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'.
This story is from the {{IssueName}} edition of {{MagazineName}}.
Start your 7-day Magzter GOLD free trial to access thousands of curated premium stories, and 9,000+ magazines and newspapers.
Already a subscriber ? Sign In
This story is from the {{IssueName}} edition of {{MagazineName}}.
Start your 7-day Magzter GOLD free trial to access thousands of curated premium stories, and 9,000+ magazines and newspapers.
Already a subscriber? Sign In
Tales as old as time
By appointing writers-in-residence to landscape locations, the National Trust is hoping to spark in us a new engagement with our ancient surroundings, finds Richard Smyth
Do the active farmer test
Farming is a profession, not a lifestyle choice’ and, therefore, the Budget is unfair
Night Thoughts by Howard Hodgkin
Charlotte Mullins comments on Moght Thoughts
SOS: save our wild salmon
Jane Wheatley examines the dire situation facing the king of fish
Into the deep
Beneath the crystal-clear, alien world of water lie the great piscean survivors of the Ice Age. The Lake District is a fish-spotter's paradise, reports John Lewis-Stempel
It's alive!
Living, burping and bubbling fermented masses of flour, yeast and water that spawn countless loaves—Emma Hughes charts the rise and rise) of sourdough starters
There's orange gold in them thar fields
A kitchen staple that is easily taken for granted, the carrot is actually an incredibly tricky customer to cultivate that could reduce a grown man to tears, says Sarah Todd
True blues
I HAVE been planting English bluebells. They grow in their millions in the beechwoods that surround us—but not in our own garden. They are, however, a protected species. The law is clear and uncompromising: ‘It is illegal to dig up bluebells or their bulbs from the wild, or to trade or sell wild bluebell bulbs and seeds.’ I have, therefore, had to buy them from a respectable bulb-merchant.
Oh so hip
Stay the hand that itches to deadhead spent roses and you can enjoy their glittering fruits instead, writes John Hoyland
A best kept secret
Oft-forgotten Rutland, England's smallest county, is a 'Notswold' haven deserving of more attention, finds Nicola Venning
