Notes From A Small Island

The author moves on to Liverpool and ends up overindulging in its nicer pubs. Nevertheless, he manages to catch the Mersey ferry in the morning, unable to properly hear the overview of the sights due to poor acoustics. He notes the history of Liverpool: once one of the most prosperous cities in England, its decline coincides with the decline of the ship liner and the end of Great Britain’s vast empire. He strolls through the Merseyside Maritime Museum, enjoying the romantic history of seagoing travel.

He walks to Port Sunlight, another “proper little garden community” (215) before heading toward Llandudno, in Wales. He reads Paul Theroux’s The Kingdom by the Sea to pass the time on the train. A stranger takes interest in what he is reading—but not for the reasons one might initially suspect. The stranger is obsessed with trains, and he initiates a long critique of one of Theroux’s other travel books, The Great Railway Bazaar. The man rambles on about various train models until he disembarks, leaving Bryson to travel the rest of the way in peaceful silence.

Llandudno retains the air of a once-bustling 19th-century resort, though the author is bothered by the mass of weekend visitors. He finds a room, though it is dirty and poorly insulated. He again notes the uniformity of the place; he could be anywhere in the UK. There is nothing notably Welsh about the place. A stop in a pub only heightens his sense of weariness.

The next day, the weather is gloomy and rainy, and Bryson wants to move on. He must catch a bus to the closest train station, and while he waits, he indulges in a nostalgic review of what living in Great Britain used to mean. There was dignity in contributing to the common good of which one was a part; now, utilizing public services inevitably induces frustration and guilt. He finally arrives in Blaenau Ffestiniog, which was once the slate mining capital of the kingdom.

He cannot wait on the train platform out in the rain for the four hours until the next train arrives, so he decides to explore the town. Nothing much is open on a Sunday, so he eats and drinks coffee in a local restaurant, where he learns the town has cab service. He takes a cab to Porthmadog, where he watches Welsh television in his room, delighted by the occasional phrases (often gesturing toward naughty behavior) in English.

After the rain lets up, he takes a walk through town and ends up in Borth-y-Gest. The evening closes in as he happens upon the headquarters of Blaenau Ffestiniog’s rail line. He asks an employee there why the train service does not coordinate with the bus service in the area. The rail employee is apparently offended by the question, and Bryson decides to leave rather than engage in an argument.

Trying to reach the Scottish village of John o’ Groats, Bryson catches a notoriously uncomfortable Sprinter train at Porthmadog station, trying to make his way toward John o’ Groats. But first, he stops in Ludlow, which he finds charming—except for the distressingly specific flyer for an organization called the Ludlow and District Cats Protection League. He wonders about jurisdiction.

After a quick meal, he returns to the station, where he hopes to catch a train to Blackpool. However, British Rail is experiencing breakdowns and delays. He finally makes it back to Manchester, only to discover the platforms for the next connecting train have been changed. After the confusion is cleared—and a mere 14 hours later—Bryson finally arrives in Blackpool.

Blackpool is, according to Bryson’s statistics, one of the most visited sites in Britain (more tourists than Greece per year; more guest rooms than Portugal). It has become a tourist attraction powerhouse despite the poor weather and unattractive surroundings. He wants to see the Illuminations, a nighttime light show that he finds unjustifiably famous. It is disappointing at best.

The next day, he appreciates Blackpool with its large and pleasant beach while railing against the policies of Margaret Thatcher’s and John Major’s governments. He moves on to Morecambe, which was once a tourist rival to Blackpool. Now, the author finds it in a state of deterioration. The only structure left of note is the Midland Hotel, which retains some of its “imperishable 1930s charm” (244). He strolls down the beach, where one can wander out on the sandbars—as long as one is mindful of the quicksand that can suck a person under. He begins to appreciate that Morecambe is best understood as the opposite of Blackpool: modest and well-behaved, without a lot of tourists, and with some natural splendor best appreciated alone. He hopes that places like this will inspire the English to rediscover the tradition of tranquil seaside vacations.

Bryson opens this chapter by talking about the unchanging English weather, with its frequent rain and lack of major storms. Unlike the US, England does not see tornadoes or blizzards with any regularity—though he notes that the forecasters in England are prone to exaggeration. He mentions the weather by way of introducing his plans to undertake some weekend walks with friends. These are not mere strolls, he emphasizes, but rather strenuous hikes through all sorts of terrain and during all sorts of weather.

Walking is something of a national pastime, as Bryson reports, and he enjoys the challenges of these walks for the natural splendor one encounters. He and his friends will be walking in the Lake District, one of the most famous districts in England (though, as the author also asserts, much smaller than similarly scenic sites in the US). He hikes past Hilltop, the home of Beatrix Potter, and muses on the historical preservation of the place. The park is underfunded and understaffed, yet the landscape is notably well-maintained; Bryson believes this is creditable to the people of the community.

He stops back in Bowness for a meal and exchanges some conversation with an older British couple. When they discover he is American, they fire off some tired observations about America’s deficiencies. Bryson becomes agitated and suggests that British English has been enhanced by American speech—though he completely fabricates examples to substantiate his claims.

Finally, he meets his friends the next morning, and they begin their hike through Great Langdale. The weather turns threatening, but the three press onward. By the time they reach Blea Tarn, the rain has become ice—but there are still roughly three dozen people enjoying picnic lunches at the nearby summit.