Much Ado About Daleks: TV stars in Shakespeare

Yesterday I went to see David Tennant & Catherine Tate in Much Ado About Nothing at the Wyndham’s Theatre in the West End of London. It was one of the best productions of the play that I have seen – and I’ve seen quite a few, this was the second version I’ve seen this year. The Kenneth Branagh film is one of my favourites and, a few years’ ago, I saw Tamsin Greig give one of the best stage performances I’ve ever seen as Beatrice in a fantastic production set in pre-revolutionary Cuba. I like Shakespeare’s comedies. I know it’s supposed to be the tragedies that are the best but there are far too few jokes in Hamlet for my liking.

But I have to admit that I was worried that I wouldn’t enjoy this production. The early reviews had been quite poor comparing it unfavourably with the one that is currently running at the Globe, although Michael Billington gave it a good write-up in the Guardian.

Why are there so many productions of Much Ado, a play that was written before 1600? Well, it’s still funny, most people can recognize the situation of a couple who quarrel all the time despite themselves and it fills theatres. Presumably, that’s also the reason why so many Shakespeare plays in the recent past have cast actors better known for television roles in leading parts: Tennant (again) in Hamlet, Tamsin Greig fresh from Black Books and Green Wing in Much Ado & – also from Green Wing – Michelle Gomez, reprising her harridan role in a truly terrible production of The Taming of the Shrew. Then there’s Lenny Henry, of course. I’ve not seen him on stage, so I’ve no idea how good an actor he is. I’m sure all of them deserve their roles but I would just question whether other, lower-profile actors are losing out to stars and celebrities.

I saw David Tennant in an RSC production of The Rivals at Stratford long before Dr. Who had been revived and had seen him on TV in Casanova, so I knew him to be a good actor. I thought he was fine as Dr. Who but it’s not a subject I have strong feelings about. I’m glad he’s gone back to acting. But the choice of Catherine Tate, who had been his companion in Dr. Who, as Beatrice, certainly gave me the impression that both of them had been cast to attract the punters.

It can be annoying, as someone who has been going to see RSC productions for years, to suddenly find it difficult to buy tickets. When Tennant played Hamlet in Stratford, I could only find tickets in the gods and in front of me were hundreds of teenage girls, most of whom left at half-time. Likewise, for this Much Ado. If I hadn’t bought tickets online on the day the news of the casting was announced (thank you, Twitter) I wouldn’t have even got the seats I did which were in the top balcony. When I was queueing at the toilets during yesterday’s interval, the girls in front of me were breathlesslessly discussing the star: “Don’t you think he looks handsome in that uniform?”

This time, though, I think all the teenage girl fans came back for the second, much more serious part of the play and stayed until the end. There didn’t seem to be any empty seats this time. Tennant and Tate were both excellent, playing B & B as rather shallow thirty-somethings. So I conclude that my concerns were misplaced. Of all the “stars” that I’ve seen in Shakespeare plays (even Roger Daltry in the 1970s BBC version of Comedy of Errors) most of them have been excellent. The whole cast received a standing ovation at the end of yesterday’s performance, something which I’ve never seen at a matinee performance and it was well-deserved

The Norwich Strangers: 16th Century Refugees

This is World Refugee Week and so I am going to write about some refugees who came to Norwich (and elsewhere) in the 16^th & 17^th centuries from the Netherlands, fleeing persecution. 

Norwich Castle

Norwich has always been multi-cultural. In the early mediaeval period, for example, it had a large French quarter, known as the “French Borough.” Following the Norman invasion, the new rulers had tried successive measures to quell the local populace, including building the hugely dominant castle – it looms over the city centre now and must have been an extremely strong symbol of power when it was first built in the late 11^th century. Even so, the Normans still had problems suppressing the locals and so they decided to bring in an influx of French settlers (a policy that was similar, albeit on a smaller scale, to the plantation of Ulster in Ireland at a later date). The French Borough was situated where the Forum is now and, up to the 13^th century, when its prosperity declined, it was one of the wealthiest parts of the city.

The arrival of the “Strangers” from the Low Countries (roughly Holland and Belgium) in the 16^th century was the result of the persecution of Dutch Calvinists by the Catholic Spanish rulers of that region of Europe. The Duke of Alva ruthlessly pursued them as heretics and many of them were raped, murdered or burnt at the stake. There were two main reasons why these refugees were broadly welcomed: under Elizabeth I, England was a Protestant country and it had not long been the case that Mary I had persecuted “heretics” in a similar manner. There are several monuments to this in East Anglia, for example at Bury St Edmunds. 

 The Martyrs' Memorial, Bury St. Edmunds

The second reason was that, with their skills in weaving, the new immigrants were of immense economic value. The asylum seekers had first settled in Sandwich, Kent, in 1565, and the City of Norwich elders invited them to the city because of their renowned skills in textile weaving. Much of the prosperity of Norfolk after this period can be traced to this influx of refugees.

The arrival of the Strangers was described by W. Moens in his book The Walloons & their Church at Norwich (1888):

“Invited by the Duke of Norfolk and the Corporation of Norwich, the strangers on obtaining letters patent from the Crown, came to Norwich in 1665 from Sandwich, where they first settled, and soon increasing in numbers restored to the city, by the manufacture of their various fabrics, that prosperity which had been lost by the ravages caused by the mortality from the black death at the close of the 14th century.

“In 1566 an accord was made by the Duchess of Parma with those of the reformed religion in the Netherlands, who, on attaching their signatures to the terms before the magistrates of the various towns, were allowed to attend the Services of their own ministers. Many returned from England to the Low Countries on this concession, but in the following year faith was broken with them, and the unscrupulous severity of the Duke of Alva's rule caused a flight of all who could escape the vigilance of the authorities. ... The details of the conditions under which foreigners were formerly allowed to settle in this country and to follow their trades are interesting and very different from the custom of the present day, when they are on the same footing as natives, but from their frugal habits are able to (and do) work at rates, which in many eases bring misery and ruin to whole districts.... The old custom of hostage, revived by the grant of 1576 to William Tipper, compelled to reside with appointed hosts who received payment for their entertainment and who supervised and received a percentage on their purchases and sales. The Corporation of Norwich purchased this right in 1578 for the sum of £70 13s. 4d., but did not exercise it against the strangers. The strangers paid double subsidies or taxes on the value of their personal property; they paid their own ministers, by whom they had to be furnished with a voucher before permission to reside in the city was granted to them, all their names being registered; they had to pay all the expenses of their churches and the entire support of their poor besides twenty pence in the pound on their rentals, towards the pay of the parish clergy. ... As in the present time in London, where the old jealousy against foreigners seems to be reviving, there was always a party in the Corporation of Norwich opposed to the strangers, but the manifest benefits derived by the city from their manufactures and trade always induced a large majority of the Council to watch over and protect them.

“The strangers at Norwich from the first were placed under a strict and special rule; a book of orders was drawn up by the Corporation and settled by a committee of the Privy Council, From time to time these articles were varied, but it was not long before they were allowed in a measure to fall into abeyance, on account of the prosperity brought to the city by the successful trade of the strangers.”

Norwich was not free from xenophobia. As early as 1144, the death of a boy had led to accusations made towards local Jews of ritual murder and sparked anti-Semitic rioting. Despite the undoubted benefits that immigration had brought to the city – many of its finest buildings, for example – there was still some resentment. In 1567 the mayor of Norwich, Thomas Whall, made inflammatory statements, which sound all too familiar today, that the Walloons had “sucked the living away from the English” and greater restrictions were placed upon them. Interestingly, though, when the 16^th century equivalent of the BNP tried to foment attacks on the refugees in 1570, it was the ring-leaders of the anti-Stranger faction who were executed.

In 1578, Queen Elizabeth I made a state visit to Norwich, which appears to have been a specific attempt to demonstrate her support for the Strangers. The Dutch community presented her with a pageant and a silver-gilt cup worth £50. Although there were further difficulties and conflicts between their community and the established population of Norwich, it was probably the beginning of their assimilation and, as with most influxes of immigrants and refugees, they gradually disappeared as a separate entity. In 1633-4, the Norwich rate book listed many names which were probably Dutch or Flemish in origin, such as Vanrockenham, Vartingoose, Verbeake, Vertegans, Vinke, Dehem, Dehage. By 1830, the Norwich poll book includes very few: possibly only Adrian Decleve (goldsmith) and  John De Vear (draper).

To this day, the people of Norfolk have profited from the labour of migrants and, even fairly recently, there have been nasty incidents such as the attacks on Portuguese people in Thetford following England’s defeat by Portugal in the 2004 European football tournament. Other foreign workers have been exploited and abused by gangmasters. Overall, however, the story of the Strangers in Norwich was a very successful one and indeed there are many historical examples of refugees, not only helping the economy but also of adding to the cultural variety and vibrancy of the communities in which they settled. 

 Austin Friars, which became the Dutch Church in Norwich

From the cradle to the grave (work, that is)

As the government sets about dismantling the welfare state, I thought I would look at people’s working lives during the nineteenth century, in the days before old age pensions, children’s rights and disability benefits.

I remember helping my mother to do some family history research and being shocked to find that on my great-great-grandfather’s death certificate it stated that he had been a road labourer when he died at the age of 78. He had been a hairdresser for most of his working life and, judging by the causes of death on the certificate, he had not been in good health, but for some reason, he had ended his days working on the roads. It started me thinking about the whole nature of work before the welfare state. I have been privileged to live in an era when state help was available almost literally “from the cradle to the grave,”  but the census returns from the early twentieth-century show quite clearly that no-one – including children as young as 5 and old people in their 90s – would dare suggest that they were not employed in some useful manner or had some means of income. This was almost certainly because to admit that you were not working (unless you were wealthy) meant that you were at risk of being defined as a ‘pauper’ and might end up in the Workhouse.

So here are a very few examples of old people who were still working, taken from the 1901 Census of England & Wales. I’d like to have included screenshots of the actual census documents, but can’t because they’re Crown Copyright:

Address: 3/23 Backer Street, Ladywood. Birmingham

Robert Adam, aged 111, Carriage Examiner (worker), born in Birmingham.

Address: Southwood House, Wonersh, Surrey

Fredrick Abbott, aged 95, Farmer (employer), born in Sevenoaks, Kent

Address: West Torrington, Lincolnshire

Thomas, Stones, aged 75, Labourer for a gardener (worker), born in Holton Beckering, Lincolnshire

Address: Moon Hill, Sibertswold, Kent

William Dawson, aged 80, agricultural labourer (worker), born in Shephersdwell, Kent

Address: 141 Munster Road, Fulham, London

William Adams, aged 91, Boot maker (own account), born in Northampton

The list goes on and on.  Of course, many more people of this age were not working. They were “living on their own means,” or supported by their children/grandchildren (if they had any) or in the Workhouse.

Here’s another, from the 1881 Census:

Address: Westlegate Street, Norwich

Thomas Artiston, aged 70, Scavenger, born in London

“Scavenger” was not a common way of earning a living in Victorian England but it occurs in the census as an official occupation frequently enough, especially among the old and the infirm. Another good one was "sewer-hunter."

Of course, many older people needed employment, but because of the increasing demands of industrialisation, they were no longer required. leaving them to what became the standard jobs for the old before the state pension came in: road labourer, gardener, scavenger. This is taken from The Case for Universal Old Age Pensions by John Metcalfe (London: Simpkin, Marshall, Hamilton, Kent & Co., 1899). He is quoting a manager at the Barrow Steel Company: “From this date forward please note that no men are to be engaged who are known to have any defects, such as the loss of a limb, defective sight or hearing. Further, no men to be engaged in any department who are older than fifty... . Any man already in the employ of the company in the excess of he age may be retained, but in case of their leaving they are not to be re-engaged.”

At the other end of the scale, I had to go further back. After the 1870 Elementary Education Act, children were required to attend school between the ages of 5 and 12 (although it is not now well remembered that the reason the school summer holidays are when they are is so that children could help work on the harvest).

My examples of child labour come from the proceedings of the Sadler Committee [Parliamentary Papers, 1831-1832, vol. XV], which inquired into the working conditions in factories of women and children. I am quoting from just two witnesses although there were many other examples [I have taken these from here, where you can find other examples http://www.victorianweb.org/history/workers1.html]:

Mr. Matthew Crabtree, called in; and Examined.

What age are you? – Twenty-two.

What is your occupation? – A blanket manufacturer.

Have you ever been employed in a factory? — Yes.

At what age did you first go to work in one? — Eight.

How long did you continue in that occupation? — Four years.

Will you state the hours of labour at the period when you first went to the factory, in ordinary times? — From 6 in the morning to 8 at night.

Fourteen hours? — Yes.

With what intervals for refreshment and rest? — An hour at noon.

When trade was brisk what were your hours? — From 5 in the morning to 9 in the evening.

Sixteen hours? — Yes.

With what intervals at dinner? — An hour.

How far did you live from the mill? — About two miles.

Was there any time allowed for you to get your breakfast in the mill? — No.

Did you take it before you left your home? — Generally.

During those long hours of labour could you be punctual; how did you awake? — I seldom did awake spontaneously; I was most generally awoke or lifted out of bed, sometimes asleep, by my parents.

Were you always in time? — No.

What was the consequence if you had been too late? — I was most commonly beaten. Severely? — Very severely, I thought.

In those mills is chastisement towards the latter part of the day going on perpetually? — Perpetually.

So that you can hardly be in a mill without hearing constant crying? — Never an hour, I believe.

Do you think that if the overlooker were naturally a humane person it would still be found necessary for him to beat the children, in order to keep up their attention and vigilance at the termination of those extraordinary days of labour? — Yes; the machine turns off a regular quantity of cardings, and of course, they must keep as regularly to their work the whole of the day; they must keep with the machine, and therefore however humane the slubber may be, as he must keep up with the machine or be found fault with, he spurs the children to keep up also by various means but that which he commonly resorts to is to strap them when they become drowsy. At the time when you were beaten for not keeping up with your work, were you anxious to have done it if you possibly could? — Yes; the dread of being beaten if we could not keep up with our work was a sufficient impulse to keep us to it if we could.

When you got home at night after this labour, did you feel much fatigued? — Very much so.

Had you any time to be with your parents, and to receive instruction from them? — No.

What did you do? — All that we did when we got home was to get the little bit of supper that was provided for us and go to bed immediately. If the supper had not been ready directly, we should have gone to sleep while it was preparing.

Did you not, as a child, feel it a very grievous hardship to be roused so soon in the morning? — I did.

Were the rest of the children similarly circumstanced? — Yes, all of them; but they were not all of them so far from their work as I was.

And if you had been too late you were under the apprehension of being cruelly beaten? — I generally was beaten when I happened to be too late; and when I got up in the morning the apprehension of that was so great, that I used to run, and cry all the way as I went to the mill.

Elizabeth Bentley, called in; and Examined.

What age are you? — Twenty-three.

Where do you live? — At Leeds.

What time did you begin to work at a factory? — When I was six years old.

At whose factory did you work? — Mr. Busk's.

What kind of mill is it? — Flax-mill.

What was your business in that mill? — I was a little doffer.

What were your hours of labour in that mill? — From 5 in the morning till 9 at night, when they were thronged.

For how long a time together have you worked that excessive length of time? — For about half a year.

What were your usual hours when you were not so thronged? — From 6 in the morning till 7 at night.

What time was allowed for your meals? — Forty minutes at noon.

Had you any time to get your breakfast or drinking? — No, we got it as we could.

And when your work was bad, you had hardly any time to eat it at all? — No; we were obliged to leave it or take it home, and when we did not take it, the overlooker took it, and gave it to his pigs.

Do you consider doffing a laborious employment? — Yes.

Explain what it is you had to do? — When the frames are full, they have to stop the frames, and take the flyers off, and take the full bobbins off, and carry them to the roller; and then put empty ones on, and set the frame going again.

Does that keep you constantly on your feet? — Yes, there are so many frames, and they run so quick.

Your labour is very excessive? — Yes; you have not time for any thing.

Suppose you flagged a little, or were too late, what would they do? — Strap us.

Are they in the habit of strapping those who are last in doffing? — Yes.

Constantly? — Yes.

Girls as well as boys? — Yes.

Have you ever been strapped? — Yes.

Severely? — Yes.

Could you eat your food well in that factory? — No, indeed I had not much to eat, and the little I had I could not eat it, my appetite was so poor, and being covered with dust; and it was no use to take it home, I could not eat it, and the overlooker took it, and gave it to the pigs.

You are speaking of the breakfast? — Yes.

How far had you to go for dinner? — We could not go home to dinner.

Where did you dine? — In the mill.

Did you live far from the mill? — Yes, two miles.

Had you a clock? — No, we had not.

Supposing you had not been in time enough in the morning at these mills, what would have been the consequence? — We should have been quartered.

What do you mean by that? — If we were a quarter of an hour too late, they would take off half an hour; we only got a penny an hour, and they would take a halfpenny more.

The fine was much more considerable than the loss of time? — Yes.

Were you also beaten for being too late? — No, I was never beaten myself, I have seen the boys beaten for being too late.

Were you generally there in time? — Yes; my mother had been up at 4 o'clock in the morning, and at 2 o'clock in the morning; the colliers used to go to their work about 3 or 4 o'clock, and when she heard them stirring she has got up out of her warm bed, and gone out and asked them the time; and I have sometimes been at Hunslet Car at 2 o'clock in the morning, when it was streaming down with rain, and we have had to stay until the mill was opened.

 All the illustrations are taken from Mayhew's London Labour & London Poor (1840s)

Golly! Some Things Just Won't Go Away

 Today, someone on Twitter* drew attention to a photograph in a Norfolk newspaper. It was one of those nostalgia items featuring a carnival parade and, without remark, included a photograph of someone on a bike dressed as a golliwog. The date of the photo was 1977 and so perhaps it is to be hoped that things have improved since then, but I wonder.

Years after that carnival parade, when I first came to Norfolk, I worked for a charity in Norwich as an advice worker. Our offices were above a charity shop. One morning, first to arrive as usual, I saw a “golly” soft toy proudly displayed in the window. I mentioned it to my boss, a former social worker, and then explained to him why I thought it was objectionable. Soon afterwards the toy disappeared from the window. I later discovered that my boss had bought the toy himself, so as not to “upset the staff.” My colleagues upstairs made it clear that they disagreed with me and thought I was being stupid. Mind you, this was the same organisation that responded to my suggestion that we looked at how we served ethnic minorities with “but there aren’t any black people in Norfolk.”

This is not an attack on the people of Norfolk though. I have come across similar attitudes all over Britain and Ireland. I decided to take a quick look at some obvious places where similar images might be found. The first that came to mind was Ebay and – bingo! – I found plenty of “collectables.” Here’s a link to one: http://bit.ly/igv6G9 (when that is eventually deleted, a simple search on Ebay should find plenty of other examples.)

But it’s not just Ebay, of course. I googled “Robertson’s jam” which was famous (notorious?) for hanging on to the golly image long after it was acceptable and found some interesting sites:

http://www.byegolly.co.uk/boxedsets.htm

http://www.golliwogg.co.uk/robertsons.htm

And a Facebook site dedicated to the revival of the Golliwog: http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=43608157587

A little research told me that Robertson’s only abandoned the Golly badge in 2006 (!) when it was replaced with Roald Dahl characters. The company insisted that they were emphatically not discontinuing the badges because of “political correctness.”

So, what is the history of the “Golly” and why is it racist? I would have thought it was obvious but I have had arguments with many decent people who have failed to understand its offensive nature. Some people try to argue that Golly is a version of Dolly, but it isn’t. It’s short for Golliwog and the wog bit is definitely racist. According to a Guardian article [http://www.guardian.co.uk/news/2001/aug/23/netnotes.shopping  ] of 2001, the image was created by Florence Upton in her 1895 children's book, The Adventures of Two Dutch Dolls and a Golliwogg. Robertson’s started using the image in 1910 and later Enid Blyton caused controversy with her version in her Noddy books.

This article, from Ferris State Univeristy in the United States, discusses the arguments very reasonablyhttp://www.ferris.edu/news/jimcrow/golliwog/

In a previous blog, I looked briefly at the way that Irish people were sterotypically depicted in literature and cartoons. This doesn’t occur very often now, apart from perhaps in some of our worst tabloids. Most people agree that such caricatures are offensive so why do people want to retain the Golly? Is it nostalgia for childhood toys and story books? 

I learned some fascinating things from googling the word "Golliwog," including that ABBA's very own Nordic beauty, Agnetha Fältskog,  recorded a song of that title. It was not a success. Other recent controversies have - unsurprisingly, perhaps - involved Carol Thatcher, UKIP and the Conservative Party.

Dr. David Pilgrim of Ferris State University sums up very well in the above-mentioned article: “The Golliwog was created during a racist era. He was drawn as a caricature of a minstrel -- which itself represented a demeaning image of Blacks. There is racial stereotyping of Black people in Florence Upton's books, including The Adventures of Two Dutch Dolls -- such as the Black minstrel playing a banjo on page 45. It appears that the Golliwog was another expression of Upton's racial insensitivity. Certainly later Golliwogs often reflected negative beliefs about Blacks -- thieves, miscreants, incompetents. There is little doubt that the words associated with Golliwog -- Golly, Golli, Wog, and Golliwog, itself -- are often used as racial slurs. Finally, the resurgence of interest in the Golliwog is not found primarily among children, but instead is found among adults, some nostalgic, others with financial interests.”

 * Thank you to Paul Saxton for giving me the idea for this.

Suffolk Summer

            When John Tate Appleby from Arkansas stumbled from a train on to the dark and rainy platform at Cockfield railway station in Suffolk one evening in March 1945, the war in Europe was all but over. During the Second World War, many Americans like him had arrived in East Anglia to serve their country. From November 1942, the US Eighth Air Force had flown 493 operational missions from East Anglia, comprising a total of 94,948 sorties and dropping 199,833 tons of bombs. Nearly seven thousand young Americans serving with the 2nd Air Division lost their lives.

             The last mission of the Eighth Air Force flew in April 1945, however, just after John Appleby’s arrival. During the seven months that he spent in Suffolk, he appears to have had plenty of spare time which he spent travelling around East Anglia, mainly by bicycle. Although he admired Cambridge, Ely and Norwich, John Appleby fell in love with Suffolk and the result was a book, Suffolk Summer, which has charmed its readers ever since. 

            Born on 10^th  June, 1907 in Fayetteville, Arkansas, John Tate Appleby came from a rural area himself. His family were Arkansas farmers who owned apple orchards and canning factories. By the time Appleby arrived in Suffolk, however, he had already seen a great deal of Europe. After graduating from Harvard in 1928, he had studied at the Sorbonne in Paris and then had travelled around Europe working as a reporter for the Washington Post. When America joined the Allies in the war against Germany, he enlisted in the Eighth Air Force as a trainer in celestial navigation. It was this work that eventually brought him to Suffolk. He seems to have become enamoured with the county from his very first morning. “The American eye,” he wrote, “is struck first of all by the dazzling greenness of the fields and by the beauty of the hedgerows.”

            The reader of Suffolk Summer can be forgiven for wondering whether John Appleby had very much celestial navigation training to do. He seems to have spent a great deal of time cycling around the countryside, visiting churches, or socialising at the servicemen’s canteen which was run by the Salvation Army at the Athenaeum in Bury St Edmunds. 

However, in Suffolk Summer, he states quite clearly that he did not want to write a book about the war. He wanted to write a book about Suffolk. In addition to this, even as late as 1948 when his book was first published, he would not have felt able to write about the military aspects of his time in England. We can guess the location of the airfield where he was based, eight miles south of Bury, but he never reveals its precise location. Wherever it was exactly, it seems to have been the perfect place for John Appleby the mediaeval historian, set in the heart of the Suffolk countryside, close to Bury St. Edmunds, Lavenham and Long Melford, places that were – and still are - steeped in medieval history. One colleague who had worked with him at the American Historical Review after the war, told his obituarist that “he steadfastly maintained that his world ended in 1215” and he found much to fascinate him in Suffolk, including – at Bury Abbey - the place where the barons met in 1214 to swear to force King John to grant them the rights that were eventually written down as the Magna Carta. In Suffolk Summer, he wrote that Bury’s Norman tower was “the most beautiful and satisfying piece of architecture in East Anglia.”

            Appleby took up the hobby of brass rubbing with enthusiasm and cycled around Suffolk pursuing it, but his book is as much about the Suffolk countryside and the people he met as it is about history. He tells us about a sailor who cycled alongside him for a while on his way to visit the parents of a friend killed in action in the Pacific, a “grand tripe dinner” cooked by Mrs. Jarman of Bury, and his good friends, Bernard Cox and Arnold Ellis, also serving their country and idealistic about the future, when the war would finally be over, and the promised welfare state would come to be.

            In October 1945, Appleby was transferred to East Wretham in Norfolk in preparation for his return to the United States. His final departure was postponed so many times and he said goodbye to his friends so often that he began to find it embarrassing. After one such postponement, “in sheer desperation, I sat down under a hedgerow and began this account of my stay in England, and the writing of it, together with long walks in the neighbourhood, filled my days very comfortably.”

            Appleby returned to the United States on the Queen Mary in early November, where he spent some years running one of the family’s apple orchards. It was during this time that he completed Suffolk Summer and when it was published by the East Anglian Magazine in 1948, its profits went to the Appleby Rose Garden in the grounds of the Abbey in his beloved Bury St. Edmunds.

            During the 1950s, John Appleby returned to live and work in Washington where he wrote several other books, academic works on the English kings, John, Stephen, Henry II and Richard I. He was also, for many years, an associate editor of the American Historical Review. A private man, who was a devout Catholic and loved music, he never married and, after he died of leukaemia in Washington in 1974, he was buried alongside his parents in Fayetteville. Although he is remembered in academic circles in the United States, he is perhaps held in highest regard in the county of which he wrote:

            “The English landscape at its subtlest and loveliest is to be seen in the County of Suffolk. I can say this with dogmatic certainty because it is the only county in England that I can pretend to know. Furthermore, the people of Suffolk themselves tell me this, and I know it must be so.”