Showing posts with label H.V.Morton. Show all posts
Showing posts with label H.V.Morton. Show all posts

Saturday 3 June 2023

In Search of London, H.V. Morton


Yes I know, it's him again!
Yes I know you are sick of the sight of him.  Well, too bad, I think I may have seen another one in that online bookshop.
As you know, Morton worked for the 'Daily Express' from 1921 onwards, his tales of London earned him fame, but greater fame came from his 'scoop' from being at the opening of Tutankhamun's tomb in 1923.  His travel books made him famous and reasonably wealthy.  His middle class background enabled him to become a snob, and a patriotic one, when he wished to be.
I was somewhat surprised when opening this book as I was under the impression it would refer to London of the 1920s, however, he walked around, he says, the London of 1950/51, still an intriguing prospect, and gives us an insight of a London very different from that of the 20s.  The book was published in 1951.
Morton's London is London, that is to say, the City of London, and Westminster.  Only Hampton Court outside of this area gets much of a mention.  All the usual places are mentioned, St Pauls, the Tower, the Strand, Westminster Abbey, St James, Royal Parks, and Southwark, for historical reasons.  We follow the usual routine of descriptions of the building and are informed of the architecture, the architect, some people who made use of the place, a shock story here, a love story there, a chopped off head, a mystery, the usual historical tales always with Morton embellished with patriotism, romantic slant, and a belief in Empire and Glory.  H.V. is always willing to shed a tear for the men of Trafalgar or Waterloo, but appears to forget those of recent wars.  This when passing the Cenotaph.
An interesting view of the city is shown in the bombed out basements that surround St Pauls and the like.  Cleaned out after the war the land awaits redevelopment, and the basements are now places for kids to rummage amongst, finding shiny treasures long since lost during the Blitz.  Morton looks across the land that once housed people, offices, shops and clubs, now a view of distant churches is available. For us in the 21st century it is difficult to imagine those early 50's with a real austerity, as opposed to George Osborne's Tory greed one of recent years, grey skies and grey people recovering from war and rebuilding a new world.  
H.V. Morton was of course somewhat above all this equality business at the time.  
The author likes to give the impression that he is known to the great and the good.  A dean here, a curator there, appear willing to engage with him as he wanders a church or museum.  He likes to 'just happen' to meet people of influence.  Though much of this may be down to his personality, and the newsman's ability to make people talk to him.   
The fawning over the better classes continues for 428 pages, though it must be remembered that the King was still alive and the monarch was held in great esteem after the war.  Diana had not ruined the image at that time.  This is therefore a big book, with lots of interest in the historical tales, and the image of London in 1950 is quite strong.  This may be because I can imagine this quite well, others may not understand.  London today is very different in many ways, in others it remains a 2000 year old city, full of tales, much history, and a lonely expensive place.  This book speaks for London today, though most living there now may disagree.
This book is worth a read.



Sunday 26 March 2023

In Search of England


Henry Canova Vollam Morton, better known as H.V. Morton, followed his father into the journalism world.  However, he became better known for his many, many travel books which covered many parts of the world.
Morton moved to London and was fortunate to be the only journalist around when Tutankhamen's tomb was opened in 1923.  A 'scoop' if ever there was one.  I have a vague idea there was some trickery involved in this, but I may be wrong and hove not got time to investigate more.  This deed made his name and travel writing became his game.  The 'Daily Express,' for whom he worked, were happy to offer his many journeys around London, which he made into book form.  And he was to continue this type of work, mostly on London, for years.  It was common in days past for the papers to offers such 'features,' unlike today where celebrities and half truths dominate.
During 1926 H.V. travelled around England in a small 'Bullnose Morris' car.  His task was to discover the England of the day, eight years after the Great War.  At this time few could afford a car, unemployment was rife.  Indeed my father had enlisted in the Kings Own Scottish Borderers the year before because work was difficult to find.  The sight of rural England was unknown to the majority, a day holiday might mean a trip by rail or bus to the seaside, or a long walk there and back, the whole village or district marching together on a rare day out.  The sight of an educated man in a car 'from London,' might well have impressed, or not so much behind his back, the rural people.  Indeed in Norfolk he meets one local more than unwilling to divulge much but weary contempt.  
Life may be different today.
The idea is simple, he drives out of London, stops at an appropriate spot, describes what he sees and moves on.  His writing is at times very descriptive, involving present situations, history and fables from the people in residence.  This is usually excellent, occasionally, where he imagines the ghosts of times past a bot wearing, as this appears more to entice newspaper readers than describe a historical event.  On the other hand however. it works very well.
Beginning in the south west and heading north via Stonehenge, where the American visitors apparently dominate, blocking the roads with their 'charabancs.'  From Cornwall to Gloucester, visiting cathedrals, castles, Inns where he can remain overnight, including one pub where the fire in the main room has been continuous for over 200 years, and on to the Lake district.  Hadrian's Wall, York and into Lincolnshire, making a special effort to visit Rutland, wherever that was, and into Norfolk.  
Stratford is not forgotten, he was born in Warwickshire, his father editing the 'Birmingham Mail,' and he once again discovers how charabancs full of visitors, often American, destroy the very towns they wish to visit.  This remember, was 1926!
1926,a mere 97 years ago, and the changes in the UK since then are made clear through this book.  The roads are narrow, little traffic, the rise of the charabanc and tourism for the middle classes and Americans.  Many Morton meets appear to imply life is changing, and not for the better.  The 'it was better in my day' attitude is not new.  H.V. fills the pages with his somewhat sentimental, sorry, patriotic, love of 'England.'  This is not a love I can share.  One reason being it represents an attitude from a different age, an age that had just lost sons in the war, and occasionally this is mentioned by those around the author, an age that wishes to believe the loss was worth it, especially while the nation was bankrupt and life had not returned to how it was.  Indeed, women who moved to towns and cities returned with skirts up to their knees, amongst other changes.  Morton manages to notice almost all the women he passes.   The patriotism and deep feeling for an England that never existed runs through this book.  People are always looking for the time when things were better in the past, or when the nation was more powerful, richer, better.  All such dreams are just that, dreams.  
For those who wish to see an England in 1926 I recommend this book.  His writing is always good, and he does describe both fantasy and reality as he found it very well.  Those who know the places he passes through will quickly note how this England of today is not the England of 1926.  Well worth a read.
 

Saturday 7 January 2023

Books! & Family.


So, in spite of my better judgement I wandered off up the road to the wee shop, entering just after they had opened.  I am always wary of this shop, on the few occasions I have used it I have been confronted by what we refer to
as 'wide boys.'  However, after a quick prayer, and a quicker breakfast of stale hot cross bun and coffee, I made it anyway.  They were still sorting themselves out for the Saturday traffic and quickly I explained my desire and quickly the packet was forthcoming.  Soon I was heading home via Tesco.  This surprised me as I was aiming for Sainsburys but fell into a dream and found myself at the wrong shop.  This may not surprise anyone.  A quick wander round for the needful, and a fight to stop the girl at the checkpoint stealing my packet, and home I stumbled.  Another exciting Saturday in flow.
I have always liked the H. V. Morton style.  Especially as the books date mostly from the 1920s and 30s and as such offer a differing view on life.  Already I have mentioned his book on Scotland which I have somewhere on the shelf.  The link also offers the other Morton books I have read, and one on the man himself.  While his books offer an insight into the world of his day they also offer an insight into the man himself, this is not always pleasant.  
With the book on medieval churches I failed to realise that is contains over 400 pages of small font!  It looks historically interesting, probably is, and will be very interesting to read.  However, with several other 'heavy' reads on the go it may not appear here for a while, possibly this year!  


There are quite a few books I am slowly working my way through at the moment, and one of my sensible nieces has given me an 'Amazon' voucher, this means I will have to make use of the second hand books available there and save money and increase the book pile.  I am not sure this is a good idea...
I will start looking on Monday!


Yes its a baby.  Yet another great niece for me to spend money on.  However, on this occasion, the mother has brothers and family without nieces or nephews to spend money on, so I will not venture much more than I already have.  As far as I can count, that is four nieces, one nephew, three great nieces and two great nephews.  Though I may have missed one.  They are all at a distance, only the latest two require anything, the rest all successfully grew up and found work, bar the archaeologist who still has to decide whether to find work or study for a PHD.  
Her dad says 'Work!' 

Sunday 4 November 2018

Sabbath Tale.


The Last 100 Days Battle is continuing tonight.  In the distance explosions abound and more will follow later I suspect.  There were plenty of fireworks last night and I suspect a few tomorrow also the weather will be mild and fire crews overworked.  It does enhance the remembrance events however, one thing never absent during the war was noise.  Noise from big guns and the rushing of shells overhead, noise from explosions, machine guns rattle and rifle patter adding to the screams and yells form men all around.  The silence after eleven on the day war ended surprised many. 
Having a baptism at church this morning gave us an idea of warfare in a different manner, hundreds of children appeared, at least there may not have been hundreds but it sure felt like it.  Screams and shouts, yells and laughter, lots of laughter, and fun all around.  This would never have happened in the church I went to as a child!


How churches once were is found deep into this H.V.Morton book.  Morton travelled around Scotland (possibly during 1927/8 as the book is published 1929) and at one point high in the highlands he comes across a Scottish Sabbath!  This he found was a strange place for a Londoner.  He foolishly walked across the street expecting the chemist to sell him goods even though the village was shut up.  Through a slightly opened door the chemist refused as it was not life or death.  Later he saw the man dressed in black frock coat, black hat, black gloves carrying a black bible heading solemnly towards the Kirk, as indeed did everyone else, all similarly dressed.  I suspect there was no music, just a prompt from the front as they sung through the psalms, solemnly.  This reminded me of a tale of a young man being taken dressed in a kilt, his father was an army officer, towards an Edinburgh church.  The town was quiet, little if any traffic in 1914, and as they passed they greeted those heading to similar churches as themselves which studiously ignoring those heading elsewhere. Ah the delight of the religion of 'agape!'  To be honest it is only in the last fifty years such walls have come down and churches, as here in this town, work together much more.  The baptism shows a clear divide between the regular attenders at this place and those who rarely touch churches, the visitors come dressed neatly for church, the regulars have a 'come as you are approach' and this is not always neatly dressed!  Still, the ten pence pieces dropped in the bag as it passes by always helps.  
Morton tends to be a bit dramatic in his writing.  The tales were put into the newspaper he worked for and worked up into a book and he had both audiences in mind as he wrote.  Hence we see him finding tales from long ago in the borders, ghosts and weird happenings that probably never happened mixed in with historical accuracy.  At each stop he finds a story from the past, often intriguing, all to often a bit romantic, but well worth a read.  In Edinburgh, Glasgow, Skye and Aberdeen he roves around revealing something of the country in the period after the war, a war in which he participated and as such recognises old soldiers and the power of the new war memorials that abound by his time.  Not long after this of course the great depression settled in bringing with it another war.  The book is an interesting insight into the period, the accents, very strong then, and attitudes of the time.  It would be hard to enjoy a quiet walk in Skye these days when thousands of tourists clad in brightly coloured expensive anoraks fill the hills and ruin the experience they seek.


The Battle of Arras is continuing to the north, the Somme to the East and I am told Passchendale erupt at eight round the rugby club.  I may take to bed soon...


Wednesday 6 December 2017

Book


It gives me a strange satisfaction to find that I have finished another book that sits on the pile in front of me.  That pile anyway is one less the other piles of books still to be read have not gone down much.  
I have always liked Henry Canova Vollam Morton in spite of his rather bullish nature.  I suspect that is a requirement in journalism and he got off to a good start not only by being the son of an editor but by announcing the scoop of Tutankhamen's tomb being opened before the 'Times' man who had the rights could do so.  He then became famous for his travel books, around London then England, Scotland and elsewhere.  In the 30's he travelled through the Holy Land, a much easier enterprise then than now as the British Mandate allowed travel across borders in a manner impossible today.  Having discovered books about Jesus and Paul sold well he then decided on a further expedition in the late 30's. 

'While I was travelling in the Holy Land...the desire grew on me to make a Christian pilgrimage from the Euphrates to the Nile, and into Sinai, and to tell the story of the Christian life of the Near East,'

It had nothing to do with making money, honest guv. 
I looked forward to this book as I love the ancient lands, especially those usually ignored in the far south of what is today Iraq, the ancient land of 'Sumer,' often classed as 'Babylonia.'   It was a book I wished to read years ago.


Landing at Alexandretta in French controlled Lebanon Morton travels to Aleppo the town today thrashed by civil war intending to visit once popular pilgrimage sites including the pillar upon which sat one Simon Stylites Simon early chose a severe form of asceticism which saw him barred from monastic life and he ended up sitting high up on his pillar apart from the world, continuing his austere life but constantly queried by people wishing answers to problems.  He remained there for 37 years.  I must say while many followed him or ventured into monastic or hermit style life I see no biblical reason for this and wonder about those who chose this life.  Morton appears fascinated by them and as he travels follows his normal routine of discovering historical connections with each place, some of these are intriguing and others just worrying!


Continuing to Palmyra an ancient city made famous by ISIS destroying it Morton came upon a bus! 
Intrepid travellers who hitch a lift from a sheik (or claim to - he is a somewhat romantic writer) then discover a bus that just happens to have stopped to pick up passengers in Palmyra are doing very well I say. 
The Nairn Transport Company began in 1923 when a couple of New Zealanders who had served there during the war began a car service between Haifa and Beirut.  By the late thirties they were driving cars and then buses across the desert roads from Baghdad to Damascus.  The French and British authorities were delighted as many personnel were thus able to travel the vast distances in some degree of comfort, camels can be a bit slow.  
Half way across they stopped at Rutba Fort and eat an English dinner in an impeccable English dining room in the middle of the desert, this brought out the xenophobia in Morton!  The Empire had some advantages.
In Baghdad Morton again waxes lyrical about English influence on Iraq especially when he notices an 'English' bookshop.  What sort of 'English' bookshop would have the name 'MacKenzie' above the door escapes me.  It does appear British influence was stronger in Iraq that French influence in Syria, at least according to our author.
In Baghdad he watches from the window, lights out, of the Shia flagellantes as they pass by late at night.  The house belongs to Chaldean Christians, a type almost unknown now after years of needless war.  Morton is fascinated by the intricacies of these worshippers marching by slowly and as he does elsewhere goes into details we often see on our TV, if the news can show many dead alongside.

 
From his hotel our hero takes a taxi to Babylon passing the noticeable railway station 'Babylon Halt.' 
Clambering over the then dusty mounds he appraises the mud brick remains and reminds the reader of the biblical history found in Jeremiah where in 586 BC the people of Judah were taken to Babylon.  The fact that Jews have been found in this are up to recent times speaks much of their ability to live alongside other faiths.  Since the Great War however Jews, and most Christians have fled this apart of the world leaving a huge Moslem space almost devoid of any other.  British, French and now US policy has done this and with Trump topping it off today by recognising Jerusalem as capital of Israel another step down may have occurred.  Jerusalem will never be like Babylon however it will suffer more warfare and terrorism, possibly sooner rather than later.   
This to me is the most interesting part of Morton's book.  Babylon then Ur of the Chaldees, again mud bricks and knowledgeable guides, mostly educated when assisting archaeologists in times past, and fascinating history all combined to make me wish to travel there today.  The ease Morton travelled in his day compared to now appeals but I suggest tourism might be possible but costly.

 
For me the book descends into a rather boring read once Morton arrives in Egypt.  While there are some interesting episodes, such as taking a ferry which turns out to be a sinking small boat that slowly struggles to get anywhere, for the most part his many, oh so many descriptions of Coptic Churches, monasteries and their monks and the tales of so called 'saints' from the distant past did not dwell well with me.
The flamboyant Coptic ceremonies may well go back into the distant past, well until about the 400's and hermits and monks may well consider they are seeking salvation by their lifestyles but to me there was a sad outlook for them at that time.  I am not convinced God calls people to live like this, I am not one for fancy outfits or bejewelled clergy and I have no need to live on the hard black bread these monks lived on, the Coptic clergy appeared better fed.  
His visit to Mount Sinai was interesting and the monk with him also and the questions as to whether this is the mount or not is intriguing.  However we do not know for sure and if we did we would worship the mountain not the God!  This was a problem in the middle East in many places, saints are worshipped not the risen Christ.


At least in Rome our man found plenty of interest down in the five hundred miles of catacombs that lie there.  It is possible many famous early Christians mentioned in the letters of Paul may lie there, though it is not possible to be sure.  Certainly the history, the need to hide for the authorities (a bit like it is becoming today) and the sheer adventure of wandering in the near dark at that time through such places was enlivening the book.
Less so his adoration of the pope in all his splendour canonising saints.  The description reveals a side to Morton his womanising nature would find surprising.  Possibly it was ceremony he liked and the connection to history, that connection to history cannot be but joy to the bright mind, however while he knew his scripture we wonder how well he obeyed it no matter how many times he gets VIP seats in the Vatican.

The history from a man in the 1930's is always worth a look.  His fascination for ceremony much less so as is his fawning over 'saints' from the past.  Anyone who becomes a Christian becomes a 'saint' it merely indicates they are 'set apart for God' and not someone with a record of miracles once he is dead!  Morton's history is interesting, his writing style also.  Beginning with the transport and description of the area his book, divided into chapters within chapters, then visits something, description follows and the last small chapter describes the end of day or plan for moving on.
It is easy to understand how his columns in the London press became popular, it is easy to understand why his books still sell today, it is less easy to understand his thinking.  After writing a book on South Africa he moved there with his second wife and his diaries reveal the somewhat fascist ideas he held, his womanising and the flaws in his character.  What however I dwell on is the books he left these describe his world very well a world that no longer exists but is so close to us still today.
 


Thursday 8 May 2014

Yet Another Book



With so much to do, constantly piling up things to do and leaving them to do themselves, rushing down to the museum when yet another soul does not turn up or gets a proper job, and gazing at the laptop in in effort to think of something sensible to say about yet another dead soldier, running to the shops for urgent supplies, all this leaves little time to read!  Of course you will say watching all those football matches at night, wandering the streets in a daze or just bloody laziness also plays its part but I must state that this is not the case! OK, well it might play a teensie wee part but whatever the reason the only place I get peace to read books these days is in the bathroom!  There is indeed little else to do there of course and while imitating a Knight of the Bath there is great pleasure in soaking away the muscle pains while recreating the little gray cells that desperately require recreating!
So in the smelly box that constitutes the escape from the world I have a pile of books, all half read, that get attention from time to time.  Usually at the top lies the number one bestseller, bought from a charity shop, that has gripped my little minds attention and is devoured before I add the Eau de Cologne.  The top book recently is an old one, put together in the 1930's by one of the great travel writers, and later South African dweller and racist, Henry Canova Vollam Morton.  'In the Steps of the Master.' (No I don't know how he got the name either!)

During the early 20's H.V.Morton began writing a 'London Life' column for a the 'Daily Express,' his father edited the 'Birmingham Mail,' so that's where he learned the trade.  These were so popular they soon appeared in book form, 'In Search of London,' 'In Search of England,' 'In Search of Scotland.'  By the thirties he was in the British mandated Middle East.  While the book gives the impression he spent some time alone wandering around it transpires he had his wife with him (they divorced in 1934 and he soon found another) and he made several trips in all at various times to complete his project. Whatever, the finished results are excellent travel documents at a time when travel in that area of the world was popular among those with money.  It was easier and safer as all came under the control of the British, God bless the Empire (stand to attention while reading this part!).  What once pleased a population unable to travel as they were only paid £3 a week also spoke to ex-servicemen who saw action or service under the Crown in this part of the world.  The popularity has never waned as now they speak to us of a time so long ago yet just a short time back.  The changes in a mere 80 or so years are phenomenal!

Beginning in Jerusalem Morton walks where Jesus walked, allowing for two thousand years of change, several major sieges, and tourist guides who can show you exactly where Jesus bought his shopping. The Holy Sepulchre is of course the place to visit.  I went there just before the first Gulf War in 1990 and it was so quiet I was alone, bar from a nun working there, inside the tomb itself. Normally it was more like Morton's time, crowded!  Later after travelling around he watches the Easter ceremonies from the various groups based there. Elaborately dressed, incense, candles, parades, and languages used that go back to Jesus day.  Not my idea of a Sunday morning but there you are!  The British Police were out is force, as Israeli police are today as one wrong word, one misuse of a fellow monks lamp could lead to rioting.  Those candlesticks make great weapons among the beloved!  A walk over the Mount of Olives, Bethany, the River Jordan and on to the Dead Sea.  The descriptions he gives are captivating. Much of his route would be impossible today.  The road to Jericho offers us the English traveller at his best.  He stops the car at one point to remove his coat as it was getting to hot, just think, in that heat he was driving while wearing a coat!  In Jericho he is confronted by a Cocker Spaniel! Following this arrives a man in plus fours and tweed jacket, the British governor of the town.  He was awaiting the British version of Pontious Pilate, they were going shooting don't ya know!  Soon his eminence arrived in large black car, suitably dressed for the grouse moor and off the went leaving Morton to wander over the ruins of ancient Jericho.

Via Gaza and the Philistine country Morton wanders north via Samaria as was and stays at the Sea of Galilee.  Clearly enjoying this part of the trip he stays a few days, even persuading fishermen to take him out fishing so he can watch their manner of catching fish, then still as Peter and his mates would have used. For the writer and many of his audience these places would have been well known through bible stories most likely heard as children at Sunday School. For the man himself it led to a better understanding of the bibles accuracy, often objected too by those who at that time had no chance to travel to research. Everyday happenings, very unlikely in the modern world, could be seen, reflecting biblical stories and making them real.  The advantage of the 1930's tourist was the unspoilt land, population changes, building and war has changed much since then.  
The author moves on through Lebanon, under French control at the time, then to Damascus even standing by the tomb of Saladin the Great.  Morton offers great praise to this considerate opponent of the murderous Crusaders but appears not to realise Saladin may not have seen him in the same light. The tale takes us down to Machaerus, one of the astounding fortresses built by Herod the Great and later the place where Morton concludes Salome danced before Herod Antipas and was rewarded with John the Baptists head on a plate. He might be right.  There again after the hard slog to get there, accompanied by a member of the tough and efficient Arab legion his mind may have been taxed a wee bit.  Ending with a trip to Petra, the town cut from  the rock, he returns for Easter at Jerusalem.

On his travels he encounters Arab politeness and danger, wonders at the poverty of so many living among the ruins of biblical places and crusader castles, and on one occasion saves a dogs life to the wonder of the Arabs who would let it die because it was 'only a dog.'  Morton's biblical conclusions are often reasonable considering what was known at the time.  His writing is easy, and enjoyable, occasionally bringing wry humour out of the situation he finds himself in.  Years ago I read this book and it made me want to visit these places.  How different things were in 1990, how much more so today!  Books such as this cover not only the area as it was live so to speak in 1933 or so but take us back hundreds and thousands of years to what happened there before. Then the book seen from our today takes us forward again to yet another world, it is possible it might even take us into the future if read with an open eye.

H.V.Morton

H.V.Morton Society

Radio 4 Morton prog  (30 minutes)

Amazon


Sunday 23 March 2014

Looking Back.....



Reading in this book by H.V.Morton I was struck by something he said when on an ancient roadway.  He was discussing a building erected generations before to protect traders as they reached the half way point on the journey.  It had been standing there in one form or another there about three thousand years, possibly following on a resting place going back much, much further. This got me thinking about something those colonials in the Americas sometimes say regarding old UK buildings being 'ancient,' and 'historical.'  Many Americans touring the free world do find the age off buildings fascinating and it brought to mind Soub's picture of a building in Texas dating from I think 1848.  This wooden structure, reminiscent of a 'cowboy' TV set, was classed as the 'Oldest building in town.'  Now 1848 is not that far back, my Grandfather was born a mere three years earlier in 1845 and I am only 25 so it is only two generations, yet in the USA the early 1800's are ancient history.  Of course man has been living on that land for thousands of years but the mind forgets this and concentrates only on present culture when considering the past.  Our view is often limited by ourselves.
History is seen in the buildings.  Edinburgh, towering above the world was built of solid stone structures reaching for the sky ten or twelve stories high.  This reflected the available materials, the numbers crowding inside the walls and the need for walls to defend against the nasty English invaders.  The 'closes' contain housing reaching back several hundred years each with its own history, each worthy of a blog all by themselves.  Digging back further prehistoric man lived in several places around the city, both on Castle Rock and Arthur's Seat and in the Pentland Hills nearby.  
In the part of paradise in which I dwell houses arose from the wood that covered the land. Made of wood and plaster with only castles made from stone and the churches flint and rubble, contained in a form of 'clinker,' often containing Roman brickwork.  The latter showing how happy many Britons were to accept Roman standards.  Many building in this small town go back to well before the 1800, one in the High Street has a pillar dated to 1395 I was told. Dating trees is an interesting insight into the age of buildings.  Quite a few began their life in the early Medieval period and have been transformed according to contemporary needs and still serve their purpose today.  The stairs creak a wee bit mind! People were known to be farming in this district at least four thousand years ago, some of their leftovers have been found.  Before them as the Ice Age receded man trekked this land from the south of Cornwall across what became the North Sea to northern Germany following the herds hunting and gathering.  No buildings were left but signs of habitation are abundant.  The melting ice gave us the North Sea and fishermen still dredge up mammoth Tusks and the like daily.  

While such nomads dragged their weary way in the cold north the peoples of Mesopotamia were already beginning to farm, gathering cattle, sheep and goats, and no doubt dogs and cats also, to produce a more settled life.   The cities of Ur and Uruk had something like 60,000 citizens five thousand years ago.  Their mud brick buildings lie in the south of what is now Iraq.  This seems ancient to us who consider the Greek and Roman period as far distant yet Mesopotamia is a rich cultural heritage ignored for the most part and contains, so they say, our beginnings.  Further back settled life arose Jarmo at least 7000 years before Christ and hunter gatherers walked for millennia before that.  Man spread out quickly over the earth and similar finds occur in China, India and South America going back thousands of years.

It makes the history of this wee town appear quite recent.  It also makes me feel quite young.  



.

Wednesday 14 October 2009

H.V.Morton


At the beginning of the book, 'In Search of H.V.Morton' the author, Michael Bartholomew, tells the story of Morton's disappointment at meeting an author with whom he had become besotted. He was still a child and was reluctantly pushed forward by his mother after he had discovered the great man was not what he had imagined. The disappointment never left him and he made it a point never to reveal anything of himself deliberately, relying only on the written word and nothing else. The story is related because those of us who have built up a picture of Morton in our minds will quickly become similarly disappointed when we meet the real man!

I confess I have as yet not read the whole book, just a review a while ago which indicated just what exactly the 'real man' contained. That was disappointing enough but a glance at certain chapters of the book, concerning the works I had written, indicated I would indeed not find the man I imagined. The discovery that his books were something other than what they appeared to be also fails to please but I suppose reading with eyes open more often would have shown this already. One day I will finish the book, if I spend long enough in the library keeping warm, but I am unsure if I actually wish to at this moment.

It rings true however that the person we read is not the person who lives. Therefore the idea of the writer keeping his counsel and ensuring his life is not lived in the public eye is one I agree with. The written word ought to speak for itself, and this is why I disagree with photographs of journalists in the press. It looks good presentation wise for the paper but it makes the person more important than the word. many journalists may of course see nothing wrong with that, and the nearer they are to the tabloid end the more they will see themselves as important it appears at first sight. The words ought to be honest, preferably knowledgeable, and worth reading. The person behind them should be irrelevant. There again we do pick up a picture of the person writing the words, hopefully we have seen the real one and therefore will not be disappointed if we run into them.


Tuesday 11 September 2007

H.V.Morton 'In the Steps of St Paul'


I have just finished reading through a tattered ancient copy of this book. I first read it many years ago and found it gave a very good understanding of the background in which Paul moved. Reading it again I found that had not changed. Morton travelled through the Mediterranean in 1936 and describes the contemporary world at the same time as the world long gone. I was left wondering if the changes from 1936 to 2007 were greater than those over the preceding two thousand years.

He begins his travel in Jerusalem and journeys through Syria (Antioch), Ataturk's Turkey (Tarsus), and visits what was left of Lystra and Derbe while staying at Konya (Iconium). His time at Ephesus left me wishing I could up sticks and go there now. How important this city once was, what wealth, what influence both secular and religious, now a pile of stones! Morton also continues as well as he can to the Greek towns (Phillipi, Corinth and Athens) where Paul once struggled and suffered, ending his journey in Rome. On each occasion the writing gives a good indication of the towns as they once were, Pauls possible life and work, and, f or me, left a desire to visit at once

H. V. Morton was once famous for his travel books, many are still available, and his writing style is easy on the eye. This makes the books easy to read as well as informative. I was left with a new understanding of the daily life Paul endured. We think of him as a tough man who suffered so much for his God, but he also had times of comparative wealth and hard labour. While working to avoid living of his converts he shows us his integrity his concern for the church and each individual member is seen in his concerned letters. At all times he faces opposition from one section or another. Lessons for all there today. I found how practical Paul was. No superstitious saint he, while he worked miracles by the power of God he also made his own plans and did not expect Jesus to lead him by the hand in things he had to do himself. His was a realistic faith in a practical God. All to often I will not act until I 'feel' it right. This is more 'daft' than 'Spiritual.' Paul, while led by the Spirit shows no 'daft' approach.

These books are n one sense out of date, however Morton gives us insights into the NT that we often miss. This i the type of book I recommend to folk as it is easy and informative. Too many Christian books are either too heavy or to 'Spiritual' to be much use.