Notes From A Small Island

Bryson finally revisits the city of Dover, 23 years after his first, rather disastrous, trip. He begins in Calais, noting that it appears to be a somewhat touristy destination, undistinguished by anything French—until one goes into cafés or restaurants. He compliments the French on their fries.

He journeys across the English Channel on the ferry, noting that while the sea remains the same, everything else in Dover seems to have changed. He finds the spot where Mrs. Gubbins’s boardinghouse once stood and happily observes that it has been thoroughly modernized. He hopes that Mrs. Gubbins is treated as well as she treated him now that she is likely in a nursing home. Thus, he leaves Dover behind and heads toward London.

Bryson marvels at the size and complexity of London. He praises the London cab drivers for their extensive comprehension of London’s vast and asymmetrical geography—The Knowledge, they call it. He tests this Knowledge when he asks the cabbie to take him to Hazlitt’s, an obscure hotel that was once the writer William Hazlitt’s home. Rather than admit he might not know of the place, the cabbie teases information out of Bryson one question at a time.

Bryson also admits how much he loves the city, though he bemoans that its residents do not always understand what a wonderful place they have. He compliments the British on their “incidental civilities,” such as small, old churches; kind policemen and people; the presence of benches; and odd statues of forgotten figures (34). He does suggest, however, that some modern alterations should be retracted, like the barriers in front of Buckingham Palace and the disappearance of the red phone booths.

He reminisces about his time working as a journalist in London in the 1980s. The work was relatively easy, he admits, in between long lunches and afternoon teas. However, this was all reigned in when Rupert Murdoch bought The Times, as well as several other periodicals. There were immediate and widespread layoffs of thousands of union workers. Those that survived the cuts, including Bryson, were sent to Wapping, a district in the less fashionable area of East London.

Bryson returns to Wapping for the first time since he left in 1986, enjoying some travel on the London subway system, called the Underground. He recognizes very little about the neighborhood, as it has seen many new (and, according to Bryson, ugly) buildings constructed. He remembers what it was like to be a Murdoch employee in 1986, when the largest protests Wapping has ever seen were staged by printers and other laid-off newspaper employees. It was dangerous for employees to leave the building, and Bryson was threatened by a protestor one evening when the line of cars leaving the Murdoch building was stopped. He immediately left for another newspaper, The Independent.

He now feels safe in Wapping, commenting that it feels like a village. He also notes, however, that the docks, where a bustling exchange of goods from all over the world once transpired, have all been shuttered.

Everyone is surprised that Bryson decides to use public transport for most of his journey. But Bryson believes that traveling by car in Britain is a miserable experience, with tiny parking spaces and irritating parking garages, not to mention the idiosyncrasies of local drivers. He prefers the train, impressed by the politeness of the other passengers.

He arrives in Windsor, observing the changes wrought to the town by tourism. He writes at length about the delights of Daniel’s, a department store with a decidedly eclectic selection of goods. He uses it as an example of how the British might have been happier under communism than the Russians were: They make do and are expert at rationing; they wait in lines patiently; they do not mind bureaucracy and are comfortable waiting for goods and services.

He spends the following day walking through Windsor Great Park, where he spies another eclectic selection of items, this time of things that he imagines the Queen might have brought to England from abroad. He claims that he once saw Princess Diana driving a car near the grounds. He also appreciates that, at the top of Snow Hill, one can see almost the whole of London. He wryly comments that the average British citizen once respected and defended the monarchy—until they began to behave in what was perceived as an indefensible manner. Hereditary privilege comes with responsibilities and expectations of moral behavior. Bryson coins his own, rather profane, song to describe a line of royals descended from Charles II’s mistress, Nell Gwynn.

Bryson then travels to Virginia Water, a village in which he once lived while working as an attendant at a local psychiatric hospital. He became acquainted with the British through the eyes of these patients. Most importantly, he met the young and idealistic nurse who would become his wife. He claimed that this village was unique in its mixing of psychiatric patients and wealthy weekenders.

Upon his return, he finds that the hospital and its grounds have been converted into a park, and expensive lots are for sale to potential residents. He is happy to find that the hospital, built in the 19th century, has been preserved. He then decides to walk the couple of miles to his mother-in-law’s home for dinner and a deep sleep.