Writers’ paradise

Inder Raj Ahluwalia recalls a day out at the Chiltern Hills and the Thames valley

John Milton found his Paradise Lost here. Mary Shelley was inspired to write Frankenstein. Jerome K Jerome lived besides the river and thought up the classic comic novel Three men in a boat.

Thomas Gray composed his still resonant Elegy in the same churchyard where his bones now lie. Kenneth Graham, also inspired by the river and the wind in the willows gave birth to Toad, Ratty and Mole. And there’s also Enid Blyton, T.S. Elliot and Edgar Wallace, all remembered here.

Writers, royalty, and the river…It was a truly magnificent day out, providing the very best of Britain at London’s backdoor.

A stone’s throw to the west of London lie the Chiltern Hills and the Thames valley. A casual look would show them to be what they are; pleasant countryside spots. And so they are, except for one additional asset.

Amid the low hills and meadows, thatched cottage villages, old coaching towns and along the banks of the rolling river Thames, are houses lived in by some of the greatest English writers, and the graveyards where they now lie buried.

In addition to sites, homes and memorials associated with these literary giants, there’s also the original ‘Mayflower Barn’ and Quaker resting place of William Penn, founder of Pennsylvania and of course, Windsor, best associated with H.G.Wells…oh, and that Royal family who have a castle there.

A short drive from London and we were in Denham. John Mills lived here, so we stopped for a look around. It is a small place with a few houses, a church, and three pubs — The Swan, Green Man and The Falcon, literally huddled together.

We crept up the Chiltern Hills. Low, wooded, with the leaves turning golden, the hills roll gently for miles on end. We’d reached Chalfont St. Giles village. Milton lived here and we stopped by at his cottage, a brick affair on the main road. The cottage was closed for entry.

Another short drive and we were at a Quaker’s Centre worth exploring. We pulled up at the beautifully preserved Mayflower Barn, reputed to be constructed from the timbers of the ‘Mayflower’ that carried the Pilgrim Fathers to the New World in 1620.

A minute’s walk from the barn is the 17th century Jordan Meeting House that retains most of its original brick, glass, paneling and benches.

In the adjoining burial ground lie the remains of William Penn, his first and second wife, their children and other friends prominent in establishing the region as a major centre of British Quakerism.

Next stop, Stoke Podges, a village as charming as they come. St Giles Church Stoke Podges is tranquility itself and its hauntingly beautiful cemetery that contains the grave of Thomas Gray, seems like the perfect setting for a ghost film.

It was lunch when we pulled into Marlow, which is big enough to pose parking problems. So we parked by the river, crossed the magnificent Court Garden House and took a walk along the river bank, under the famous 19th Century suspension bridge designed by Tierney Clarke, who also built the similar bridge over the Danube river in Budapest, and straight into All Saints Church. A little further downstream is Marlow Lock and Weir where one gets a good view of the church, the bridge and the world famous Compleat Angler Hotel.

A walk up the High Street with its elegant town houses, including Cromwell House, and we were in the cheery though somewhat lonely confines of The Crown, the venerated inn where Jerome K Jerome stayed when he visited. Enjoying homemade chicken and leek pie (4 Pounds), mushroom and spinach pasta in a creamy sauce (5 Pounds), and a local draft beer, I was told about the literary houses alongside on West Street. Percy Bysshe Shelley and his wife Mary (who wrote Frankenstein whilst living in Marlow) lived here, and so did T.S. Eliot and Thomas Love Peacock.

We rounded off our little heritage jaunt at Windsor. And couldn’t get into the castle, the oldest and largest inhabited castle in the world.

The day had slipped by most pleasantly, and it was dark when we returned to London and its traffic and big-city din. Nearly 200-odd-km was all we’d driven to cover a wide swathe of British literary history.

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