Over the course of his life, M. R. James sent many letters to contemporary newspapers, covering a variety of subjects from archaeological discoveries to obituaries of friends and colleagues. I thought it might be of interest to begin a series wherein I will occasionally transcribe some of these letters. The vast majority of these were published in The Times between 1901 and his death in 1936, but I am beginning with a letter entitled “West Suffolk Roads”, which was printed in the Bury and Norwich Post and Suffolk Standard on 17th January, 1899.
Unlike the majority of James’ letters which were focused primarily around scholarly and college matters, this piece sees James expressing his frustrations around the condition of the roads around Bury St. Edmunds in a five-paragraph diatribe. It certainly makes for an amusing read and a rare opportunity to witness James in a mood of indignation.
Duncan J. Rule.
WEST SUFFOLK ROADS.
TO THE EDITOR
Sir,—Ever since I have possessed a bicycle, and ridden it upon West Suffolk roads—that is to say, for some four years—I have vowed at short intervals that I would write and ask you and your readers what it is that makes these roads so incredibly, so intolerably, and so detestably bad? In spring, summer, autumn, and winter the kind of badness varies; but badness of some sort is always present. I chose this time for addressing you on the subject because I am told that this is the proper season for mending roads; and, indeed, I have here and there noticed patches of flint or muddy gravel which would appear to indicate some pious aspiration towards improvement on the part of the responsible authority. Now, I do not think that it is merely my own fancy that leads me to suppose these roads of ours to be worse than others. I remember an article upon bicycling runs which appeared some years back, I think, in the Strand Magazine. It was written by Mr. Frank Shorland[1], a person of great repute among cyclists, and in enumerating various parts of England in which he advised his readers to make bicycling expeditions, he particularly excepted West Suffolk, because, he said, the roads there were “proverbially bad.” I add to this competent witness the unanimous testimony of all the people I have heard speak on the subject, and I am convinced that the state of our roads is far worse than it need be, and that some one—probably a good many people—must be gravely at fault.
Of course at this time of the year one does not expect to find the roads at their best, but one does not expect to be actually driven off the main track by its extensive badness, and then find, when one is doing violence to one’s feelings, and the law of the land by riding on the path, that the path is covered with hedge-clippings. Something is wrong and badly wrong. You, sir, if you will, can at least give publicity to the complaints of a large class, and perhaps, though I am rather despondent about this, the responsible persons will consider the possibility of thinking whether it would be advisable to begin consulting as to the practicability of some improvements.
I do not know—I do not think I very much wish to know—who the responsible persons may be. It seems as if they did not much like cyclists, and I am quite sure that cyclists do not at all like them. Yet, as fellow creatures, I have sufficient feeling for them to induce me to ask them seriously to consider their latter end. If it is true that, as I have been told, the two most eminent architects of the middle of this century (one French and the other English) are now engaged in gradually licking away with their own tongues life-size models of the cathedral they “restored,” what, I ask, is likely to be the fate of those who keep the roads of West Suffolk in their present conditions? Will they spend long ages in riding up and down three or four picked miles of the worst roads on a punctured bicycle, with men stationed behind the hedges on either side at uncertain intervals armed with rifles? Or will they merely be turned into rollers, still sentient, and compelled to reduce all the roads in their district to a state of absolute smoothness? They would do well to contemplate these probabilities.
One word in conclusion. In all questions of appointment of officials to be entrusted with the supervision of roads it ought now-a days to be made an indispensable condition that the person appointed should be a cyclist. The roads ought to be kept up to the standard of the vehicle that required the best quality of surface, not kept down to the requirements of that which is most easily satisfied.
I am sir, yours faithfully,
MONTAGUE RHODES JAMES, Litt. D.
[1] – Frank Shorland was an early champion cyclist and the chairman and general manager of the Clément-Talbot automotive manufacturer in the early part of the 20th century.
Antiquarian Ghosts 