Afoot in England by WH Hudson (1909)

Hudson here details a number of walks and a couple of bicycle rides he took, mainly in the south west, a couple elsewhere. They speak of a greener England, and a quieter one, by such an amount as to seem almost fantastical. To think of those parts of the country unencumbered by anything remotely resembling a motorway is to feel like one is dreaming. Of greater interest again is the obvious plenty in terms of creatures round about; flitting in the hedgerows, in the sky, tucked into a countryside teeming with variety and activity are innumerable species of animals, insects and birds, many of which are now rare or even gone, I'm sure. As always, this leaves me with vying sentiments: a terrible feeling of loss, particularly of peace and beauty, and a contrasting self-suspicion that I'm partaking of little Englanderness and too much interest in golden ages. In the end, the loss is more definable and undoubted. Hudson documents in a gentle style the stories of those he meets, from disgruntled and frightening cottage wives in lonely corners of moors, to warmly vocal vicars, to houses tucked away in villages where he knows he can get a meal, to dogs who adopt him because of his wandering ways. He also speaks of the changing landscape with even-handed concern, except where motor-cars are concerned; they are messengers of evil in every way. And he was right according to his lights; his England of lanes and slowness was the one they were in the process of doing away with. He also voices much more seemingly modern concerns: he's right against the dead-spirited depredations of hunting and very aware in general of species loss through human activity. His main concern though is with birds; their lives, seasons, mating habits, communication and interreactions form the most part of the animal portion of these chapters. He also occasionally refers back to his time in early life in South America, the contrasts of which gently ballast these musings. The softness of much of this book could be construed as 'chocolate-box' by the needlessly cynical. It does very occasionally leave one wanting more, but by far the greater impression is of a tenderness and simplicity which are honest in intent and creative of answering echoes in the reader.