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And So to Bath
Cecil Roberts travels the road to Bath, taking time to provide histories of the places he visits and their noted personages.
380 pages, Hardcover
First published December 1, 1940
15 people want to read
About the author
Cecil Roberts
95 books4 followersCecil Edric Mornington Roberts was an English journalist, poet, travel writer, and novelist.
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Displaying 1 - 3 of 3 reviews
December 4, 2021
Cecil Roberts is a now-forgotten writer, but during the first decades of the twentieth century, he was known for his journalism for English dailies and some out-of-print novels. If he can be remembered for anything, it is his travelogues in his later life. This book is one of his better known works, describing the three months it took for him to get to Bath from London, even though at the time of publication (1940), it was a three-hour automobile ride. But Roberts wanted to learn all about the various homes and towns he passed through, which makes this book perfect not only for armchair travellers but for those (like me), who travel without plans and end up in places we never intended to go.
The whole purpose of the book is to demonstrate how difficult it is to get to Bath, if you are prepared to see everything on the way.
It starts slowly with Roberts taking time to start the travel. Before he leaves London, he makes it very clear what he thinks about the current architecture, as much of the old city had already been torn down during the nineteenth century. Of course, given the upcoming Blitz, even more would be lost.
The monstrous things that Londoners in the last two hundred years have done to the banks of its once noble river are unutterable. Industrial depravity, reaching its apex in the mid-Victorian era, has left London with an incurable cancer.
First up is Brentford, like the gate to Hell, where we quickly learn the reader’s journey will be littered with the wit and the personal biases of the author. He also explains the origin of Bath and the legend of Prince Bladud, who was cured of his leprosy by the famous Bath springs. We read along as he makes his way forward and sometimes zig-zags, so he can see places that catch his eye. It’s the history that makes the book fascinating, as Roberts will rattle off biographies of long-dead Dukes and Duchesses and how the English Civil War or Henry VIII’s ego destroyed certain areas. I especially enjoyed the information on the advent of the Coach Era, which relayed passengers back and forth between Bath and London and created a plethora of coaching inns and restaurants. In essence, it created tourism. Along with the popular coach rides came the infamous Highwaymen, who could be gentle or rough depending on their monetary gains.
Before the advent of the railroads and cars, the coach road was notorious for its poor condition, which left many a coach overturned and passengers injured (or dead). It was more of an adventure than a safe way to travel and the coaches were called, “God-permits”, for you arrived, “God-willing”. We also learn how the standard gauge of English railways came about. These were determined by the Romans (Bath was a Roman settlement). Roman roads corresponded to the width of their wagons, which in turn defined the width of British coaches, which in turn became the measurement for railroads. Roberts laments the passing of the stagecoaches because many inns went out of business. When he finds a relic of an old inn, he is thrilled with his unexpected discovery and his enthusiasm envelops the reader.
I particularly enjoyed the author’s asides, as though he was talking aloud while travelling and writing.
St. Mary’s suffered from the great fire, and its present ugliness owes much to the Puritans who restored it with their customary lack of taste.
He meets people along the way, revelling in the still-active almshouses that existed where elderly ladies proudly showed him where they lived and the tidiness of their poverty. And it is England, so he also meets some pets.
To speak to a dog successfully is often an introduction to its owner.
As the book went along, I became more and more enchanted with his expedition. If Cecil Roberts were alive today, he would be hosting travelogues on the BBC, filming scenic adventures while gossiping about a cuckolded royal. Since he took his time getting to Bath, he had an eye for picture-scapes that others would have flown by. It makes for wonderful reading and it opened a new world for me. As usual, the journey is the great adventure, not the destination.
This book came into my possession by pure chance. I was on an afternoon walk a few years ago and noticed the county library was having a big giveaway. They would place boxes upon boxes of books on the ground and anyone could come along and take what they wanted. I think this volume wanted to be discovered, as it was leaning out of its box, perhaps trying to escape its overcrowded conditions. For that bravery alone, I took the book, having never heard of Cecil Roberts. I am very glad that I did.
Book Season = Summer (level light of the sun)
The whole purpose of the book is to demonstrate how difficult it is to get to Bath, if you are prepared to see everything on the way.
It starts slowly with Roberts taking time to start the travel. Before he leaves London, he makes it very clear what he thinks about the current architecture, as much of the old city had already been torn down during the nineteenth century. Of course, given the upcoming Blitz, even more would be lost.
The monstrous things that Londoners in the last two hundred years have done to the banks of its once noble river are unutterable. Industrial depravity, reaching its apex in the mid-Victorian era, has left London with an incurable cancer.
First up is Brentford, like the gate to Hell, where we quickly learn the reader’s journey will be littered with the wit and the personal biases of the author. He also explains the origin of Bath and the legend of Prince Bladud, who was cured of his leprosy by the famous Bath springs. We read along as he makes his way forward and sometimes zig-zags, so he can see places that catch his eye. It’s the history that makes the book fascinating, as Roberts will rattle off biographies of long-dead Dukes and Duchesses and how the English Civil War or Henry VIII’s ego destroyed certain areas. I especially enjoyed the information on the advent of the Coach Era, which relayed passengers back and forth between Bath and London and created a plethora of coaching inns and restaurants. In essence, it created tourism. Along with the popular coach rides came the infamous Highwaymen, who could be gentle or rough depending on their monetary gains.
Before the advent of the railroads and cars, the coach road was notorious for its poor condition, which left many a coach overturned and passengers injured (or dead). It was more of an adventure than a safe way to travel and the coaches were called, “God-permits”, for you arrived, “God-willing”. We also learn how the standard gauge of English railways came about. These were determined by the Romans (Bath was a Roman settlement). Roman roads corresponded to the width of their wagons, which in turn defined the width of British coaches, which in turn became the measurement for railroads. Roberts laments the passing of the stagecoaches because many inns went out of business. When he finds a relic of an old inn, he is thrilled with his unexpected discovery and his enthusiasm envelops the reader.
I particularly enjoyed the author’s asides, as though he was talking aloud while travelling and writing.
St. Mary’s suffered from the great fire, and its present ugliness owes much to the Puritans who restored it with their customary lack of taste.
He meets people along the way, revelling in the still-active almshouses that existed where elderly ladies proudly showed him where they lived and the tidiness of their poverty. And it is England, so he also meets some pets.
To speak to a dog successfully is often an introduction to its owner.
As the book went along, I became more and more enchanted with his expedition. If Cecil Roberts were alive today, he would be hosting travelogues on the BBC, filming scenic adventures while gossiping about a cuckolded royal. Since he took his time getting to Bath, he had an eye for picture-scapes that others would have flown by. It makes for wonderful reading and it opened a new world for me. As usual, the journey is the great adventure, not the destination.
This book came into my possession by pure chance. I was on an afternoon walk a few years ago and noticed the county library was having a big giveaway. They would place boxes upon boxes of books on the ground and anyone could come along and take what they wanted. I think this volume wanted to be discovered, as it was leaning out of its box, perhaps trying to escape its overcrowded conditions. For that bravery alone, I took the book, having never heard of Cecil Roberts. I am very glad that I did.
Book Season = Summer (level light of the sun)
November 13, 2016
Poking around a used bookstore in Buxton, I was disappointed at not finding anything that was really striking my fancy. I had it in my mind that I was going to find some old book related to the Georgian era, possibly about coaching travel.
In the basement, just as I was about to give up, there was this book, with its faded, tattered dust sleeve. I presumed it to be fate. Perhaps it was. This was an absolutely delightful read, a travelogue filled with dry wit and wonderful anecdotes as the author slowly makes his way along the Bath road and recreates the Georgian era, both the way they lived and the way they traveled.
Yet a strange read, all for that. I marked many pages, seeking to go back and learn the fate of places that seemed endangered at the time of Roberts' writing this (published in 1940, it must have been written in 1939 or even 1938). War threatens. At least one house he writes of was shortly after destroyed in the Blitz. It is a last glimpse of Britain before much history was destroyed.
One recognizes increasing industrialization and growth in paragraphs like this one: "While standing in the churchyard at Heston, my companion was excited by the frequent flight of aeroplanes overhead, and when I told him that an adjacent aerodome was rapidly eating up ancient Heston, he immediately suggested a visit to it. But I was obdurate. We would complete our circuit of Osterley Park, I affirmed, and then, regaining the car, added that we might have tea at the clubhouse of the airport.” The airport, of course, became Heathrow. One does not think of stopping by there for tea in the clubhouse these days, however.
And yet still, as I began researching, I was heartened to find there were many places that had survived. Pubs, houses, still open. An obelisk (Landsdowne Monument) that seemed all but ready to topple over into ruin was restored by the National Trust in 1990.
I doubt everyone will be so lucky to come across a copy in the manner I did, but I highly recommend this book if you are able to find it.
In the basement, just as I was about to give up, there was this book, with its faded, tattered dust sleeve. I presumed it to be fate. Perhaps it was. This was an absolutely delightful read, a travelogue filled with dry wit and wonderful anecdotes as the author slowly makes his way along the Bath road and recreates the Georgian era, both the way they lived and the way they traveled.
Yet a strange read, all for that. I marked many pages, seeking to go back and learn the fate of places that seemed endangered at the time of Roberts' writing this (published in 1940, it must have been written in 1939 or even 1938). War threatens. At least one house he writes of was shortly after destroyed in the Blitz. It is a last glimpse of Britain before much history was destroyed.
One recognizes increasing industrialization and growth in paragraphs like this one: "While standing in the churchyard at Heston, my companion was excited by the frequent flight of aeroplanes overhead, and when I told him that an adjacent aerodome was rapidly eating up ancient Heston, he immediately suggested a visit to it. But I was obdurate. We would complete our circuit of Osterley Park, I affirmed, and then, regaining the car, added that we might have tea at the clubhouse of the airport.” The airport, of course, became Heathrow. One does not think of stopping by there for tea in the clubhouse these days, however.
And yet still, as I began researching, I was heartened to find there were many places that had survived. Pubs, houses, still open. An obelisk (Landsdowne Monument) that seemed all but ready to topple over into ruin was restored by the National Trust in 1990.
I doubt everyone will be so lucky to come across a copy in the manner I did, but I highly recommend this book if you are able to find it.
March 29, 2014
I really enjoyed this 'journey' book from 1940, the stories are still relevant today, and in addition it was fun to Google pictures of where he was describing and get updates about the stories today. For instance the story about a coat in one day is now mentioned by the National Trust who have the coat on display (albeit in a different house & location) but instead of telling the original fascinating story they talk about a modern interpretation. This is the 4th book of his I have read
Displaying 1 - 3 of 3 reviews