Between the Woods and the Water: On Foot to Constantinople: From The Middle Danube to the Iron Gates (New York Review Books Classics)

On the one hand, there is a young Anglo-Irish romantic expelled from school, possessing uncommon charm, an astonishing facility for languages, and an interest in everything under the sun & moon. His collaborator is an urbane & erudite autodidact with the benefit of further research and a half century of hindsight. The young man is 19-year-old Paddy Leigh Fermor, who set out to walk across Europe when Hitler had just come to power. The mentor is the older Paddy, an authentic war hero, distinguished writer, and confidante of the old and new nobility. The result is a brilliant travel memoir, of which this volume is the middle part (the first is A Time of Gifts, the third alas was not published before his death in June 2011) covering Hungary and Romania. It suggests a bildungsroman as the young man exults in the wooded hills and tributaries of the Danube, sleeping rough, befriending peasants, laborers, and the last remnants of a dying class of landed nobility. The narrative wanders, like the author, around linguistic traces mirroring the flux of various peoples across the plains of central Europe. He chronicles remnants of a vanishing way of life as he passes from one Count to another, one estate to the next, and a succession of private libraries that illuminate the historical context.Fermor is an exceptional literary stylist, which facet builds upon his gift for observation to describe the natural world, the constructed world, and personalities. As one traverses Transylvania today, a modern traveler realizes that the age of landed gentry is long past, as Fermor recognized when he revisited many years later. But some of the natural landscape is still evident, and some of the architecture remains. A visitor can alternate between Fermor's text and the actual object (in this case a World Heritage fortified church) and find the book still a reliable guide:"At the heart of each village, sturdy churches reared squat, four-sided steeples with a tough, defensive look. ... Pierced by arrow-slits, the walls rose sheer, then expanded in machicolations; and above these, rows of short uprights like squat pillars formed galleries that hoisted pyramids of steeple. They were as full of purpose as bits of armour and the uprights between steeple and coping gave the triangular roofs a look of helmets with nasal pieces and eye-slits."Both Fermors had catholic interests, and this happy characteristic helped the younger man to find common ground with almost everybody. He camped with Roma (gypsies) and shepherds, stayed with a Habsburg Count and many others of that class, communicated by sign language with swineherds, spoke French with a housekeeper, Latin with a Franciscan monk, German with loggers, and memorably befriended a Rabbi by showing interest and a little facility in Hebrew scripture. He provided a wonderful rhyming translation of the tragic-mystic Romanian poem Mioritza.Besides poetry, he picked up tales of fairies, werewolves, and vampires (which, along with the historical figure Vlad Tsepesh, nurtured the invention of the Dracula story) and descântece, metrical witches' spells. He delighted another host, a famous entomologist, with a riddle on the most entomological of Shakespeare's plays ("Antennae and Coleoptera").This is the grandest sort of travel book, depicting geography and monuments, interwoven with history and linguistics and natural history, describing the lives of vanishing peoples, told from the perspectives both of a neophyte seeing undeservedly obscure parts of the wide world with fresh eyes, and a wonderfully knowledgeable scholar of action, all transmuted into elegant prose of great descriptive power.

Between the Woods and the Water, along with Time of Gifts, must rank in the top 10 travel books of all time (including Colossus of Maroussi,etc.), for several reasons. First, Pat Fermor bridges two period legacies - the slow stately moving time of Old World nobility and comfort, from the Baron's oak, leather and velvet encased library to the yeoman's deer headed, giant stone fireplaced, stained glassed and snow surrounded pub, and the modern world (where not 5 years later, he was to parachute into Crete and lead a band of Cretan partisans against the Nazi occupation). One can tell from Patrick's desciptions that he feels what is coming, but prefers not to face it quite yet. Secondly, referring to my last remark, the time of history is epochal, right before the second World War, when the millenia-long midafternoon of finally settled European nations had become, after the First World War, an evening of nostalgic longing for a better time; all the appearances and architectural glories were still in place, but the deep diapasson of world change was already rumbling underground. Fermor catches all of this in his writing - does not make a point of it, but you can feel it in the air - therefore, the book is also a description of history on the move. Thirdly, Patrick is not even twenty years old yet, a very young man traveling on foot alone at a time when nobody in any country set out to do what he succeeded in doing. The welcomes he received and the myriad tales and experiences he encountered would be available only to one so young, treated as a younger son to whom gifts and assistance would invariably be given. Someone older, wealthier ,and traveling by vehicle would never have experienced what he did. Lastly, he is a spectacularly good descriptive writer, with regard to his own encounters and thoughts, and the world around him. Since he bridged both the older and the modern epochs, his education far surpassed almost anyone of his age today, so his ability to link what he saw and the past the preceded it is fantastic. I recommend this book as highly as it possible so to do.

Budapest... the Hungarian Plains... Romania... Transylvania. Sound capital-R Romantic? It's that and more in the adept hands of Patrick Leigh Fermor. This continues the story of his 1934 travels through Europe as a 19-year-old. And if anything, the pastoral settings of Eastern Europe suit his descriptive hand even better than this book's predecessor, A TIME OF GIFTS. Here is a glimmer of Fermor's writing as he describes the Carpathian Uplands:"These great forest chambers, bounded by mingled stretches of hardwood and underbrush, slanted uphill and out of sight in a confusion of roots. Freshets channeled the penumbra, falling from rocky overhangs into pools that could be heard from afar, or welled up through husks and dead leaves and turned into streams. There had been two hoopoes in the lower woods and bee-eaters, with an eye to the hives perhaps, perched on twigs near the harvesters' clearing; golden orioles, given away by their black and yellow plumage and the insistent shrill curl of their song, darted among the branches. But every so often invisible flocks of wood-pigeons plunged everything under a spell so drowsy, it was hard, sitting down for a smoke, to keep awake; then a footfall would loose off a hundred flurried wings and set them circling in the speckled light of one of the forest ballrooms like Crystal Palace multitudes calling for Wellingtonian hawks."It resembles an idyll, the way his pen lends itself to descriptive passages of nature, and the wild beauties of this more mysterious corner of Europe comes to life because of it. Part III of this book has yet to be published, though they say Fermor completed most of it before his recent death in June of 2011. Until then, if you are a devotee of travel writing or nature writing, you owe yourself a look at Fermor's delightful tandem, A TIME OF GIFTS followed by BETWEEN THE WOODS AND THE WATER.

It was the publicity for Artemis Cooper’s biography of PLF that inspired me to get both “A Time of Gifts” and “Between the Woods and the Water” on my Kindle. I had some knowledge of PLF and his life, and was really expecting to enjoy the books, and it was a huge disappointment that the overwrought purple prose and entitled attitude of the author led to one of my biggest ever literary let downs. I was so sure that I was going to love them, that the fact I didn’t quite perturbed me. Despite incurring the wrath of the PLF fan club, I simply couldn’t face more purple passages and more country house hopping and name dropping, and it is now 3 years since I read the first book. However, I was recently in my local town, very early for an appointment, with nothing to read, and popped into the market and picked up a nearly new paperback of the biography (or rather, autobiography, but that’s another review.)I hoped that this book would give me some insight into the man, and explain some of his actions and attitudes. Apart from a small amount of background about his parents (carefully left out from all his autobiographical works) it merely quoted almost verbatim his own version of his life and then went through “A Time of Gifts” chronologically. When I got to where that ended, and realised that the biography was going to continue to follow his “Great Journey”, I stopped reading it and decided to have a go at the Woods and Water for myself. I think because I knew what I was going to get, had some idea of his background (not remotely aristocratic or even faintly posh, for those who assume he was) I enjoyed it rather more. Despite the continuing tendency to overwrite, there were some hugely enjoyable nature passages. The description of a golden eagle remains with me. By now, I had learnt that not only was this whole journey written and re-written for many years after the event, but people and events were merged, and in the case of the rather lyrically lovely horse ride, probably entirely made up. At this stage, young Paddy abandoned any pretence of roughing it and swanned from one grand country house, ball and party to another. Always eager, charming and ready to listen, he probably was a refreshing addition to house parties in a circle that possibly didn’t see much new blood, out of the way as most of the houses and castles were. He absorbed a huge variety of exotic and frankly arcane information like a sponge and regurgitates obscure theories on ethnic origins and migrations at great length. There’s also a lot – an awful lot – on Hungarian history. I confess to skipping most of these diversionary passages. I did enjoy the various people, houses, and parties and quickly learned that any female encountered who became “a great/terrific friend” was probably shorthand for “slept with”. He borrowed clothes, books, horses and sometimes women (but not usually, as far as I could tell anyone who would cause serious upset where he was staying) – other than “Angela” - and laid waste to his hosts’ cellars with great gusto. He also smoked incessantly, burnt holes in sheets and was incredibly untidy. So not a model guest, then.I was amused by his enthusiasm for the Almanac de Gotha and had visions of him “looking up” his hosts and checking out their coats of arms. He really was an irredeemable snob! On the plus side he appeared to have a genuine flair for languages, and native folk songs, and was seemingly a good horseman who cared for his mounts. Possibly this whole country house progression and succes d’estime bolstered his already hearty self-confidence and led to the tendency displayed so frequently in later life of having to be the centre of attention.So, there we were, ploughing on down the Danube when we come to a sudden, juddering halt (literally, as the seaman throws the anchor hawser over the side). It enticingly promises that it will be continued. Perhaps the saddest thing is that the terrible writer’s block that PLF suffered in later life meant that it never was. The remainder of the journey is pieced together by his biographer from letters, notes and correspondence with PLF himself and eventually she and a fellow author got together to write the final stretch in book form from an early draft that he had left. I think this rather sums up the problem I have with these famous and much loved books. I didn’t get to Constantinople, I learned rather more than I wanted to about Magyar politics and I certainly didn’t warm more to Mr Leigh Fermor – well, Fermor actually, it was his darling mother who put the two names together. Leigh was not even a family name on his father’s side; Lewis Fermor was given his middle name for a family friend. Oh dear, I can feel another caning from the fan club coming on! I've given it four stars as I enjoyed it considerably more than its predecessor, but would give 3 1/2 if I could.

The sequel to A Time For Gifts recounts Leigh Fermour's walk across Hungary and Rumania, starting at precisely the point that his first book finished on the bridge at Esztergom on the Hungarian border. (A Time For Gifts told of the author's journey on foot from the Hook of Holland to Esztergom; a journey undertaken when he was just eighteen and nineteen years old, undertaken in 1933 - 1934. His objective was to walk from the Hook of Holland to Constantinople, as it was then known). For those who have not yet read A Time For Gifts I strongly urge you to do so before beginning this book. Whilst it is not essential to read it, it will put this walk into context.Leigh Fermor wrote this book some fifty years following the end of his journey; it was published in 1986. So it is a much older and wiser man looking back at and writing about his journey. I believe this adds much to this book.This leg of his journey is dominated by him hopping from one gentleman's mansion to another, with a few open air sleeps, (or sojourns in rural inns) either alone in the landscape or with gypsies and peasant shepherd families. Amongst the landed gentry Leigh Fermour was passed somewhat like a parcel from one wealthy family to another. He says himself that staying in such places is not what he originally intended, rather he expected to live more the life of a nomadic tramp, however he did not regret getting caught up in the lives of Hungarian and Rumanian minor aristocracy because within a matter of just a few years, with the outbreak of WW2, their way of life and indeed many of them themselves, were completely erased. This can only add poignancy to your reading of this book.Another attraction is Leigh Fermour's youth at the time that he walked through these countries; the fact that he was essentially care free. This feeling I found infectious and slid off the pages into my inner being and made me remember parts of my own younger carefree days.As with A Time For Gifts what absolutely makes this book is its superb, mellifluous and intelligent writing. The author's intelligence shines through every page. This is so much more than a journal, a day-by-day account of his journey. He describes so well the landscapes that he passes through; the people that he meets; and the architecture of the towns and cities he walks to. Much stimulates in him wide ranging thoughts and perceptions. Too you will learn much of European history by reading this book.I can't recommend this book enough.

I was so impressed by A Time of Gifts that I immediately ordered this and The Broken Road. A mistake. Between the Woods lacks the qualities of its predecessor and instead of the easy Eichendorffian narrative and touching portraits it becomes An Account of the Grand Houses to Which I have Invited Myself. It is weighed down with historical and architectural digressions designed, it feels, to display the author's erudition. The engaging 19-year old Leigh Fermor is overlain with tedious research. Sad. I abandoned ship midway. The Broken Road will, I fear, remain untouched.

First published in 1986, `Between the Woods and the Water' is the second part of Patrick Leigh Fermor's journey on foot, in 1933/34 when he was 18, from the Hook of Holland to Constantinople.The companion volume,  A Time of Gifts  is the story of the first part of his journey, from the Hook of Holland to the Middle Danube. The third volume, which completes his journey to Constantinople, was never finished but, based on an early draft and his original diary,  The Broken Road: From the Iron Gates to Mount Athos  will finally be published in September 2013.'Between the Woods and the Water' takes the reader on an entrancing journey through an Eastern Europe that existed in the years before the Second World War. Although his knowledge of European history - both secular and religious - must be near-absolute Patrick Leigh Fermor has no difficulty in weaving that knowledge into a compellingly beautiful story.On the journey we encounter, at one extreme, the down-and-out inhabitants of the worker's hostels and, at the other, the last vestiges of an East European aristocracy still living in their slowly decaying castles. In a Europe that, of course, had yet to succumb to the horrors of Nazism and the post-war scourge of Communism.But, as Artemis Cooper recounts in her book  Patrick Leigh Fermor: An Adventure , Leigh Fermor was far more than simply an accomplished historian and writer. During the Second World War, as a Major in the SOE (Special Operations Executive), he kidnapped and abducted a General of the German army of occupation in Crete. Then, dressed in German uniforms and with General Heinrich Kreipe pinned down in the back of the car, he and a colleague drove through Heraklion, the German headquarters town, bluffing their way through checkpoint after checkpoint in the process. By the time they were taken off in a boat to Alexandria he and General Kreipe, having discovered a mutual love of the Latin odes of Horace, had become almost friends.In 1944 Leigh Fermor was awarded a DSO for his part in the saga whilst, in 1957, Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger released a film ( Ill Met By Moonlight ) based on the abduction and starring both Dirk Borgarde and Marius Goring. 'Paddy' Leigh Fermor was knighted for services to literature in 2004.Read and enjoy! A Time of GiftsThe Broken Road: From the Iron Gates to Mount AthosPatrick Leigh Fermor: An AdventureIll Met By Moonlight

A true classic of travel writing but if you think this is where the story starts and ends you'd be wrong. This is the second book in Leigh Fermors epic trek to Constantinople from the Hook of Holland as a young impressionable 18yr old with a zest for learning. Observational skills and the ability to turn this into the finest descriptive prose is what Paddy Leigh Fermor is highly regarded for. Sad in some ways to reflect how the looming World War 2 period would wipe away forever entire communities and places he so brilliantly describes and the happiness that some escaped, is tainted by the realisation that many would fall into the hands of a rampaging post war Communist Russia and the landscapes and places similarly affetcted. This book if read with patience and absorbed is, like its predecessor, A Time of Gifts, a travel book but much more a precise descriptive view into a thousand long lost worlds, attitudes, people, communities, ways of life and architectural treasures into what we know as Europe. I can imagine re reading both books over the coming years.