He loved birds and green places, and the wind on the heath, and saw the brightness of the skirts of God Gravestone epitaph of W. H. Hudson
DO you know the name W. H. Hudson? Perhaps not. His books are largely forgotten. But then, what exactly was the name of the man who was a founder of the Royal Society for the Protection of Birds (RSPB), a literary influence on Hemingway and judged by The Times on his death, a century ago in August 1922, to be 'unsurpassed as an English writer on nature'? Go to Argentina, where he was born in 1841 to American parents, and he was Guillermo Enrique Hudson-a town in Buenos Aires province is named for him. On the frontispiece of the US editions of Far Away and Long Ago, his passionate memoir of a wildlife-loving youth on the pampas, he becomes William Henry Hudson. In England, where he lived out the long and fruitful autumn of his life, he appeared in public as 'W. H. Hudson'. Except, that is, when he was writing the rags-to-riches potboiler Fan as Henry Harford.
In every sense, Hudson was difficult to pin down: a man of shifting name, shifting nationality and shifting authorial subjects. Above all, he was a bird man and the author of more than 40 books on ornithology. To him, birds were 'the most valuable things we have'.
He was a child of Nature. No sooner was he out of the wooden cot on his parents' sheep-and-cattle estancia than he was exploring the grassland of the Argentine, alone among the fauna and flora. In a crucial sense, Hudson remained a child his entire life, filled with awe and wonder at the natural world. On reaching adulthood, he would spend a whole day in spring simply admiring grass, 'nourishing my mind on it... The sight of it was all I wanted'.
هذه القصة مأخوذة من طبعة August 31, 2022 من Country Life UK.
ابدأ النسخة التجريبية المجانية من Magzter GOLD لمدة 7 أيام للوصول إلى آلاف القصص المتميزة المنسقة وأكثر من 9,000 مجلة وصحيفة.
بالفعل مشترك ? تسجيل الدخول
هذه القصة مأخوذة من طبعة August 31, 2022 من Country Life UK.
ابدأ النسخة التجريبية المجانية من Magzter GOLD لمدة 7 أيام للوصول إلى آلاف القصص المتميزة المنسقة وأكثر من 9,000 مجلة وصحيفة.
بالفعل مشترك? تسجيل الدخول
Kitchen garden cook - Apples
'Sweet and crisp, apples are the epitome of autumn flavour'
The original Mr Rochester
Three classic houses in North Yorkshire have come to the market; the owner of one inspired Charlotte Brontë to write Jane Eyre
Get it write
Desks, once akin to instruments of torture for scribes, have become cherished repositories of memories and secrets. Matthew Dennison charts their evolution
'Sloes hath ben my food'
A possible paint for the Picts and a definite culprit in tea fraud, the cheek-suckingly sour sloe's spiritual home is indisputably in gin, says John Wright
Souvenirs of greatness
FOR many years, some large boxes have been stored and forgotten in the dark recesses of the garage. Unpacked last week, the contents turned out to be pots: some, perhaps, nearing a century old—dense terracotta, of interesting provenance.
Plants for plants' sake
The garden at Hergest Croft, Herefordshire The home of Edward Banks The Banks family is synonymous with an extraordinary collection of trees and shrubs, many of which are presents from distinguished friends, garnered over two centuries. Be prepared to be amazed, says Charles Quest-Ritson
Capturing the castle
Seventy years after Christian Dior’s last fashion show in Scotland, the brand returned under creative director Maria Grazia Chiuri for a celebratory event honouring local craftsmanship, the beauty of the land and the Auld Alliance, explains Kim Parker
Nature's own cathedral
Our tallest native tree 'most lovely of all', the stately beech creates a shaded environment that few plants can survive. John Lewis-Stempel ventures into the enchanted woods
All that money could buy
A new book explores the lost riches of London's grand houses. Its author, Steven Brindle, looks at the residences of plutocrats built by the nouveaux riches of the late-Victorian and Edwardian ages
In with the old
Diamonds are meant to sparkle in candlelight, but many now gather dust in jewellery boxes. To wear them today, we may need to reimagine them, as Hetty Lintell discovers with her grandmother's jewellery