Surrey: Painted by Sutton Palmer

In Short

This volume is a descriptive survey of Surrey, England, blending topographical detail with historical context and personal reflection. Originally published as part of a popular series of illustrated color books, it functions as both a travelogue and a cultural appraisal of a county defined by its proximity to London. By cataloging the rivers, ancient roads, and commons that characterize the region, the author documents a landscape caught between its quiet, rural past and the encroachment of modern institutions, preserving a snapshot of early twentieth-century English provincial life.

The Story

The narrative follows a series of deliberate excursions through the county of Surrey, beginning with the riverside towns that fringe the Thames and ending in the rolling, chalky heights of the Downs. The author approaches the geography not merely as a cartographer, but as a long-term resident observing how the land has been shaped by both nature and human industry. The journey begins near the Thames, where the proximity to London dictates a suburban rhythm, yet even here, the text highlights the persistence of royal parks and historic estates like Hampton Court.

As the path leads deeper into the county, the focus shifts to the water-courses, specifically the Wey and the Mole. These rivers serve as arteries for the narrative, allowing the author to explore the contrast between the tranquil meadows and the encroaching "modern, ungraceful, appalling" institutions—the asylums and schools—that began to dot the Surrey landscape during this period. The author moves through market towns like Guildford, lingering on the remnants of castles and the quietude of ecclesiastical ruins like Waverley Abbey. Here, the text pauses to appreciate the intersection of history and literature, noting how these sites have inspired writers and how they continue to host the ghosts of past centuries.

The mid-section of the work explores the ancient, winding tracks of the Pilgrims' Way and the remnants of Roman roads. The narrative arc here is one of discovery, as the author traces these historic paths through woods and over hills. There is a distinct sense of indignation when the author encounters the commercialization of the landscape—specifically the "loathsome placards" of patent-medicine peddlers that deface the countryside. This tension between the sacred, natural beauty of the Downs and the crassness of modern commercial "nostrums" provides a recurring thematic friction.

The journey concludes by climbing into the wilder, sand-rich territories of Hindhead and the southern commons. The author contemplates the significance of these high points, noting the memorials to literary figures like Tennyson and the philosophical presence of thinkers like Tyndall. The final chapters survey the Brighton roads, bringing the account back toward the outskirts of London. The closing perspective is one of tempered optimism: while the "whirligigs of time" and the expansion of the suburbs threaten the seclusion of these villages, the fundamental character of the Surrey landscape—its hills, dales, and ancient yew groves—remains a vital, accessible playground for the public.

How It Unfolds

The riverside prospect The author initiates the exploration along the Thames, detailing the transition from the bustling, semi-urban river banks of Richmond to the quieter, more characteristic pine-wood scenery of Weybridge. This section establishes the theme of the county as a "pleasure-ground" for those escaping the capital.

The arterial rivers The narrative follows the courses of the Wey and the Mole, observing how these streams carve the landscape into distinct regions. The author contrasts the thriving, canalized nature of the Wey with the more unpredictable, looping, and flood-prone character of the Mole.

The historic tracks The focus turns to the Pilgrims' Way and Roman roads, which offer a deeper, archaeological perspective on the county. These paths act as historical threads, connecting ancient camps, religious ruins, and the persistent presence of the chalk Downs.

The heights and commons The excursion reaches its peak in the rugged, sandy wilderness of Hindhead and Leith Hill. Here, the tone becomes reflective, focusing on the preservation of these areas as public spaces and the literary associations that cling to the local geology.

The final approach The book concludes with a survey of the roads leading toward Brighton and the edge of the Surrey border. The author offers a final assessment of the county's balance between development and preservation, inviting the reader to pursue their own pilgrimage through these well-documented lanes.

The People

The book is less a study of individual biographies and more an inquiry into the "characters" of the landscape and the people who inhabit or visit it. The author, a self-described "adopted son" of the county, acts as our primary guide, consistently pitting his own sensibilities against the "pill-and-potion-mongers" and the creators of "appalling" modern institutions.

Figures like the "pious founder" of Holloway College appear, serving as both local benefactors and objects of the author’s mild, dry satire. We also encounter historical figures such as Henry Drummond, the banker and enthusiast who turned Albury into a center for his religious sect, and the "wicked lord" Clive, whose local reputation was forever darkened by rumors of his pacts with the devil. Literary figures also haunt the pages: the memory of Tennyson is honored at Haslemere, while Lewis Carroll is noted for his quiet rest in a Guildford cemetery, a man whose fame the locals observe with a mix of curiosity and pride. These individuals represent the varied layers of Surrey’s history—the reformers, the poets, the industrialists, and the seekers of health—who have each left their mark on the soil, whether through a grand architectural folly, a tomb of gorse and heather, or a simple, enduring memory.

In Its Own Voice

The moral enforced at once by pen and pencil is that few great cities are so lucky as London in having at its back-doors a playground, pleasure-ground, and garden-ground of such manifold interest and beauty.

(The author summarizes the fundamental value of Surrey as a natural, accessible refuge for Londoners.)

There is no spot in Surrey, not even the New Cut, Lambeth, nor the Sewage Farm of Croydon, that deserves such pollution.

(The author expresses his visceral disdain for the commercial billboards that he feels ruin the natural aesthetic of the countryside.)

The lush green water-meadows speckled with the heavy-fleeced sheep, the acres of cornland reclaimed from heather and bracken, the vineyards on the southern...

(This descriptive fragment illustrates the author's romantic, observant eye for the agricultural and monastic history of the landscape.)

What It's Really About

At its heart, the book is an argument for the preservation of public space in the face of urban expansion. The author explores the tension between the "rank growth of conspicuous Institutions"—the asylums and barracks that mark the industrial age—and the surviving, "modestly hidden" charms of the natural environment. It asks how a county can maintain its identity when it is used as a "playground" for a nearby capital. Underlying this is a deep-seated belief in the sanctity of the landscape; the author views the hills and commons not just as geography, but as a repository of historical and moral continuity that is constantly under threat from commercial exploitation and poor urban planning.

Why Read It Today

Readers who enjoy the slow, deliberate pace of Edwardian travelogues will find much to admire here. The prose is warm and observant, reflecting a time when "rambling" was a serious, meditative hobby. You will particularly enjoy this if you have an interest in British topography or the history of how London's suburban ring began to take its current shape.

However, be prepared for the author's distinct, sometimes curmudgeonly voice; he is refreshingly honest about his dislikes, particularly his intolerance for industrial architecture and modern advertising, which may strike some as elitist or out of touch. The book assumes a reader with a moderate level of historical curiosity, as it frequently references obscure local folklore and minor historical figures without extensive background. If you read it with the understanding that it is a portrait of a specific, vanished moment in England’s social history—a time of transition between the quiet, horse-drawn past and the encroaching speed of the twentieth century—it remains an evocative and charming companion for those who wish to wander through the "fair scenes" of a bygone Surrey.