Home thoughts from abroad or thank God for English maps and Portuguese food...

May 9th, 2024

Today, dear readers, I concluded that spring has departed and summer has finally arrived. As I sat down to begin work I was pleasantly distracted from my emails to hear the unmistakable sound of screaming swifts suddenly come in through the open windows. Somewhere high up in the haze of the blue sky they had returned.

..The swifts

Materialize at the tip of a long scream

Of needle. ‘Look! They’re back! Look!’ And they’re gone

On a steep...

— Ted Hughes, ‘Swift’

I'm delighted by the arrival of swifts in our Wiltshire town, an auspicious sign for Idle Country Press. Swifts hold a special place in our logo, symbolizing the values of freedom, independence, innovation and respect for nature that we cherish. As these magnificent birds grace our skies once more, it's a reassuring reminder of the possibilities ahead for our publishing venture.

Today, we had a leisurely lunch in our garden, Ines made her grandmother’s recipe of Bolinhos de Bacalhau, 'little cakes of salt Codfish.' Made of potato, egg, aromatic herbs, and tender shreds of fish and fried to a golden brown in olive oil. They are delicious.

We recently spent a few days in Portugal: one day ascending the terraced slopes of the Douro valley, where the Sandeman Quinta do Seixo estate awaited, inviting us to taste their Port wine amidst breathtaking vistas. The next night we had drinks in Porto city centre before descending to the riverside, where we caught the haunting strains of Fado music coming from an underground eatery. Here, amidst the flickering candlelight and the murmurs of the city, we found ourselves transported by the melodies that echoed the heartaches and joys of generations past. In these moments, amidst the blend of flavours and melody, I discovered the allure of Portugal's essence, and the unmistakable feeling of a city carefully balancing the perennial tension of old and new but with a renewed vigour as it reinvents itself as a city on the up.

Well, where the Portuguese succeed in truly good food they fail spectacularly in maps. Never, dear readers, try and go walking in Portugal. That is, don’t go if you don’t like getting lost. Even if you turn up somewhere with a promising board showing a well-drawn and mapped route, you will inevitably find yourself, barely thirty minutes into the walk, wondering just where on earth you are. Perhaps there’ll be a fading colour mark on an old Eucalyptus tree but that will be all or even more baffling, no signpost at a point where three roads diverge! Finally, after you painstakingly figure out which is the correct way, five minutes later you see a sign pointing the way you are already heading. In fairness, though, Portugal has incredible scenery and an impressive grandeur that we don't have here. The waterfalls are particularly impressive as is the wild swimming where the pristine mountain water runs clear and cool and spills into lovely dark pools that invite you in after long hours in the dry heat. But thank god for English maps or should that be: thank god for the English obsession with making maps and keeping footpaths open which make walking in England such a pleasure and with such abounding freedom, I don't take it for granted.

Well back here in the Shires ‘the May month flaps its glad green leaves delicate filmed as new spun silk...’ as Thomas Hardy would say and all of a sudden the world is cast in a delicious greenness and freshness with that ‘yearly trick of looking new’. After work, we stroll down to the river and follow its meandering course to Avoncliff flanked by the many chestnuts now in flower. I watched one evening as the sun dipped low on the water, the Mayflies dancing on the surface lit up like sparkling jewels and then the occasional gulp and plop of water as the trout snatched an easy meal. The hedgerows burned white with blossom. Even the mass of nettles looked nice and I think of that master of the short poem, Edward Thomas with his love for the wild, unkempt and unassuming parts of nature.

Tall nettles cover up, as they have done

These many springs, the rusty harrow, the plough

Long worn out, and the roller made of stone:

Only the elm butt tops the nettles now.

This corner of the farmyard I like most:

As well as any bloom upon a flower

I like the dust on the nettles, never lost

Except to prove the sweetness of a shower.

It’s a life-affirming month, isn’t it? Larkin is correct: "Begin afresh, afresh, afresh" is exactly what the leaves say. We each have our versions of eternal Paradise. A good subject for reverie, I think. I suspect that some of us would be content to spend eternity stretched out on the grass beneath a tree in full leaf, blue sky overhead, and the river of life passing gently by…and what other month would you choose than May?

Henri Biva, Punts moored on still waters

Well, it’s time to delve into our upcoming book releases, starting with our first Idle Country edition, ‘Micah Clarke,’ a thrilling story about the Monmouth Rebellion of 1685 and the pursuit of liberty, which is in the final stages of production. “Since it is so likely that children will meet cruel enemies, let them at least have heard of brave knights and heroic courage” — C. S. Lewis. A better example of an honourable man in Micah is hard to find in this excellent story.

Following closely behind is ‘Ambush of Young Days’ by Allison Uttley, a delightful celebration of youthful wonder and rural childhood. Then, we're pleased to present ‘England is a Village’ by C. Henry Warren, a poignant social history capturing life in an English village amidst the looming threat of Nazi aggression in 1940. Rather enjoyably I have decided to include as the cover image of this title, a painting by John Nash of the village of Nayland in Suffolk; a lovely picture I have in my home generously given to me as a present.

So what do these titles have in common? Part of the mission here at Idle Country is not to worship the past but to bring awareness as to how crucial it is in order to have a healthy and sensible view of the present.

“Most of all, perhaps we need intimate knowledge of the past. Not that the past has any magic about it, but because we cannot study the future… and much which seems certain to the uneducated or intolerant is merely temporary fashion.” — C. S Lewis

As we embark on the journey of publishing forgotten works alongside new titles with Idle Country Press, we are not merely indulging in the worship of ashes. Instead, through our careful curations, we are embracing the wisdom and insights of works that are at risk of being lost forever and recognizing that the lessons of history provide invaluable guidance for navigating the uncertainties of the future. Through intimate knowledge of the past, we equip ourselves with the tools to discern what is enduring and true and this coupled with our focus on leveraging new technology and innovation is the driving idea of the company.

One day long ago, I was looking through some old books on the shelf of my father's library. I picked one up at random, I think it was 'The Icknield Way' by Edward Thomas, a great fat volume, slightly foxed and smelling like all good old books should do. On the inside was a strange inscription dated 1913:

This writer has travelled a way unknown to me;

Through country to which I am a stranger

yet this story entertained and enlightened me

and that they render you like service

is both my hearty hope and wish.

I can't think of a better inscription to be placed at the beginning of all our books.

H. S. Merritt, "Woodford Bridge in the Avon Valley" (c. 1942)