Towards the end of 1958, six years after East of Eden, Steinbeck was not in the best of spirits. Bruised by the American press and somewhat disillusioned by American life which to him seemed decadent, when a friend suggested that there was an ideal cottage in Bruton where he could find peace, lick his wounds, recharge his batteries and rebuild his life, it was (as we would say today) 'a no-brainer'. Bruton was the perfect spot to pursue his quest for the Holy Grail, which in his case was Arthur and Malory's Knights of the Round Table which his aunt had often read to him when he was growing up.
With Elaine, his wife, he arrived at Plymouth in March 1959, but at that time what was life like in England (and particularly in Somerset) and how must it have looked to Steinbeck? With a mixture of fact, local awareness and imagination, my remit was to find out and that meant treading the sod he trod, trying to see it through his eyes and gather what I could from a few local people who were there at the time. What follows is the result.
First Impressions
After a week on the Atlantic and a hundred-mile, two-to-three hour drive in an unfamiliar Hillman Husky, driving on unfamiliar roads from Plymouth (where he landed in March) to Bruton, Somerset (where he was to live for the next six months), Steinbeck's feelings must have been a mixture of excitement and apprehension.
Bruton was a small country town of about 1,500 inhabitants, mostly occupied in rural affairs, and little more than a High Street, busy and efficient though it was. Discove Cottage was about a mile away on a minor road and well out of sight. The first sign that he was there was when he was taken through a farm gate and up a rough drive for perhaps a couple of hundred yards, and there it was — at the top of a field with scarcely another property in sight and a superb outlook across the Somerset countryside, with Glastonbury Tor in the far distance. Discove Cottage had history, it had atmosphere and it offered a quiet retreat. Just what Steinbeck wanted.
But then the English weather is a very uncertain quantity. If March comes in like a lion it goes out like a lamb, or vice versa (as the English say), April is renowned for its showers and nobody would have been expecting the temperatures Steinbeck was accustomed to until June or July. Apparently, however, Steinbeck had chosen wisely. Records* report that after a mild spell in February, coming to an end with a temperature of 66 degrees in London, Spring was dry, and a drought which began on 4th May produced a fine, warm summer, despite thunderstorms and infrequent outbreaks of rain, continuing in London until mid-October, all of which must have enhanced his travels. (J M Stratton, Agricultural Records, London: John Baker, 1978), p. 164.) Even so, air conditioning would not be a problem. In England nobody had it and nobody needed it.
Heating however was a different matter. Most houses relied on one coal (or wood) fire for the whole house. It went out at night and had to be cleaned out and re-lit every morning. For many it would also be the main means of cooking, though gas and electric ovens were just coming in. The Rayburn was the most recent arrival on that front and fortunately Discove had one which gave Steinbeck the joy of lighting the fire with damp and unseasoned wood. Nothing daunted, John and Elaine affirmed it 'warm and cosy'.
Day-by-Day
Other facilities, or rather the lack of them, were not quite so thrilling. Washing machines, twin tubs and tumble driers were virtually unknown; most families simply hung their washing outside on a line and hastened to take it in at the first sign of rain. Refrigerators had not yet arrived in private homes — you could see a big one at the butcher's — and fishmongers just laid out their catches on cold slabs, but Steinbeck soon acquired one. Indoor bathrooms were rare with running water often only available at an outside tap but when Steinbeck arrived water was plumbed into the kitchen and the state of the pipes in the bathroom modernised, though the ancient hand pump in the scullery survives to this day. (Simon Heathcote, Independent, September 27, 2002). Toilets were mostly outside at the back of the house and often shared by more than one family though fortunately for the Steinbecks there was nobody near enough to share theirs.
Steinbeck, however, seems unperturbed by such domesticities and almost to have revelled in the simple life-style. He was a people's man. People were what mattered and he found the locals friendly and welcoming, even though (somewhat patronisingly) he added that 'not having American know-how doesn't seem to have hurt them a bit' (Life in Letters, p 617). What did surprise him was that they seemed to have little interest or awareness in where he had come from. To them America was just 'off to the right as you face south'.
Perhaps one of the first things he had to learn was the small and limited world in which many people in England lived, and not only in the rural areas. For most of them America was big, it was a long way away and few people ever went there. American news barely featured in British papers and such stories as were now slowly coming through tended to be of racial issues in the Deep South which barely touched the English psyche. Very many of them rarely travelled more than 50 miles from home and it was not uncommon for someone living in the centre of England never to have seen the sea. That was the world he had come to. True, it was not his first visit, but then the circumstances in which he had come in World War 2 were so totally different.
Nevertheless he quickly warmed to them and they to him. A natural and ingrained British reservation enabled him to enjoy the quite retreat and isolation that he was looking for as he slotted in to the local custom of having his daily pint of milk waiting for him at the front door when he got up in a morning with letters delivered promptly at 7.45. If he was in the garden when the postman arrived he would welcome a chat, became a regular visitor at the local ironmonger's in the High Street and developed good personal relationships with the local 'bobby' (policeman) who went round on a bike, knew everybody in Bruton and in his other four other parishes as well.
Eating out, so familiar to Americans, was almost non-existent. There were no Eating Out places in the immediate vicinity. There were five pubs (turnout at 10.30) but pubs were exclusively male territory and did not serve food. The Blue Ball was the principal hotel and probably Steinbeck's major watering hole.
Language was not so much a problem as a fascination. The Somerset brogue was certainly a challenge but one which Steinbeck welcomed, allying his own German ancestry to the fact that many of the names seemed to have some sort of German connection. Coming to terms with the fact that what started his car was an accumulator (not a battery), that what linked the kettle to the power was a flex (not an electric wire), and discovering that if you wanted a ham for baking you needed to ask for a smoked gammon or that on a dark night what you needed was a torch (not a flashlight) was all in a day's work.
Transport
Coping with a British car (by no means common among the middle classes at the end of the 50s) and British roads (not vastly different from the horse and cart age, especially in rural areas such as Somerset) seem not to have been a problem, but adjusting to them must have been something of a learning curve. The Hillman Husky, almost certainly a stick-shift, unlikely to have a radio or heating, with limited mirrors, windscreen wipers and signalling facilities (many drivers still heavily reliant on hand signals), while at the same time sitting on the right rather than the left and driving on the left rather than the right must have caused some anxious moments. But they would be the least of his problems when it came to travelling further afield. Traffic lights were few, roundabouts only just coming in, bypasses rare and non-existent in this part of Somerset, and many two-way roads offered few opportunities for overtaking. Dual carriageways were few and far between though on one or two major roads experiments were taking place with three 'lanes', the centre one intended only for overtaking, often known as 'death traps' when two adventurous drivers travelling in opposite directions chose to pull out at the same time. Apart from one short stretch in the North of England the first motorway (freeway?) had only arrived in 1958 and that went from London due north for about 70 miles to Northampton.
Driving in and around Somerset, however, must also have presented its own special surprises if not problems. It still does for a stranger. Signposting is to say the least limited, not immediately obvious, often too late to take action, and many of the country lanes are single track with rare and limited passing places. Good reversing skills, patience and a courteous willingness to give way were essential for all parties. Traffic of course was lighter than today but then the roads too were less developed. Find yourself behind a tractor and you could be in for a long journey; even worse in a county where it was more likely to be a horse and cart than a tractor.
On the whole the bus services were good and as for trains Bruton was on the Wiltshire, Somerset and Weymouth branch of the Great Western Railway line (the GWR, affectionately known as 'God's Wonderful Railway') with an attractive railway station and an open fire in the waiting room.
Sundays
The working week was five and a half days with Tuesday early closing day and on Sundays everything stopped with traditional 'Sabbath observance' still the norm. No Sunday opening and no traffic, as the church took centre stage, St Mary's, Bruton, offering a diet of traditional Anglican worship (Matins and Evensong) and Sunday School in the afternoon. In those days churches formed a crucial part of the social structure of towns and villages, with drama, choirs, bands and traditional youth activities such as Boys' Brigade, Girls' Brigade, Church Lads' Brigade and often in close association with secular parallels such as Scouts and Guides.
Steinbeck did not respond well to the churches, though he did go at Easter because something in him warmed to the Easter experience. Elaine on the other hand took an active part in the life of St Mary's, even sharing with the rest of the congregation in the annual Spring Clean, with a photo in the Museum to prove it. There was also a Congregational Chapel, now an attractive restaurant bearing the memorable title 'At the Chapel'. With very little else to do on Sundays families would often spend time together eating, playing family games or gather round the piano for a sing-song. Some change came with the arrival of television, a novelty at the beginning of the 50s, particularly after the Coronation in 1953, but still by no means general in 1959, and still a small screen, black and white, frequent breakdowns, and with a price tag of £56.00 more often rented rather than bought outright.
Bruton and Glastonbury
With a population of around 1,500 Bruton in the 1960s was a fair reflection of the 1930s. Farms were small and labour intensive, employment was high, shops were well-stocked and the High Street, with two-way traffic and few parking problems, was very much alive.
Jones and Sons (Seed Merchants) employed 20-30 staff, together with a thriving Haulage Company and a Bacon Factory sat alongside a range of shops and services to meet the basic requirements of all the residents. Outstanding in that department was Mr Windmill's Ironmongers and Hardware Stores which sold just about everything on that front. Steinbeck, was a regular visitor, chatted with the owner and was particularly fascinated by a collection of old pieces of ironmongery behind the shop going back to the Middle Ages and including a man-catcher to catch poachers.
The Trades Directory shows two other hotels, three butchers, two grocers, two hairdressers, a fishmonger, a garage, a shoe repairers, a watchmaker, a tea room, and of course a bank and a post office. Bruton also had a regular market and a Co-op with boots and shoes, a drapery, a bakery and a slaughterhouse. Traffic was light, most businesses were small and most shops owned and staffed by one family, possibly with an assistant. There was full employment (mostly labour intensive) and largely rural pursuits. The Museum in the High Street tells the story of a village dominated by silk, wool and the rail industries in a bygone age, now predominantly concerned with education and farming.
For a small village Bruton could boast three distinguished Schools: Kings dating back to 1519, Sexey's (1899) and Bruton School for Girls (1900). A shy man, Steinbeck was well aware of his limitations and unwilling to accept an invitation to address the Assembly, being much happier with one-to-one relationships. Two or three boys from Kings took advantage of this and regularly went to Discove Cottage on a Sunday afternoon for a chat, one of whom was John Mole who later distinguished himself as a poet and another was Tim Blanning who became a history don.
Glastonbury, with a slightly larger population, provided much of the same only more so. In a vast area where the main operation was dairy farming and allied rural pursuits, Glastonbury boasted three factories, outstanding of which was Morlands with professional skills in sheepskins and warm slippers. Just prior to the opening of the bypass in the early sixties traffic in Glastonbury was not particularly heavy but had Steinbeck been in and around Morlands in the early morning he would almost have been mown down by the arrival of their large workforce on bicycles, the second most popular means of transport after horses.
Of Myth and History
Alongside the need to retreat and reflect in order to re-write Malory and Caxton's King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table, whenever Steinbeck was not actually writing he went out of his way to re-live the 'Arthur Dream' and absorb the atmosphere of the local links and connections. He was of course well aware that Somerset and Tintagel were not the only sites to claim a connection with Arthur. Caerleon in South Wales, and Winchester Castle, site of the ancient Court and Capital of Alfred the Great in the 9th century and possessor of the 13-14th century 'Round Table', were two others and Steinbeck visited all four, but Bruton was where he was living and spent most of his time.
No doubt Steinbeck also had many questions as to the historical realities of the whole saga, but his interest was not so much the historical facts as the force and reality of the vision, the 'Dream', and its significance for today. To achieve this he travelled widely, driven by an urge 'to feel the past, as he believed Malory did'. (A Life in Letters, p 591).
Despite very little evidence for Arthur in Glastonbury as early as the 5-6th centuries (Arthur dates from the 12th century literature in Geoffrey of Monmouth's History of the Kings of Britain), Glastonbury Abbey is nonetheless the hub for legends about Arthur and regarded as the burial place for Arthur and Guinevere.
The Abbey is a short walk from the bottom of the High Street and on arrival Steinbeck would have found the Gatekeeper (now succeeded as Gatekeeper by her grand-daughter). Having paid his dues he would be able to view the supposed site of Arthur's tomb and let his imagination loose on days gone by.
A short walk would have taken him to the Chalice Well at the foot of Glastonbury Tor reputed to be the site for the Holy Grail burying place and many other legends. Steinbeck may have questioned some of the legends but he could not fail to be impressed by the fact that it is widely regarded as one of the most popular holy wells of Britain, its waters flowing ceaselessly at a rate of 25,000 gallons a day every day for at least 2,000 years and never failing even in times of drought, with a temperature that never varies, claimed by some to have healing qualities, by some to symbolise 'a direct expression of an unbounded life force' and by others to be regarded simply as a scene of peace and solitude. Whatever his view, Steinbeck is unlikely to have missed the point that in the year of his visit the Chalice Well Trust was formed to protect the spot and 'to enable visitors and pilgrims to receive inspiration and refreshment from the waters and gardens.
Nearby, in Glastonbury Causeway, known as Arthur's Hunting Track, Steinbeck would have visited Arthur's Well and Arthur's Palace, from where he might well have gone on to climb Glastonbury Tor (521 feet and just over 300 steps) at the top of which he would find the ruins of St Michael's Tower, a 14th century edifice with a magnificent view for miles around, including three counties, moorland stretching out to the ocean, the Quantocks and the Mendip Hills, and (on a good day) the Welsh Mountains. Besides the Arthurian associations the Tor carries its own history, legends and folklore, including the notion of an inner cavern called Avalon in the 5th century and sometimes hailed as Arthur's final resting place.
Ten miles from Bruton in the heart of Arthurian country, lies South Cadbury Hill, one of the more reputed sites for King Arthur's Camelot, where Arthur allegedly governed with the Round Table, now in Winchester, but if Steinbeck went, expecting to see Castle ruins he would have been disappointed. There never was a castle there as such. What has disappeared from view is the early medieval hall and the fortified entrance to an ancient Iron Age hill fort, along with the earlier Roman-British temple and Iron Age huts, the population of which was probably cleared by the Romans following a massacre c60 CE.
To many people Cadbury Hill may be dismissed as little more than a Sunday afternoon walk with a muddy access path and a steep climb to a grassy mound where one can still identify the ramparts and enjoy stupendous views. For Steinbeck, however, it was a spiritual experience, as he describes it:
'Yesterday something wonderful . . I climbed up to Cadbury — Camelot. I don't think I remember an impact like that. Could see from the Bristol Channel to the tops of the Mendip Hills and all the little villages, Glastonbury Tor and King Alfred's towers on the other side . . . I walked all around the upper wall. And I don't know what I felt but it was a lot like those slow hot bubbles of molten rock in a volcano, a gentle rumbling earthquake of the Spirit . . . Made the hairs prickle on the back of the neck'. (A Life in Letters, 629).
Tintagel, a hundred miles away in a neighbouring county, was different but Steinbeck had to see it. Today it is a popular tourist attraction though not very different from when Steinbeck visited but the old bridge linking the two hills was washed into the sea and had to be replaced by the present wooden one. The 200-plus steps have changed little and there is more development at the bottom but the rest is substantially the same.
When he and Elaine left Bruton six months later they both independently rated it as 'the happiest time of their life' though from time to time, and not least at the beginning, he must have had some anxious, if not puzzling moments.
See also brutontown.com