy, but I'm sure he'd be happy with the fact that many of the places he visited are still able to be visited today. Morton heavily influenced Bill Bryson, one of my favorite authors, and I would love for someone to write a book tracing Morton's exact route around England in modern times.
November 23, 2021
I did not enjoy this book as much as I did “In Search of Scotland” but this is because Scotland is my native land and I knew many of the places the author visited and described.
But Morton is a wonderful writer with amazing powers of perception and description so I imagine everything he writes is worth reading. He also observes aspects no-one else does and enlightens us about ghosts and hauntings to be encountered in certain places.
The book was first published in 1927 so it is extremely outdated, if that is the correct word.
Morton has a superb grasp of history, and if he has a fault, it is that he assumes we also know our English history to the same extent as he does, which I for one do not. It would have been better had he himself had explained more of the pertinent historical details than he does.
He made his trip around England subsequent to believing he was dying of meningitis of Palestine. There he vowed that if he survived he would return to the lanes, villages, hedges and grass of England that he loved.
He begins his trip in London. He states: “It does not matter where I go, for it is all England”,
I will here refer to but a few of the many places he visits and historical information he divulges.
He is exceedingly fond of cathedrals so he visits many and tells us his views of them, He begins with Winchester Cathedral.
He also saw the Great Hall of the Castle of Winchester. It is not Norman but early English. It stood on the “traditional Castle of King Arthur”.
“The Round Table of King Arthur has hung for over five hundred years on the walls of Winchester Hall. (I assume he means a portrait of it.)
At the Hospital of St. Cross he asks for the “wayfarer’s dole” and is given ale and bread. It was founded in 1136 by Henry de Blois to shelter thirteen poor feeble men, give them garments and beds, bread, three dishes at dinner and one at supper, and “drink of good stuff”. Also food and drink to poor wanderers, which is what Morton asked for and received.
About thirty wayfarers, mostly tramps, received the dole each day.
H.V. visits Beaulieu Abbey, which the villagers of Beaulieu believe to be haunted.
A young woman lives alone in the ruins of the abbey; she often hears steps and the sound of a key in the night. She hears the singing of the monks who used to sleep there in cells and it has also been heard by two otherwise sceptical friends.
We’re told that H.V.’s nurse called him “Master Henry”, so I’ll call him “Henry” from now on.
Henry visits Stonehenge, where he feels that horrible rites were performed.
In Plymouth he sees the spot from which the Mayflower sailed in 1620. He finds a house where some of the Pilgrim Fathers spent the night before they sailed; it is called “Mayflower House”.
Henry reaches Cornwall. “Like the Welsh, these people (of Cornwall) possess a fine Celtic flency, so that their lies are more convincing than a Saxon truth”.
Re the names of the towns – St.Austell. St. Anthony, St. Mawes, St. Ives, etc, etc, he asks “Is there a saintlier country on earth?”
He is given the key to King Arthur’s Castle of Tintagel (pronounced Tintadgel), actually just fragments of an ancient wall.
He found it to be the most disappointing castle in England – a disappointing ruin, but a great experience.
The Cornish people refer to other parts of England as “England”, as though Cornwall was not England.
Henry visits Glastonbury, claimed to be the heart chakra of Britain, or is it the world? (My comment, not Henry’s.) I know it has an amazing energy since I’ve been there myself, and could discern the energy from miles away.
Henry tells us that it was to Avalon that “the hooded queens bore the dying Arthur, his scabbard empty of Excalibur”.
He reveals that he wrote the passage about Glastonbury in the ruins of Glastonbury Abbey. A few “tumbled” walls and the beautiful St. Mary’s Chapel represent all that remains of the Abbey.
He states that for centuries Glastonbury was one of the holiest places on Earth – this perhaps explains its palpable divine energy. The bones of Arthur and Guinevere are said to have been buried beneath the high altar.
Behind the ruined abbey, at the foot of the Tor, is the mineral spring which was one of the wonders of the world.
Henry wonders why there is no guide available to tell people that “this quiet field is the only spot in England linked by legend with a man who knew Jesus Christ". Joseph of Arimathaea who had laid Christ in the tomb came in AD 61 to preach the Gospel in England; he came with the chalice of the Last Supper which had held the Sacred Blood from the Cross.
Joseph placed his staff in the earth, it took root and grew into the Glastonbury Thorn.
In Bath, there is a Pump Room, an abbey and lots of bath chairs.
The Pump Room has been open since 1796 for those with gout, rheumatism and sciatica.
Henry had treatment in one of the hot baths, though he didn’t really have any symptoms – but afterwards he had a sharp pain in the knee.
Hot water bubbles up to Bath, reportedly because there is a deep crack in the crust of the Earth through which volcanic gases escape; these turn into hot water as they reach Bath.
He thinks that the cure has given him rheumatism!
In the choir of Worcester Cathedral lies the notorious King John. He directed that his body be buried between the tombs of Worcester’s two saints, St. Oswald and St. Wulstan. The saints have long disappeared but “the bones of the wicked king” remain.
John realized it was unlikely that he would get to heaven, and, trying to “hoodwink” the doorkeeper of Paradise, ordered that he be buried in a monk’s gown.
He sees a sign To Gretna Green 10 miles” and cannot resist crossing the Border to visit it. People get married at the blacksmith’s shop. A large crowd stands in front of it.
The caretaker told Henry there had been 22 marriages that year. If two people affirm their willingness to marry before witnesses, they can be married.
Henry has an imaginary conversation with a centurion who served on the Wall of Hadrian about his building the Wall – Hadrian's Wall.
He is much impressed with the Wall. It was the north boundary wall of the Roman Empire”. He thinks it is the most marvellous engineering enterprise in the country and that it should be made “a guarded ancient monument”. The weather is rotting it slowly.
He states that Durham Cathedral is “stupendous” - the most wonderful Norman church he has ever seen.
St. Cuthbert’s tomb lies in Durham Cathedral. He died in A.D. 687. Like many of the early saints, St. Cuthbert hated women. (To my mind, a person who hates anyone is not a saint.)
Henry arrives at York and finds an astonishingly beautiful medieval town. “York is too good to be true.”
He feels that Yorkshire itself is not a county, but a country (like Cornwall).
In Petersborough Cathedral he finds the tomb of Katharine of Aragon, wife of Henry VIII. She was a “poor, lonely lady, a miserable pawn in a political game.” He feels that unhappy Katherine deserves a more queenly tomb.
I will not go into more details, but I will sum up by stating that H.V. Morton is an illustrious travel writer and this book like all his others is wonderfully written; his knowledge of British history is unsurpassed; and he regales us with numerous personal anecdotes about the places he visits. I highly recommend that you read the book if you’re at all interested in England and appreciate good writing.
But Morton is a wonderful writer with amazing powers of perception and description so I imagine everything he writes is worth reading. He also observes aspects no-one else does and enlightens us about ghosts and hauntings to be encountered in certain places.
The book was first published in 1927 so it is extremely outdated, if that is the correct word.
Morton has a superb grasp of history, and if he has a fault, it is that he assumes we also know our English history to the same extent as he does, which I for one do not. It would have been better had he himself had explained more of the pertinent historical details than he does.
He made his trip around England subsequent to believing he was dying of meningitis of Palestine. There he vowed that if he survived he would return to the lanes, villages, hedges and grass of England that he loved.
He begins his trip in London. He states: “It does not matter where I go, for it is all England”,
I will here refer to but a few of the many places he visits and historical information he divulges.
He is exceedingly fond of cathedrals so he visits many and tells us his views of them, He begins with Winchester Cathedral.
He also saw the Great Hall of the Castle of Winchester. It is not Norman but early English. It stood on the “traditional Castle of King Arthur”.
“The Round Table of King Arthur has hung for over five hundred years on the walls of Winchester Hall. (I assume he means a portrait of it.)
At the Hospital of St. Cross he asks for the “wayfarer’s dole” and is given ale and bread. It was founded in 1136 by Henry de Blois to shelter thirteen poor feeble men, give them garments and beds, bread, three dishes at dinner and one at supper, and “drink of good stuff”. Also food and drink to poor wanderers, which is what Morton asked for and received.
About thirty wayfarers, mostly tramps, received the dole each day.
H.V. visits Beaulieu Abbey, which the villagers of Beaulieu believe to be haunted.
A young woman lives alone in the ruins of the abbey; she often hears steps and the sound of a key in the night. She hears the singing of the monks who used to sleep there in cells and it has also been heard by two otherwise sceptical friends.
We’re told that H.V.’s nurse called him “Master Henry”, so I’ll call him “Henry” from now on.
Henry visits Stonehenge, where he feels that horrible rites were performed.
In Plymouth he sees the spot from which the Mayflower sailed in 1620. He finds a house where some of the Pilgrim Fathers spent the night before they sailed; it is called “Mayflower House”.
Henry reaches Cornwall. “Like the Welsh, these people (of Cornwall) possess a fine Celtic flency, so that their lies are more convincing than a Saxon truth”.
Re the names of the towns – St.Austell. St. Anthony, St. Mawes, St. Ives, etc, etc, he asks “Is there a saintlier country on earth?”
He is given the key to King Arthur’s Castle of Tintagel (pronounced Tintadgel), actually just fragments of an ancient wall.
He found it to be the most disappointing castle in England – a disappointing ruin, but a great experience.
The Cornish people refer to other parts of England as “England”, as though Cornwall was not England.
Henry visits Glastonbury, claimed to be the heart chakra of Britain, or is it the world? (My comment, not Henry’s.) I know it has an amazing energy since I’ve been there myself, and could discern the energy from miles away.
Henry tells us that it was to Avalon that “the hooded queens bore the dying Arthur, his scabbard empty of Excalibur”.
He reveals that he wrote the passage about Glastonbury in the ruins of Glastonbury Abbey. A few “tumbled” walls and the beautiful St. Mary’s Chapel represent all that remains of the Abbey.
He states that for centuries Glastonbury was one of the holiest places on Earth – this perhaps explains its palpable divine energy. The bones of Arthur and Guinevere are said to have been buried beneath the high altar.
Behind the ruined abbey, at the foot of the Tor, is the mineral spring which was one of the wonders of the world.
Henry wonders why there is no guide available to tell people that “this quiet field is the only spot in England linked by legend with a man who knew Jesus Christ". Joseph of Arimathaea who had laid Christ in the tomb came in AD 61 to preach the Gospel in England; he came with the chalice of the Last Supper which had held the Sacred Blood from the Cross.
Joseph placed his staff in the earth, it took root and grew into the Glastonbury Thorn.
In Bath, there is a Pump Room, an abbey and lots of bath chairs.
The Pump Room has been open since 1796 for those with gout, rheumatism and sciatica.
Henry had treatment in one of the hot baths, though he didn’t really have any symptoms – but afterwards he had a sharp pain in the knee.
Hot water bubbles up to Bath, reportedly because there is a deep crack in the crust of the Earth through which volcanic gases escape; these turn into hot water as they reach Bath.
He thinks that the cure has given him rheumatism!
In the choir of Worcester Cathedral lies the notorious King John. He directed that his body be buried between the tombs of Worcester’s two saints, St. Oswald and St. Wulstan. The saints have long disappeared but “the bones of the wicked king” remain.
John realized it was unlikely that he would get to heaven, and, trying to “hoodwink” the doorkeeper of Paradise, ordered that he be buried in a monk’s gown.
He sees a sign To Gretna Green 10 miles” and cannot resist crossing the Border to visit it. People get married at the blacksmith’s shop. A large crowd stands in front of it.
The caretaker told Henry there had been 22 marriages that year. If two people affirm their willingness to marry before witnesses, they can be married.
Henry has an imaginary conversation with a centurion who served on the Wall of Hadrian about his building the Wall – Hadrian's Wall.
He is much impressed with the Wall. It was the north boundary wall of the Roman Empire”. He thinks it is the most marvellous engineering enterprise in the country and that it should be made “a guarded ancient monument”. The weather is rotting it slowly.
He states that Durham Cathedral is “stupendous” - the most wonderful Norman church he has ever seen.
St. Cuthbert’s tomb lies in Durham Cathedral. He died in A.D. 687. Like many of the early saints, St. Cuthbert hated women. (To my mind, a person who hates anyone is not a saint.)
Henry arrives at York and finds an astonishingly beautiful medieval town. “York is too good to be true.”
He feels that Yorkshire itself is not a county, but a country (like Cornwall).
In Petersborough Cathedral he finds the tomb of Katharine of Aragon, wife of Henry VIII. She was a “poor, lonely lady, a miserable pawn in a political game.” He feels that unhappy Katherine deserves a more queenly tomb.
I will not go into more details, but I will sum up by stating that H.V. Morton is an illustrious travel writer and this book like all his others is wonderfully written; his knowledge of British history is unsurpassed; and he regales us with numerous personal anecdotes about the places he visits. I highly recommend that you read the book if you’re at all interested in England and appreciate good writing.
December 31, 2023
tl;dr:
- Not as good as In Search of Scotland.
- The author sometimes verges on the insufferable, but is usually funny.
- Succeeds in capturing something fundamental about England.
First off, the route he takes is weird - the first half of the book is in the West Country and he spends about 15% of his trip in the north. Most of which he spends deriding the large industrial towns and extolling the virtues of smaller medieval cities. This makes the book really a book about rural southern England, not about England in general.
BUT, he does capture something so real about what it is that makes England so beautiful, and this is where the book really shines:
“as long as one English field lies against another there is something left in the world for a man to love”
He very nearly makes the leap that what makes the countryside beautiful is also present in the industrial cities (see his trip to Wigan) but I suppose he can’t see past his posh twat-ness or something and is too snooty and closed off to see much beauty (or even much point) in the lives and towns of most working class people in England at the time.
His poshness is much of what makes this book charming though. he’s just a bumbling upper class man who usually meets people who seem to show him nothing but warmth, but whom he very often has some kind of catty/faggy comment to make about when he’s come to draft his text after getting home. Sometimes these comments are wildly offensive (especially towards Americans, who he is obsessed with and, most problematically, particularly classist and misogynistic).
Kind of fabulous to read in print but, of course, I would not want to meet or spend any time with this man
- Not as good as In Search of Scotland.
- The author sometimes verges on the insufferable, but is usually funny.
- Succeeds in capturing something fundamental about England.
First off, the route he takes is weird - the first half of the book is in the West Country and he spends about 15% of his trip in the north. Most of which he spends deriding the large industrial towns and extolling the virtues of smaller medieval cities. This makes the book really a book about rural southern England, not about England in general.
BUT, he does capture something so real about what it is that makes England so beautiful, and this is where the book really shines:
“as long as one English field lies against another there is something left in the world for a man to love”
He very nearly makes the leap that what makes the countryside beautiful is also present in the industrial cities (see his trip to Wigan) but I suppose he can’t see past his posh twat-ness or something and is too snooty and closed off to see much beauty (or even much point) in the lives and towns of most working class people in England at the time.
His poshness is much of what makes this book charming though. he’s just a bumbling upper class man who usually meets people who seem to show him nothing but warmth, but whom he very often has some kind of catty/faggy comment to make about when he’s come to draft his text after getting home. Sometimes these comments are wildly offensive (especially towards Americans, who he is obsessed with and, most problematically, particularly classist and misogynistic).
Kind of fabulous to read in print but, of course, I would not want to meet or spend any time with this man
Read
February 21, 2025A Personal Preamble:
HV Morton's In Search Of England winked at me from my Mum's bookcase for years. On the one hand it seemed like such a predictably Anglo-utopian title to be on my Mum's bookshelf. (it would make a perfect title for her own life story.) On the other hand, part of me wanted to join that search. I pulled it out and flicked through it more than once on my visits, especially in Mum's final years in Busker's Avenue, only to slide it back onto the shelf. Not now. Not yet...
When the sad time came to clear out the home for sale, I held this blue volume in my hand. It teetered over the fruit box precipice of eternal exile or family keepsake. I settled on the latter.
So this is Mum's book, literally as well as in spirit. It is English meadows and thatched cottages, towering spires keeping watch over yew forests, ancient vicars with verdant gardens, genial antiquarians with colourful tales of a millennia of monarchs, villages where everyone who passes shares a cheerful, "Good day to you, Joan!"... But it also has a deliciously wicked twist of British cheek. I can hear Mum following up one of Morton's clever, restrained yet irreverent funny bits with a relishing, "Isn't that lovely?" (A typically genteel, Joan-ish way of saying, "That cracked me up!")
Now. Do I risk a review, or just let my little Preamble stand?
I decided to delete what I'd already written. (I've even passed on stars, to leave this space unsullied by opinion.) If you want a review of this book, there are loads others.
I choose to use this space to feature my Mum, Joan Margaret Buchanan, an avid, lifelong reader who kindly and I'm sure willingly (albeit unknowingly) gifted me her copy. She died three years ago. But she was present in every page.
HV Morton's In Search Of England winked at me from my Mum's bookcase for years. On the one hand it seemed like such a predictably Anglo-utopian title to be on my Mum's bookshelf. (it would make a perfect title for her own life story.) On the other hand, part of me wanted to join that search. I pulled it out and flicked through it more than once on my visits, especially in Mum's final years in Busker's Avenue, only to slide it back onto the shelf. Not now. Not yet...
When the sad time came to clear out the home for sale, I held this blue volume in my hand. It teetered over the fruit box precipice of eternal exile or family keepsake. I settled on the latter.
So this is Mum's book, literally as well as in spirit. It is English meadows and thatched cottages, towering spires keeping watch over yew forests, ancient vicars with verdant gardens, genial antiquarians with colourful tales of a millennia of monarchs, villages where everyone who passes shares a cheerful, "Good day to you, Joan!"... But it also has a deliciously wicked twist of British cheek. I can hear Mum following up one of Morton's clever, restrained yet irreverent funny bits with a relishing, "Isn't that lovely?" (A typically genteel, Joan-ish way of saying, "That cracked me up!")
Now. Do I risk a review, or just let my little Preamble stand?
I decided to delete what I'd already written. (I've even passed on stars, to leave this space unsullied by opinion.) If you want a review of this book, there are loads others.
I choose to use this space to feature my Mum, Joan Margaret Buchanan, an avid, lifelong reader who kindly and I'm sure willingly (albeit unknowingly) gifted me her copy. She died three years ago. But she was present in every page.
July 12, 2025
It is done.
January 14, 2024
This is an absolute classic of travel writing, one that I came across by chance in Oxford one afternoon, and absolutely had to read. It was written almost one hundred years ago, in those halcyon days between the two world wars.
Here the author embarks upon a car journey across the length and breadth of England, in search of the essence of his native land. Once you get past the rather arcane phrasing and his patronising attitude to women, it’s quite a charming tale. Even if there does seem to be a fixation with churches and with the royal associations of each place.
For this reader the most interesting chapters, the ones where I feel Morton comes closest to discovering the real England, are where he finds himself in small villages in the West Country, or in the eerie silence of East Anglia. Or indeed on the legendary hill of Glastonbury - famed then for something rather more enchanting than its festival.
It’s perhaps a shame that his journey fails to encompass the two famous university cities of Oxford and Cambridge, or the delights of regency Brighton. These would most definitely be places I’d have included.
Obviously the England described within these covers has radically changed, and Morton wouldn’t recognise the country today. In the post war era the England he knew became more cosmopolitan, modernised, technically advanced, and in some respects more tolerant. At least, until recent years, when a resurgence of the nationalist xenophobia of a century ago has led to Brexit and this government’s shameful immigration policy.
Nevertheless, a classic of the travel writing genre, a wonderful read, a trip back to a simpler time, possibly a more pleasant time to have been alive in England. Indeed a treasure, one to read again and again. Marvellous.
October 17, 2021
I was on a 1200 mile cycling trip this summer. Traversing the UK's remote mountain towns and villages, streaking down Scottish coastal highways and winding through Yorkshires steepest single tracks. With most of the days spent trying to travel as many miles as possible, reading was a sleeping-bag luxury after the sun went down.
On trips like these, weight is everything. I had already had to send home my copy of Norwegian Wood; far too large a book to be stuffing into the bikepacking bag (what was I thinking?), and perhaps not quite the right genre for summer adventuring. Initially, the dazzling blue bays of Lochinever, Ullapool and Shieldag, and the majestic roofs of the Highlands were all I could process. I was fine without a book.
But after crossing back into England, now a good week without Murakami, I knew I needed to find something else to read. I had company from Berwick to Haltwhistle, but with persistent rain forecast one morning just south of Hadrian's wall, my travel companion headed to the station.
I had an hour of rapid riding to get to Alston, the highest market town in England, way up at 1000ft above sea level in the North Pennines. The soaking started 5 mins before I arrived, so I was relieved to sneak into a cosy teashop to begin the several hour wait for the skies to clear. The owner told me there was little bookshop I could try round the corner.
It turned out to be a rickety, three storied house, stuffed with books on all floors. I was foraging for something British, travel related and of a particular small size. In Search of England was under a pile of larger books in one corner of the 3rd floor. Someone must've seen me coming.
I found a warm corner table in a place offering huge fried vegan breakfasts, hot coffee and orange juice. The rain continued lashing down outside. But I was more than happy to delve deep into H.V. Morton's England of 94 years before, revelling in the similarity of his rural journey of 1927, and mine of 2021.
This was a case of living the book you're reading. It didn't disappoint.
On trips like these, weight is everything. I had already had to send home my copy of Norwegian Wood; far too large a book to be stuffing into the bikepacking bag (what was I thinking?), and perhaps not quite the right genre for summer adventuring. Initially, the dazzling blue bays of Lochinever, Ullapool and Shieldag, and the majestic roofs of the Highlands were all I could process. I was fine without a book.
But after crossing back into England, now a good week without Murakami, I knew I needed to find something else to read. I had company from Berwick to Haltwhistle, but with persistent rain forecast one morning just south of Hadrian's wall, my travel companion headed to the station.
I had an hour of rapid riding to get to Alston, the highest market town in England, way up at 1000ft above sea level in the North Pennines. The soaking started 5 mins before I arrived, so I was relieved to sneak into a cosy teashop to begin the several hour wait for the skies to clear. The owner told me there was little bookshop I could try round the corner.
It turned out to be a rickety, three storied house, stuffed with books on all floors. I was foraging for something British, travel related and of a particular small size. In Search of England was under a pile of larger books in one corner of the 3rd floor. Someone must've seen me coming.
I found a warm corner table in a place offering huge fried vegan breakfasts, hot coffee and orange juice. The rain continued lashing down outside. But I was more than happy to delve deep into H.V. Morton's England of 94 years before, revelling in the similarity of his rural journey of 1927, and mine of 2021.
This was a case of living the book you're reading. It didn't disappoint.
February 4, 2016
This book was published in 1935, based on the author's travels in the 1920s, so this aspect was interesting, and when the comparison is made to our lives today it is even more so. The author is treated to a wireless evening one night , which was apparently a big thing in the village he was in. Radio was not a household thing in those days, and the reception wasn't too good, but still, its hard to imagine the world he traveled in. The writing is good, and he finds human interest in all sorts of things, and helps the reader visualize the past as he goes through historic area. Good read.
January 4, 2014
Morton's travelogue is the ne plus ultra of travel writing. He's the master of the genre, and his work here is the measure of it. Morton has earned his popularity by capturing the sights, sounds, and splendour of England as it was in the 1920's with aplomb. It's a joy to read this pleasant tour of bridges, forests, pubs, village greens, and eccentric characters.
July 12, 2018
In Search of England was a wonderful book to read to invoke nostalgia for what England had been. Although this book was written in 1926, it was rather devoid of the scars (literal and psychological) of World War I, which surprised me but again is what made the book such a gentle read. Who could not laugh out loud when Morton relayed the exchange of his time at the Devon market day and the pub scene with the old-timer whose dialect he could not understand or his sharing of the resistance to say that Clovelly is quaint. Morton’s use of quirky phrases and descriptions of the colorful, eccentric characters he encounters was all wrapped in his subtle (and not so subtle) messages of the loss of the traditional, rural life be it his description of his attempts and chivalry.
Morton could wax poetic especially with the final essay and his discussion of where was England but the enjoyment came from his description of Durham, his prediction that Norwich would either be a lost city in 50 years or considered one of the most beautiful, his statement that you cannot talk to an Englishman as a friend immediately, and his analysis that York was not conscious of its beauty and was too old and too wise and too proud to put itself out as a tourist site.
This reader learned a great deal directly and by researching many of the casuall comments such as Morton referring to the relationship between Kaiser Wilhelm and Louis Raemaekers –it was lost on me even though it was dramatically phrased as how one man gave so much harm to another with a pencil. I had to look Raemaekers up. One of the fun things about this book.
One thing to be on the lookout for, is the juxtaposition of the myths of the land with his story telling / realism of journalistic reporting. Morton certainly inspires his readers to jump in the car and drive down a country road and be open to embrace any experience around the corner.
Morton could wax poetic especially with the final essay and his discussion of where was England but the enjoyment came from his description of Durham, his prediction that Norwich would either be a lost city in 50 years or considered one of the most beautiful, his statement that you cannot talk to an Englishman as a friend immediately, and his analysis that York was not conscious of its beauty and was too old and too wise and too proud to put itself out as a tourist site.
This reader learned a great deal directly and by researching many of the casuall comments such as Morton referring to the relationship between Kaiser Wilhelm and Louis Raemaekers –it was lost on me even though it was dramatically phrased as how one man gave so much harm to another with a pencil. I had to look Raemaekers up. One of the fun things about this book.
One thing to be on the lookout for, is the juxtaposition of the myths of the land with his story telling / realism of journalistic reporting. Morton certainly inspires his readers to jump in the car and drive down a country road and be open to embrace any experience around the corner.
September 21, 2024
The fact that HV Morton was looking for the real England and used a car to do so, indicates the fact that times were already changing as he wrote. Yet Morton paints a beautiful picture of a remarkably calm, contented and somewhat bucolic interlude between the two world wars where life appeared to thrive on simple pleasures. This was perhaps also the way the author perceived life then, the freedom of the car, coupled with a deep appreciation of his country and for peace and prosperity was maybe a sentiment which was no doubt augmented after the horrors of war.
It is purely a delight to read this book. Morton meets people from all walks of life on his travels around England; ordinary people who seem content with their lot and are brimming over with spontaneity, trust and hospitality. Although many places of interest appear on the pages, this is not a guide book in any sense but a portrayal of humanity and history filled with anecdotes and beautiful descriptions. It is also not just a serendipidous journey around England, visiting remarkable and less well known places as the author chances upon them, but a journey back to a gentle, trusting time which has more or less slipped away.
It is purely a delight to read this book. Morton meets people from all walks of life on his travels around England; ordinary people who seem content with their lot and are brimming over with spontaneity, trust and hospitality. Although many places of interest appear on the pages, this is not a guide book in any sense but a portrayal of humanity and history filled with anecdotes and beautiful descriptions. It is also not just a serendipidous journey around England, visiting remarkable and less well known places as the author chances upon them, but a journey back to a gentle, trusting time which has more or less slipped away.
August 10, 2018
This is a truly delightful little travelogue of a somewhat idiosyncratic journey. My Folio Society edition has wonderfully apt and quirky illustrations scattered throughout. Yes, perhaps, some of the comments aren't quite in step with current pc-illiberalism but then as L. P. Hartley put it "the past is a foreign country; they do things differently there." There is much joy and wonder and thankfulness spread throughout the book. And there is much in the reporting of human nature that reminds me at least that the things that truly deeply matter in human life don't change - and even last night sitting in my local village pub hearing snatches of conversation what concerns us all doesn't change much either.
In the final pages of the book Morton recounts the vicar of a small village talking "progress" such as modern methods of communication, in this instance newspapers, which bring 'the latest murders every Sunday morning. Even that has not altered us much: the newspapers are only another kind of fairy story about the world outside.' See - maybe so much hasn't changed after all.
In the final pages of the book Morton recounts the vicar of a small village talking "progress" such as modern methods of communication, in this instance newspapers, which bring 'the latest murders every Sunday morning. Even that has not altered us much: the newspapers are only another kind of fairy story about the world outside.' See - maybe so much hasn't changed after all.
December 24, 2022
4+, but a few of Morton's quirks prevented me from unequivocally enjoying this, including his need to layer religiosity over nearly every encounter with natural beauty. I also found his reliance on American tourists as comic foil to be repetitive and lazy. But his strengths remain enjoyable and make this a pleasant read. His ability to see and discuss destinations not merely in place, but in time, is the strongest of his abilities, and of course the fact that he is writing at a time when many of the people he encounters still remember the years before automobiles and the Great War. It's a trip that you wish you took yourself, though not necessarily at Morton's side.
And personally, I think he gave rather short shrift to the northern half of the island.
And personally, I think he gave rather short shrift to the northern half of the island.
November 26, 2018
Read at the same time as another book. First published in 1964 it gives a glimpse of the many varieties of English culture and traditions. The author travels the length and breadth of England talking to locals and seeing the sights. A good read. I was born in Manchester, England and lived in Britain until 1977 and although I have travelled back many times to many different places, I enjoyed his idiosyncratic style of writing and learned many new things.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
July 15, 2021
A romanticised and humorous look at many parts of England in the 1920s. Takes up where Laurie Lee leaves off (Cider with Rosie). Here the charabanc is lord of the tourist industry and post war (WW1) American tourism is rife. Possibly a good deal of poetic licence in the narrative? but this only enhances the pleasure in the reading.
January 16, 2017
I enjoyed accompanying Morton around England. This was a relaxing read, and a bit of a travel classic. Apparently, you can still get a free glass of beer at that monastery he mentions...
September 27, 2018
Old fashion but well done and enjoyable.
November 27, 2018
An enjoyable journey across England, particularly seeing how little of Chester has changed to the tourist's eye of 1927. We need more of these!
January 6, 2021
Charming.
January 9, 2023
Dated viewpoint but the idea of remaking this is exciting
June 20, 2023
This book is as relevant and engaging today as it was when first written in 1927. Morton's descriptions are still spot-on -- I'll go back to these words again and again.
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