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My, how time flies when you’re having fun. It was 30 years ago that the magazine begun in the 70s as British History Illustrated morphed into a new publication. Yes, the first volume of British Heritage magazine was published in 1980. That first issue included a take on the history of Canada, a feature on the Sikhs and a recipe for sherry trifle based on tinned fruit cocktail. It has indeed been a winding road ever since.
For much of its history British Heritage struggled with an identity crisis, veering from an image of itself as a history magazine to thinking of itself as a travel magazine. There and back again, as Bilbo Baggins would observe. The magazine has come a long way to its present incarnation as a distinguished periodical of British travel and culture. In truth, however, while 30 years seems like the day before yesterday to many of us, it is mind-boggling how different the world was a mere three decades ago.
As it happens, 1980 was also the year that I took my own first extensive rambles around Great Britain, nylon bag slung over my shoulder. Including my Britrail Pass and airfare, I think the month or so cost me a total of &doller;1,500. Beer, as I recall, was about 40p a pint and my B&B often cost less than £10.
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My 1980 itinerary was painstakingly detailed—and designed to get me to many of the places on this issue’s list of best literary visits. Of course, the best laid schemes, as Burns succinctly commented, “gang aft a-gley.” Getting on the wrong train, a missed connection, underestimating travel time and such: It was not long before I realized that my shattered timetable didn’t matter. Wherever I ended up in Britain, there were discoveries to be made, histories to explore, fun people to meet and friendly pubs. It may cost more these days, but some things actually don’t change, and Great Britain is as fascinating a place to unpack and to share now as it was 30 years ago.
In more than 100 visits to Britain over the intervening years, I’ve accumulated enough anecdotes to fill a tome with the heft of the King James Version. Remarkably enough, however, memories of that first adventure still come flooding back.
In the Aberdeenshire market town of Huntly, on the Grampian line from Aberdeen to Inverness, I went into the Gordon Arms on the market square. An old retired major from the Gordon Highlanders was the relief manager. He took me into the bar where the locals were holding court: “Look, lads, it’s a Huntley by name come home from the Colonies.” The rest of the evening, they bought me drinks—room temperature whisky and lemonade—and lined them up on the bar far faster than I could manage to force them down.
I got to Canterbury late in the evening, and snuck into the transept door of Canterbury Cathedral. The nave alone was brightly lit. I sat on the cold stone floor under the Bell Harry Tower in the dark and listened while the Huddersfield Chorale Society and the BBC Philharmonic rehearsed Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony.
Often, my recollections have been prompted by some note or tidbit in British Heritage. Just as often my plans for adventures to come are inspired by the writers who grace our pages. And that is the point of such a magazine, is it not? In T.S. Eliot’s phrase: “Mixing memory and desire…like spring rain.”
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