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And with this delightful book of Rowland Parker's in tow, Foxton itself can become a wonderful walk through time that's not found in the standard guidebooks.
If you have only three days to explore a bit of England at the end of a London business trip, as I did last week, I recommend you try this: (1) the guided walking tour of Samuel Pepys' London (starts outside the Tower tube station, takes two hours, and ends at St. Paul's Cathedral in time to hear Evensong sung); (2) a guidebook walking tour of Cambridge that includes "the Backs", the Mathematical Bridge, the Cavendish Laboratory on Free School Lane, and a sunset from atop the Castle Mound; and (3) a day of exploring Foxton with Rowland Parker's <
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The problem with this series of books is that the stories all focus on the same group of five friends, and each "mystery" involves one of the five victimizing one of the others. One friend might steal from another, or cheat in a race to beat a friend, or commit vandalism and lie about it. I was aghast reading story after story of little kids committing such acts against their friends. The perception in the stories is that acting this way is normal -- each of the kids is guilty at some point of victimizing another, and the others are totally unconcerned with their friend's unethical behaviour, and are only interested in solving the "mystery" (which means proving that one of their friends is the criminal). The guilty party always apologizes, and then we move on to the next story and repeat the cycle.
I bought two books in this series at a used book store, read them, and then threw them in the garbage before my kids could see them.
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From the book jacket:
"The setting is the village of Foxton, in Cambridgeshire, and the common stream is the story of its development from the first traces of human settlement to the present day. The common stream is also the rivulet that runs through it--both ordinary in its appearance and enjoyed by all--and yet again the common stream is that of the ordinary men and women who in their countless thousands have trudged through life and then departed from it, leaving no visible trace.
"Rowland Parker spent thirteen years with oral reminiscence, manor court rolls, land tax returns, wills and archaeological excavation, and has found out more about the history of Foxton than is known about any other village of like age in England, or even in the rest of the world."
This is a delightful book, rather like a lively dinner conversation with cheerful and well-informed host. Here is a sample, taken from his opening remarks in the Introduction:
"This is a true story with a triple theme. It tells firstly of a brook or stream, 'common' in the sense that it is but one of a thousand such streams which spring from the folds of hills everywhere, and especially in the chalklands of East Anglia. This particular stream rises a few miles to the south-east of Royston and meanders gently on a mere ten-mile course to join the river Rhee. In order to find it today you would need a large-scale map, and you would need to know exactly where to look for it, because the stream has no name, nor ever had, other than 'Brook'. Even the local inhabitants are for the most part unaware of its existence. ...Only the willows mark its course with any real prominence, and even they, stricken by age and neglect, are fast disappearing; for no one, it seems, every thinks of replanting a willow. How can such a miserable stream. . . have significance enough to merit its role as one of the principal threads in my story?
"Part of its significance lies in that very fact, that it <> a symbol of decay. Part lies in the very distant past, long before that story begins, when every spring of water and every stream born of those springs was the object of veneration by groups of primitive men who knew, as surely and instinctively as the birds and beasts still know, though most men have forgotten, that the water of those springs and streams was Life itself. . . ."
One more brief example, selected at random from a later chapter:
"Nothing was ever thrown away if it could still be used, but it would seem that decency forbade a man to dispose of his late wife's clothes until he himself was dead. Stephen Wells in 1566 left to his sister Elizabeth 'the gowne which was my wyffes with the sylver pynnes and silver howkes' and 'an owlde kyrtell of worsted which was my wyffes'."
If you have any interest in the history of the common man, you will love Rowland Parker's <>.