Notes From A Small Island

Bryson arrives in Edinburgh, which actually feels distinct from England (unlike Wales, in his opinion). He leaves his hotel in search of breakfast (the hotel charges far too much) and ends up in a McDonalds. He visits the Royal Scottish Academy, where he finds uninspiring works on beach scenes and “for some reason, French street scenes” (275). He then makes his way to the National Gallery of Scotland, whose Victorian grandeur he finds more pleasing. An older gentleman, whom Bryson identifies as working class, explains the paintings to a young boy. He notes that this seems to be a peculiarly British attribute—the high levels of education among the less privileged.

He then walks up to Edinburgh Castle and looks down over Princes Street. Again, it has been changed, as old buildings are razed to make way for new shopping centers and hotels. When he later consults his map back in the hotel, he is angered to find that the current map does not acknowledge the historical destruction.

After overhearing a woman apologizing to the desk clerk for asking to fix the broken television in her room, Bryson thinks of an anecdote in which a robbery is foiled by propriety. He claims that good manners are a central quality of the British character. These reflections put Bryson in a good mood as he visits his last few sites in Edinburgh before moving on to Aberdeen.

Aberdeen is disappointing, again reminding him of nowhere in particular and everywhere in general.

He takes a train through the Highlands, enjoying the scenery, before disembarking in Inverness. In contrast to Aberdeen, Inverness is historically specific and boasts lovely natural vistas. Nevertheless, Bryson dislikes the modern office buildings in the center of town. He lists the many structures in Britain he would choose to “blow up” for their depressing architecture, including London’s Hilton Hotel, Leeds’s post office, and Highland Enterprise Board’s headquarters—ironically, the location tasked with sustaining the beauty of the area.

Bryson leaves Inverness on another train, bound for Thurso. He notes that, though the British spend little on maintaining their rail service, it remains outstanding. The train road is long, and the landscape grows increasingly barren the farther north the train journeys: Thurso is “the northernmost town on the British mainland, the end of the line in every sense of the word” (292). Bryson appreciates that most of the businesses in the town appear to be locally owned, though he also wonders if he will have enough to do over the course of his three days staying there.

As his trip wears on, it starts to affect him. He begins asking inane or unanswerable questions—“Why do they call it a grapefruit?” (294)—and cannot concentrate on what is before him. This pattern is disrupted by his discovery of a restaurant that serves Chinese, Indian, and European fare out of one kitchen. This is sufficiently novel to distract Bryson from his running thoughts.

The next morning, he begins the journey to John o’ Groats. He must travel by car, the only way to reach such a remote place, and he revels in the “arrestingly empty landscape” (297). He feels safe driving, as there is little to collide with. Named for a Dutchman, the village is minuscule and mostly empty. He visits the one store that is open and has a lively conversation with the proprietors. He looks out across the harbor, thinking about visiting the Orkney islands. But, he figures, they are simply more parts of Britain. Maybe next time.

He then visits Halkirk, immortalized as an unpopular posting for soldiers during World War II. What he finds is that the town’s reputation might have been exaggerated. He returns the car in Thurso, having seen all there is to see.

He stays the night in Thurso, enlivened by a hearty and delicious breakfast, and boards a bus to the train station with a group of women who make the trek to Inverness every Saturday for shopping and fun. Bryson disembarks there to catch the train to Glasgow.

He remarks on the transformational changes wrought on Glasgow since the 1970s—well-deserved, in his opinion. He enjoys the Burrell Collection, filled with items from Mesopotamia, Egypt, Greece, and Rome. He walks back into town after this but gets lost. He wanders into the pub, hoping for a rest and a pint (and some directions), only to discover that he cannot understand a word the proprietor says, nor can he understand the locals who vainly try to interpret. He slips out, and after much perambulating, finds his way back to the Clyde River and toward the city center. He mulls over the story of Gorbals, a housing project erected in Glasgow with shelter for 40,000 people but no infrastructure. This lack of foresight led to swiftly deteriorating living conditions. Though Glasgow has undergone some improvements, it still maintains its gritty edge.

Bryson spends one more day in Glasgow because he wants to take the Settle-to-Carlisle line home; though obscure, it runs through some of the most impressive scenery in the country. The author intends to enjoy every landmark (Blea Moor Tunnel, Dent Station, Ribblehead Viaduct) and moment on the trip.

Bryson admires the Yorkshire Dales with a passion, and he defends the Yorkshire people. While they do not welcome a stranger with open arms—unlike the Midwesterners among whom Bryson grew up—they will accept one over time. Bryson, for one, will miss his time spent living there.

His journey is now complete, and he feels adrift at the sudden ending. He takes in the view, and the sight of his house, determined that, though he must leave this small island, he will most certainly be happy to return.

Finally, Bryson provides the American reader with a dictionary of common Britishisms. For example, a “jumper,” whose usage he wonders about in Chapter 28, indicates a sweater (321), while a “lorry” refers to a truck (322). The ubiquitous word for an English dessert—of any kind—is a pudding. As Bryson explains, “in Britain, ice cream is pudding” (323). He also includes some definitions of slang (and sometimes offensive) terms here.