The Portsmouth Road and Its Tributaries: To-Day and in Days of Old

In Short

This volume is a detailed travelogue and historical inquiry into the Portsmouth Road, the vital highway connecting London to the naval heart of England. By tracing the route through its towns, inns, and wild heaths, the work captures the transition from the rugged, dangerous age of stagecoaches and smugglers to the modern era of the bicycle. It is a work of deep research, combining architectural observation, character sketches of historical figures, and a pervasive, wry reflection on how time alters the landscape and the temper of those who travel it.

The Story

The journey begins at the edges of London, specifically the historic streets and heaths leading toward Putney and Wandsworth. The narrative immediately establishes that this road is not merely a path, but a vessel for history. We are introduced to the figures who once defined this stretch: the influential and the infamous. The text traces the rise of Thomas Cromwell—a blacksmith’s son who climbed the ladder of power through service to a capricious king—and pauses to admire the peculiar, rhyming epitaph of Richard Lussher.

As the narrative moves further afield, the tone darkens to reflect the realities of eighteenth-century travel. The road is portrayed as a site of violence and desperation, exemplified by the brutal murder of a sailor at the Devil’s Punch Bowl, a tragedy that left an indelible mark on the landscape and local folklore. The book follows the path of the "free-traders"—the organized gangs of smugglers who once terrorized the countryside and defied the Revenue men. Through these accounts, the road becomes a setting for high-stakes conflict, where the law-abiding were frequently at the mercy of those who saw the highway as a corridor for illicit profit.

The arc of the book is also one of literary and social pilgrimage. We visit the haunts of John Wilkes, the notorious agitator, and pay our respects to the simple, enduring memory of Gilbert White at Selborne. The narrative explores how the road shaped the lives of figures like Edward Gibbon, whose stately prose is contrasted with his own physically "grotesque" appearance. The reader is led through towns like Dorking and Ripley, where the changing fortunes of inns and the rise of local legends—some true, some exaggerated—are meticulously cataloged.

The final descent toward Portsmouth marks the end of the journey. We see the dramatic transition as the road approaches the coast, where the steep climb of Portsdown Hill once offered a "Land of Promise" to weary travellers. The closing passages reflect on the relentless march of the suburban age, mourning the loss of the old, rugged landscape while acknowledging the inevitable rise of the modern, bustling world. The book concludes not with a finality of place, but with a sense of the road’s enduring, if transformed, character. It leaves the reader with a clear understanding that while the coaches have vanished and the smugglers have long since been buried, the history of the highway remains etched into the very soil of the English countryside.

How It Unfolds

The voyage begins The narrative opens by anchoring the reader in the outskirts of London, examining the layers of history—from Saxon coronation stones to the remnants of medieval life—that lie beneath the modern pavement. It sets a tone of intellectual curiosity, warning the reader that some histories are too remote for recovery, while others remain stubbornly alive.

The landscape of crime The focus shifts to the wild, desolate stretches of the road, particularly the Devil's Punch Bowl on Hindhead. Here, the text recounts the cold-blooded murder of a sailor and the subsequent hanging of his killers, showing how crime shaped the very geography of the route.

Literary and political encounters The middle chapters serve as a series of portraits, tracing the footsteps of writers, politicians, and socialites. By visiting the homes of Gilbert White and Edward Gibbon, the narrative explores the tension between the greatness of a person’s public work and the absurdity of their private lives.

The age of the cyclist The final movement brings the road into the nineteenth century, examining the rise of cycling and the friction between the old "coaching" guard and the new generation of travellers. The text concludes with a meditation on how changing tastes and suburban growth have paved over the rougher, more dangerous edges of the past.

The People

The book is populated by a cast that reflects the road’s diverse history. Thomas Cromwell stands as the ultimate example of social mobility, rising from a blacksmith’s forge to the heights of power, only to fall by the same mechanisms of cruelty he used to ascend. In contrast, the sailor encountered by the narrator on a coach trip represents the common traveller—drunken, impulsive, and prone to violent outbursts that highlight the thin line between order and chaos on the road.

John Wilkes appears as a central, roguish figure, whose irreverent humor—exemplified by the prank with the baboon at a secret orgy—challenges the stuffy pretensions of his era. He is presented as a complex, polarizing agent of change. Gilbert White serves as the quiet, grounded counterpoint to these tempestuous lives. His simple, observant nature provides the book with a sense of calm, representing a deep, intellectual connection to the natural world that persists long after the political dramas of his day have faded. Finally, the "coaching men" and the "cyclists" occupy the book’s later pages, representing a social clash between tradition and the new, faster pace of modernity.

In Its Own Voice

"What tounge can speake y{e} Vertues of y{s} Creature? Whose body fayre, whose soule of rarer feature; He livd a Saynt, he dyed an holy wight, In Heaven on earth a Joyfull heavy sight."

The author quotes this curious, heartfelt epitaph of Richard Lussher to demonstrate that even forgotten figures left behind legacies of poetic, if idiosyncratic, praise.

"The grass on which they stood had once been dyed with gore; and the blood of the murdered man had run down, drop by drop, into the hollow which gives the place its name."

The author describes the visceral, lingering memory of a brutal murder at the Devil’s Punch Bowl, emphasizing how the road’s beauty is haunted by its history of violence.

What It's Really About

At its core, this book is an exploration of the relationship between memory and geography. It asks how a physical space—a road—can act as a ledger for the entire spectrum of human experience, from the divine right of kings to the petty, everyday struggles of the poor. The author argues that history is not found in grand monuments, but in the small, often-overlooked details: an epitaph on a tombstone, the sign of an old inn, or the specific way a village has grown around a river. It is an argument against the shallow, modern tendency to prioritize present-day convenience over the deep, often uncomfortable, roots of the past.

Why Read It Today

Readers who enjoy walking tours, local history, or the evocative prose of the nineteenth century will find this a deeply rewarding companion. The book feels like a conversation with a knowledgeable, opinionated guide who is just as likely to pause and lecture you on the architectural sins of a new church as he is to recount a legendary murder. It requires a certain patience for the author’s period biases; his disdain for "cads on castors" (cyclists) and his occasional irritability toward modern architecture provide a charming, if sometimes curmudgeonly, human perspective.

The prose is rich and descriptive, turning the act of travel into an intellectual adventure. You will likely walk away with a changed perspective on the English landscape, seeing it not as a static backdrop, but as a living record of human triumph, stupidity, and endurance. While the book is dense with facts and names that may seem obscure to the modern reader, the warmth of the author’s voice keeps the journey moving. It is a work for those who believe that the road to one's destination is far more interesting than the destination itself.