Harold finds himself burdened with hangers-on. There is some delightfully sharp humour as the press rush to cash in on his good intentions, and the unintended consequences, with spots on Thought for the Day and ‘leading articles about the nature of the modern pilgrimage, quintessential England, and the pluck of the Saga generation’. Each place offers up its own motley crew of characters, all in their way ‘searching for happiness’.Īs Harold’s trip continues, he starts to attract press attention. As one woman remarks: ‘One wonders where these names all come from’. Quirky place names are in abundance: Mickleton, Ticknall, Little Chester, Old Sodbury. The Vale of Gloucester falls ‘to his left like a giant bowl’. Sheffield is ‘a sulphuric glow on the horizon’. There is a lovely map at the back showing Harold’s journey, and famous towns and hotspots are given cameos. Indeed, one of the joys of the book is the way it rambles through the English landscape.
Joyce is particularly good at describing the outdoors, with ‘a tissue-paper sky’ or a morning view ‘combed through with cloud’. The writing is elegant, with some pleasingly deft touches.
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