In Persuit of Spring by Edward Thomas

by Edward Thomas

IN PURSUIT OF SPRING - 1914 - CONTENTS I - IN SEARCH OF SPRING . 9 II. THE S TAR T L ONDO T N O GUILDFORD . 34 IV. FROM D UNBRIDGE OV ER SALISBURY PLAIN . . 128 VI. THE A VON, THE BISS, TH E FROME . 199 VII. TROWBRID T G O ES HEPTON M ALLET . 216 VIII. SHEPTON M ALLET TO BRIDGWATER . 235 IX. BRIDGWAT T E O R T HE SEA . . 265 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. From Drawings by Ernest Hazelhurst. Paddington Canal . Cuckoo Flowers . . A Passing Storm . Crosscornbe . Glastonbury Tor . Kilre . Frontispiece . . 32 . . 80 . 176 192 . R08 IN PURSUIT OF SPRING - IN SEARCH OF SPRING. is the record of a journey from London T the Quantock Hills-to Nether Stowey, Kilve, Crowcombe, and West Bagborough, to the high point where the Taunton-Bridgwater road tops the hills and shows all Exmoor behind, all the Mendips before, and upon the left the sea, and Wales very far off. It was a journey on or with a bicycle. The season was Easter, a March Easter. A North-Easter, probably No. Nor did much north-east go to the making of it. I will give its pedigree briefly, going back only a monththat is, to the days when I began to calculate, or guess methodically, what the weather would be like at Easter. Perhaps it was rather more than a month before Easter that a false Spring visited London. But I will go back first a little earlier, to one of those great and notable days after the turn of the year that win the heart so, without deceiving it. The wind blew from the north-west with such peace and energy together as to call up the image of a good giant striding along with superb gestureslike those of a sower sowing. The mind blew and the sun shone over London. A myriad roofs laughed together in the light. The smoke and theflags, yellow and blue and white, waved tumultuously, straining for joy to leave the chimneys and the flagstaffs, like hounds sighting their quarry. The ranges of cloud bathing their lower slopes in the brown mist of the horizon had the majesty of great hills, the coolness and sweetness and whiteness of the foam on the crests of the crystal fountain, and they were burning with light. The clouds did honour to the city, which they encircled as with heavenly ramparts. The stone towers and spires were soft, and luminous as old porcelain. There was no substance to be seen that was not made precious by the strong wind and the light divine. All was newly built to a great idea. The flags were waving to salute the festal opening of the gates in those white walls to a people that should presently surge in and onward to take possession. Princely was to be the life that had this amphitheatre of clouds and palaces for its display. Of human things, only music-if human it can be called-was fit to match this joyousness and this stateliness. What, I thought, if the pomp of river and roof and cloudy mountain walls of the world be made ready, as so often they had been before, only for the joy of the invisible gods For who has not known a day when some notable festival is manifestly celebrated by a most rare nobleness in the ways of the clouds, the colours of the woods, the glitter of the waters, yet on earth all has been as it was wont to be So far, the life of men moving to and fro across the bridges was like the old life that I knew, though, down below, upon the sparkling waters many birds were alighting, or were already seated like wondrous blossoms upon the bulwarks of a barge painted in parrotcolours-red and green...

Genres: Travel, Nature, Nonfiction, Natural History, Poetry, Cycling, British Literature

Paperback

First published September 29, 1914

About the author

Librarian Note: There is more than one author in the Goodreads database with this name.

Philip Edward Thomas was an Anglo-Welsh writer of prose and poetry. He is commonly considered a war poet, although few of his poems deal directly with his war experiences. Already an accomplished writer, Thomas turned to poetry only in 1914. He enlisted in the army in 1915, and was killed in action during the Battle of Arras in 1917, soon after he arrived in France.

His Works:

Poetry collections:

Six Poems, under pseudonym Edward Eastaway, Pear Tree Press, 1916.
Poems, Holt, 1917.
Last Poems, Selwyn & Blount, 1918.
Collected Poems, Selwyn & Blount, 1920.
Two Poems, Ingpen & Grant, 1927.
The Poems of Edward Thomas, R. George Thomas (ed), Oxford University Press, 1978
Poemoj (Esperanto translation), Kris Long (ed & pub), Burleigh Print, Bracknell, Berks, 1979.
Edward Thomas: A Mirror of England, Elaine Wilson (ed), Paul & Co., 1985.
The Poems of Edward Thomas, Peter Sacks (ed), Handsel Books, 2003.
The Annotated Collected Poems, Edna Longley (ed), Bloodaxe Books, 2008.

Fiction:

The Happy-Go-Lucky Morgans (novel), 1913

Essay collections:

Horae Solitariae, Dutton, 1902.
Oxford, A & C Black, 1903.
Beautiful Wales, Black, 1905.
The Heart of England, Dutton, 1906.
The South Country, Dutton, 1906 (reissued by Tuttle, 1993).
Rest and Unrest, Dutton, 1910.
Light and Twilight, Duckworth, 1911.
The Last Sheaf, Cape, 1928.

Reviews

[Beth Bonini · Rating 3 out of 5]

The title gives the best clue to the point of the journey: it was 1913, a wet and windy March, and poet Edward Thomas was heading westwards from south London, on foot and bicycle, to chase down the spring. His journey ends in the Quantock Hills when he spots the first bluebells. "Winter may rise up through mould alive with violets and primroses and daffodils, but when cowslips and bluebells have grown over his grave he cannot rise again: he is dead and rotten, and from his ashes the blossoms are springing."

It's a strange book, not exactly a travelogue - although it does have elements of travel writing. I suppose it would be best described as a grab bag of Thomas's enthusiasms, including: poetry, literary associations with various landscapes (either through the poet or the poem), nature writing (he is particularly interested in birds, flowers and trees), architecture, rivers, churches and the cluster of names to be found in churchyards. He is interested in the particularity of landscapes (whether man-made or natural): those details which make them distinctive and singular. If you aren't passionately interested in the English countryside, there really is not much point in reading this book.

There were moments when I was very struck by the beauty and aptness of a description, but too often I was reading on that sort of auto-pilot where detail just washes over one without leaving much of a trace. At times, the book bored me. One of my limitations as a reader is that I don't like an overly visual description of a place - in the sense of an architect's drawing. My spatial imagination is poor, and I don't like labouring to imaginatively construct how a village (or even a house) is laid out from the author's detailed description. There was too much of this sort of thing for my taste, and I tended to gloss over it. There was something too thorough about Thomas's approach. Instead of picking out the highlights, he seemed to want to describe nearly everything he saw on his journey.

Having said that, there were moments when I truly delighted in Thomas's writing and observations. Both the first and last chapters have some lovely bits of writing in them, and I also enjoyed the chapters when he focused on one clear line of thought: "Three Wessex Poets" comes to mind. In the excellent introduction to the book, Alexandra Harris observes that "Thomas preferred, and depended upon, the company of writers who had lived in England before him. He had a head full of other people's words and rhythms, and they were associated in his mind with distinctive landscapes." I found that to be demonstrably the case in this book, and some of my favourite bits of the book were his insights into the writing and/or inspiration of a variety of poets, both famous and obscure. On Thomas Hardy: Mr Hardy must have discovered the blindness of Fate, the indifference of Nature and the irony of Life before he met them in books. They have been brooded over in solitude, until they afflict him as of the wickedness of man afflicts a Puritan."

[Bettie · Rating 3 out of 5]

BBC Blurb - Edward Thomas (1878-1917) was arguably the most accomplished and profound writer of English rural prose, with a unique poetic-prose style. His reputation rests almost entirely today on his poetry, the one hundred and forty four poems which he wrote in the last two years of his life, between December 1914 and December 1916. In January 1917 he embarked for France and the Battle of Arras in which he was killed on April 9th, 1917.

As a prose writer Edward Thomas is often overshadowed by his poetry, but over Easter 1913, he set off on a cycle ride of personal self-discovery across Southern England. In doing so he was hoping to reconnect with the countryside he felt he had become disconnected from, having lived in London for some time. This journey was published in 1914 in his book "In Pursuit of Spring" and it remains a poignant reminder of one of our greatest countryside writers, who just a few years later would die on the battlefields of World War One.

Over Easter 2013, naturalist Matthew Oates pursues his own personal homage to Thomas by following in the literacy cycle tracks of the Edwardian writer one hundred years before. Throughout the series, academic and travel writer Robert MacFarlane, an admirer of Thomas himself, will read passages from Thomas's work which illustrate the man within. Rather than faithfully recreating the earlier journey, Matthew aims to recapture the spirit of self-discovery as he travels through southern England to meet people who can explain Thomas, the man behind the writing.

In this series of three programmes Matthew Oates will be travelling to Steep in Hampshire, where Thomas lived, and where he wrote his most famous works. Not far away in Coate near Swindon is the home of Richard Jefferies, whom inspired Thomas. In Gloucestershire, Thomas lived for a few short weeks in 1914 with the Dymock poets, here it is believed he began to reject prose for poetry under the influence of his great friend Robert Frost. The series ends by the Quantocks in Somerset, the scene of the great romantic nature partnership between Coleridge and Wordsworth.

But as Thomas travelled across southern England in 1913, was he aware that the life he had known, and more importantly the countryside which gave him solace from his depression, was about to abruptly end. Unwittingly, Thomas has provided today's reader with 'Mirror of England' taking us back to a simpler time when the horrors of a European conflict were yet still beyond comprehension.

Presented by Matthew Oates.
Produced by Andrew Dawes

Listen here: http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b01rgm2t

The gallery here: http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/galle...

[Paul · Rating 4 out of 5]

On March the 21st 1913, the poet Edward Thomas set off from Clapham with the intention of heading to Somerset in the West Country searching out the first signs of spring. His journey on his bike would take him through the lanes of Surrey, through my home town of Guildford, across the downs and past Winchester. He heads across a pre-Army controlled Salisbury Plain and onto Somerset where his journey ended.

This is a heady blend of travel, natural history and architecture as well as the history of the places he visits on his ride across the country. He is a keen observer of the things that he sees as he travels through the countryside, spotting flowers just breaking through in the hedgerows, hearing the chatter of birds as he pedalled through a quiet lane and stopping to take in the views, which he relays details of in the account. Intertwined in the book are his thoughts on other writers who he recalls as he passes through areas associated by them. He also takes time to read the epitaphs of people that he never knew and discover stories of others that he comes across on his travels.

The Plain assumes the character by which it is best known, that of a sublime, inhospitable wilderness. It makes us feel the age of the earth, the greatest of Time, Space and Nature; the littleness of man, even in an aeroplane, the fact that the earth does not belong to man, but man to earth.

When Thomas cycled across the south of the UK looking for the first signs of spring, he saw a country that was at peace with itself. A year later that was all to change as war broke out over Europe and men rushed to sign up. Their drain of manpower from the countryside was to change the country forever. A lifelong pacifist he still felt an obligation to enlist for the Great War, which he did in 1915. Sadly his life was tragically taken far too early from us in 1917 in the Battle of Arras.

This is the first of his that I have read, and oddly enough at the same time a poem of his was in another book I was reading, but it won't be the last. He has a way with words in his descriptions that are quite evocative and in other parts, he can be quite matter of fact about what he is seeing around him. This edition includes several photographs from his collection as he cycled across the country and it adds a wonderful touch to the text.

[Will Langdon]

Read it because I thought I should. Think I’d have enjoyed it more if I’d read it in a few longer sittings, and got into it when I did, but unfortunately mostly just helped me get to sleep. Has a proper eye for detail which feels excessive when he’s talking about inscriptions in graveyards for the tenth time, but loved whenever he mentioned peewits, guess that’s my bias, a proper nature guy.

[Tom Baker · Rating 5 out of 5]

All of the ingredients that would go into Thomas’s poetry are evident here. Prose allows Thomas to stretch his legs, to be funny, and to demonstrate his mastery of that most important human trait of all; a talent for digression.

[Claire · Rating 4 out of 5]

Best enjoyed with Google Maps in one hand and the book in the other

[Ian Russell · Rating 4 out of 5]

I can't remember now how this book came to be in my Kobo library, nor how long it had sat there unread. It's not listed on Gutenburg, as I thought, but it was definitely free! Nevertheless, I soon abandoned the quirkiness of its haphazard text for a properly formatted Kindle edition; it was that good, it was easily worth the two quid and change I paid.

In essence, it's a travelogue by bicycle; a solo ride from South London to the Somerset coast, by way of the Quantock Hills. He set forth in Easter, which came early that year, and so headed off "in pursuit of Spring". Not at the time known for his poetry, Thomas wrote his observations with a poet's touch. It's obvious he liked nature, in particular birds and trees, but he also had an eye for pubs, and churches, though, implicitly, it seems he wasn't particularly religious. He really liked reading tombstones.

All these things; the cycling, the countryside, the solitude, the wildlife, the pubs, and, yes, if I'm honest, pondering inscriptions on gravestones when it presents itself, connect with me. It's a wonderful, gentle, thoughtful, observant book. It has good humour too. His accidental sometime companion, a fellow cyclist who he calls "the other man", is introduced as a stranger who buys a single forlorn bird from many at a pet shop only to witness him releasing it from its brown paper bag a few miles on. Then he crops up, repeatedly; to give opinion on weathercock design; to grumble; or to sing battle hymns heartily while freewheeling downhill despite dodgy brakes (or because of them). But surely this couldn't have been the same guy in reality! I think he must have amalgamated a few fellow cyclists he met.

At the beginning, I didn't know much about the author, Edward Thomas, but he is soon referencing writers I've liked, such as Richard Jefferies, the great naturalist, and later I discovered he was practically responsible for persuading W.H. Davies to write. Davies' autobiography, Supertramp, is one of my favourite reads.

Rather poignantly is the timing. The journey took place at Easter; I don't know for sure but would imagine the year before its publication in April 1914, also at Easter. This was the year war broke out across Europe and which this year commemorates the 100th anniversary. Thomas enlisted the year after, 1915, and was killed in action in 1917, in April. I'm mindful that these thoughtful, peaceful, beautiful things were being expressed by someone who, likely though unknowingly, did not experience such moments again.


NB. Fwiw, there's a website dedicated to In Pursuit of Spring, which revisited the places on his journey and with present day observations. I kept forgetting to go there, though.

[Laura · Rating 3 out of 5]

From BBC Radio 4:
In a special series for Easter week, presenter Matthew Oates follows in the footsteps of the writer Edward Thomas

[Phil · Rating 2 out of 5]

I love Edward Thomas' poetry, but I've always struggled with his prose. I remember reading, and being thoroughly bored by, The Icknield Way several years ago, but when I found a copy of 'In Pursuit of Spring' in a charity shop, I thought I'd try again, to see if the intervening years had given me a better appreciation of his prose. Unfortunately, they haven't. I found 90% of the book incredibly tedious and couldn't wait to finish it.

Occasionally, there are passages of great beauty, and he also comes up with one-off phrases that are perfectly descriptive - a butterfly 'sauntering' against the wind, or an old man 'with a beard like dead gorse'. But mostly, I find his prose either a tedious list of where he went and what he saw or else an overwritten attempt to be 'poetic' - for example, what on earth does he mean by 'almost lightless light' or a road being 'wet and heavy' or light arriving 'bravely and innocently' at sunrise. I also felt that there were too many pointless and rambling asides - at one point, we are given pages of a letter he is supposed to have received from a friend about two village sisters called Mary and Martha, and in several other places, we are given lengthy unrelated quotes from various poets, tombstones etc.

Thomas' prose obviously has an enthusiastic readership, but it just doesn't work for me - I'll stick to his poetry in future!

[Warrick · Rating 4 out of 5]

It was nice reading this after just having spent some time in England, and in some of these landscapes, and having that sense of where he is, and its beauty.
In this journey Thomas bicycles through the English countryside in search of spring but the journey is just a vehicle for his love of the English landscape, of his favourite writers and poets and his personal reflections on the world.
Thomas’s prose style has dated a little (he’s clearly a better poet than travel writer I think) and it’s full of little details, including the inscriptions from within the churches by the wayside that he seemed always to be drawn to. I liked it when he was on the move, riding, or pushing, his bicycle out of town towards the sea.
And, of course, the whole thing is suffused with a melancholy for not only what Thomas is about to encounter (This is 1913, and the war is coming) but for what a whole generation is about to suffer. In that sense it’s a book about the end of innocence and the end of an era too.

[Mark Little · Rating 4 out of 5]

An english journey westwards from the outskirts of London to meet the full emergence of spring in Somerset. A journey, for me as the reader, to another time described with the benefit of Thomas’s observational skills. The same skills that you would encounter in his poetry which started to flower, briefly, a few months or years later. There are so many familiar themes - the invisible connections of singing birds (‘Farther and farther, all the birds of Oxfordshire and Gloucestershire’.); the closely observed roadside flowers and the many images of rural areas in gentle decay. In fact word pictures abound, occasionally tending towards a scholarly obscurity, but generally full of the tangible senses of place. For me, best read during the approaching spring. This year, as spring arrives during a period of quiet reflection in a time of coronavirus isolation.

My copy published by Little Toller Books - a lovely edition to read, in feel, in type and in weight. These things are as vital to the experience of reading as the quality of writing itself. Thankfully, in this case, the writing itself is a delight.

[Stewart Monckton · Rating 4 out of 5]

A slow moving, wonderfully detailed account of journey from London to Somerset by bicycle and foot just before the start of WW1.

The second half of the journey travels through the areas I was born in. I was not surprised by how much had changed in the landscape - that was inevitable - but I was was surprised at how much had stayed the same. Pubs, road junctions, lakes and even some patches of woodland that I knew in my youth are in this book - I really liked that.

Highly recommend - but do not expect a high octane, page turner!! SM

[Alex Boon · Rating 4 out of 5]

Best way to read this is alongside the National Library of Scotland's maps, 6 inch 1888 to 1913. It was very enjoyable to trace Thomas' journey and look at how things have changed since. Lots of memorable writing, including bemoaning the "occasional motor car". Now look what we have to endure! Thomas' journey has given me plenty of ideas of places to visit. The only parts I skimmed through were the sections on poetry. Everything else was a joy.

[Alex Watson · Rating 2 out of 5]

Hard work; it’s essentially a writer’s notebook covering a cycling journey from London, over Salisbury plain and to Somerset in search of Spring. Some fine descriptions, some funny observations and it’s poignant because it’s from 1913 - but it’s uneven and lacking structure.

[Dru · Rating 2 out of 5]

Disappointingly pedestrian - so much of the book is very bland description of what he passes; you might almost think the book was being written to pay the bills. There are brief flashes of light, though.

[Chris · Rating 1 out of 5]

I am never going to finish this book, I thought I would like it, as I enjoy going on long bike rides, but no, too boring.

[Jade Levi · Rating 3 out of 5]

3.5

[Corey · Rating 4 out of 5]

Wonderful walking, cycling book. Thomas travels through English countryside and quaint villages in 1913. He is an extraordinarily descriptive writer. His prose reads like verse. I love his descriptions of nature, old churches, cottages, and villages. I especially enjoyed his descriptions of the villagers. I want to go back to England, 1913.