Notes From A Small Island

Bryson decides to rent a car for his tour of the Cotswolds. Though he is not very comfortable with driving, he knows that a car is the best way to access what he wants to see on this tour. Despite being mystified by the car’s controls, the author makes it to Woodstock, whose preserved homes and lovely landscape he enjoys. He then goes to Bladon, where Winston Churchill is buried in a simply marked grave. He also visits Blenheim Palace, finding its grandeur incommensurate with the modest achievements of the Duke of Marlborough, in sharp contrast to Winston Churchill’s humble memorial.

The car prevents him from fully enjoying his time traveling through the Cotswolds. He stops in Broadway and looks over the Vale of Evesham, once again noting the beauty of the landscape. He also comments that this beauty is slowly being eroded, pointing out, in particular, the loss of hedgerows. While many would argue that these constructions are merely modern accouterments, Bryson knows that some of them date back nearly 1,000 years.

He moves on to Snowshill, then spends the night at Cirencester. He visits the Corinium Museum, known for its collection of Roman art and artifacts, before driving into Winchcombe to see the ruins of a Roman villa. He marvels at the mosaic floor, still largely intact and incredibly well preserved; he feels a connection to the past. The mosaic is more impressive for still being what it was meant to be, a floor (rather than an artwork for display in a museum). The chapter ends with a note that a reader wrote to him, after the British edition of the book was published, to inform him that the mosaic was, in fact, a “Victorian replica” (150).

After returning the car, Bryson heads to Milton Keynes by train (which actually requires travel back to London to catch another train). The town is advertised as one of the post-war planned towns that were supposed to serve as models for the future of Britain. Though he does not dislike the place immediately, he soon recognizes its flaws: It is too organized, too uniform, and too modern.

After this experience, he is unsure of where to go next. The journey has, thus far, taken longer than he expected; he is now halfway through the planned duration of the trip without even having traveled as far as the Midlands, which borders Northern England and Wales. After a walk around Devil’s Dyke, Bryson takes a train to Cambridge.

He finds himself disappointed with the city, even though he knows he should be more charitable. His mood is low, and he accepts the disappointment that will define the day. The pubs are empty; the restaurants barely acceptable; and the hotel television has nothing pleasant on offer.

Bryson profiles what he considers the oddities of the aristocracy. He notes that the complexity of lineage is compounded by the use of “courtesy titles” (162), not to mention the fact that certain members of the nobility are afforded multiple titles. He claims that intermarriage supports the tradition. Most titles are passed on through the male line, which puts the system in danger of extinction. Using his research, he decides to visit the home of the eccentric fifth Duke of Portland.

After an aside criticizing the use of cellphones on trains, the author makes his way toward Worksop, also known as The Dukeries. In Welbeck Abbey, he will find the fifth Duke of Portland’s home. Bryson is drawn to the Duke because of his infamous reclusiveness. He refused to speak or interact with people, including his own servants. After his passing, the Duke’s heirs found the house virtually empty: One toilet and many boxes of wigs were all that it allegedly contained.

As Bryson makes his way there, however, the journey grows strange. When the house is finally in sight, he encounters a sign that bars entry. He presses onward anyway—until he is stopped by an official wearing a Ministry of Defense insignia on his jacket. He is escorted off the property—which the official describes as a “[t]raining center” (170)—as he marvels at the levels of eccentricity that England alone seems capable of producing.

He next visits the Lincoln Cathedral, surprised by the lack of tourists and impressed by the medieval handiwork. He then moves on to Bradford, a place he decides to visit only because the local movie theater is showing This Is Cinerama. He is interested in reviewing the film that he saw once in childhood. It dates from 1956 and was created to combat the growing threat that television represented to the film industry. He is mesmerized and made homesick by the images of Niagara Falls, the Kansas City Airport, and the Grand Canyon, among others, while “God Bless America” plays in the background. He is (mostly) ready to go back to the US.

After a curry dinner in Bradford, the author realizes that he is too close to his own home to travel onward. He spends a few days at home, in domestic happiness. He makes day trips to Saltaire, a factory town from the 19th century, and to Shipley Glen, an amusement park, as well as the surrounding areas. While most of these places are not very old, in the context of British history, they have largely succumbed to changing times, in particular the collapse of the textile industry.

Bryson notes that the North of England is quite different from the South. The ways of speaking and the accents are distinct, and the north has been more directly impacted by economic hardship. The small towns that he and his friend amble through are irrevocably changed, not for the better.

The next day, he agrees to go shopping with his wife in Harrogate. He laments the awfulness of the shopping center and wonders how to honor the heritage of Britain without turning it into an amusement park. Still, Harrogate itself is a nice town, he admits, a spot of prosperity in an otherwise financially depressed region. This gives it some variety and interest, he thinks. As he daydreams, his wife comes around the corner, surprised that he remembered where they had arranged to meet.