Along the Evenlode

When I read the opening line of the Pryftan fragment in The History of the Hobbit, I immediately jumped up and left the house in search of adventure.

“As they sang the hobbit felt the love of beautiful things made by hands and by cunning and by magic moving through him; then something Tookish awoke within him, and he wished to go and see the great mountains and the seas, the pine trees and the waterfalls, and explore the caves and wear a sword instead of a walking stick.”¹

The start of the Pryftan fragment is a powerful call to action that is lost in later versions of the Hobbit, where it follows a long description of what a Hobbit is and other contextual materials. This sentence truly should have been the beginning of the story. The juxtaposition of the “love of beautiful things” and adventure (or journey) suggests that it is the desire for the possession of beauty that motivates action.

I headed north to what appeared on the Ordinance map as the source of the River Evenlode, previously known as the River Blade, and tracked it through the village, the allotments, and into the fields.

The source of the River Evenlode is at the gates in the upper right. It runs along tree line. Photos are from April 2023.

The dirt track ahead of me was a place that I had never been before. Such moments in new territory are deeply exciting. Not knowing the way, I missed the turn in the path and had to retrace my steps to find the overgrown gate into a field where the grassy path along the riverbank lies.

While walking alongside the Evenlode, I had the feeling that this was my true home—out in nature. I wanted to remain there alone with the long, green grass and wind forever. I could see the round edge of the hilly ridge rising above the yellow and green fields, crisscrossed with hedge rows. Beside me the river moved slowly.

Hilary Belloc wrote a poem about the River Evenlode.

The Evenlode

I will not try to reach again,
      I will not set my sail alone,
To moor a boat bereft of men
      At Yarnton's tiny docks of stone.
   

But I will sit beside the fire,
      And put my hand before my eyes,
And trace, to fill my heart's desire,
      The last of all our Odysseys.
   
The quiet evening kept her tryst:
      Beneath an open sky we rode,
 And passed into a wandering mist
      Along the perfect Evenlode.
   
 The tender Evenlode that makes
      Her meadows hush to hear the sound
 Of waters mingling in the brakes,
      And binds my heart to English ground.
   
 A lovely river, all alone,
      She lingers in the hills and holds
 A hundred little towns of stone,
      Forgotten in the western wolds.

The Bell Inn is located in Moreton-in-Marsh, one of the little towns of stone.

I am still writing even though I seldom publish, as I believe that we should write every day so that none of the days of our life slip by unnoticed and unappreciated.

1. Thank you to my brother, Steve Childress, who told me about John D. Rateliff’s The History of the Hobbit (London: HarperCollins, 2011). The quotation is from page 93.