Kilvert's Diary, 1870-79 (Penguin)

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Partly because life appears to me such a curious and wonderful thing that it almost seems a pity that even such a humble and uneventful life as mine should pass altogether away without some such record as this, and partly too because I think the record may amuse and interest some who come after me. The diaries of Robert Francis Kilvert (1840–1879), kept from 1870 to 1879, are a unique treasury celebrating the Welsh and English countryside and the variety of characters inhabiting it, seen through the perspective of a sensitive, lyrical and witty young clergyman. The 103 third parties who use cookies on this service do so for their purposes of displaying and measuring personalized ads, generating audience insights, and developing and improving products. They got people to do introductions for the most minor Graham Greene novels, and this is more something that deserves putting in context.

This had occurred during a clear out of various personal papers, prior to moving into a residential care home. Personally, I can hardly bear to look at my old diaries now, and when I do, the former self I meet there isn’t the sort of guy I’d want to chill out and play X-box with; usually he’s the sort of guy I’d want to knee in the groin. The third notebook was given to a Mr Harvey from Birmingham who had corresponded with her for some time. There is so much in this book that is wonderful - the lovely descriptions of nature, sunrises and sunsets, the quirky characters Kilvert meets on his daily rounds of the parish, the insights into everyday life in the 1870s. The Diary, which paints a unique picture of country life in mid-Victorian times, has come to be recognised as a minor classic; its author has been compared to Dorothy Wordsworth, whom he admired, and even Pepys.When it was safely deposited we all retired to seats right and left and a verger or beadle, in a black gown and holding a mace, took up his position at the head of the coffin, standing. train but while Henry Dew and I were running along the line to the station we heard the train coming behind us and it glided past close blazing with lamps into the station where it stopped half a minute and was off again to Hay in spite of Henry Dew’s running and hooting. Then there are his love affairs- we only get the earlier ones in detail as his wife seems to have censored some of it eg leaving an 18 month gap! A country clergyman born in 1840, Kilvert spent much of his time visiting parishioners, walking the lanes and fields of Herefordshire and writing in his diary.

My only complaint is that I'd have liked more general narrative and character background (I kept wanting to flip to the end to see how the story ended, but it never became a real story. The Cornish Holiday was also published in 1989, edited by Richard Maber and Angela Tregoning and published by Alison Hodge. It didn’t help that googling for articles about Kilvert I found myself on a blog that I suddenly realised was attempting to normalise sex between adults and children. So the clergy and choir came to meet us at the door, then turned and moved up the Cathedral nave chanting in solemn procession, `I am the Resurrection and the Life saith the Lord'. Kilvert has touched and delighted and (mildly shocked) readers of his diaries ever since they were first published.

Kilvet's diary paints an excellent picture of Victorian country life; as a clergyman, he interacted with pretty much all classes, and he was sympathetic to the problems of the poor (which is not exactly a given with the Church of England in the 19th Century). Two days later he and a friend are earnestly discussing whether or not he should marry her and getting all excited about what a good idea it all is. By using the Web site, you confirm that you have read, understood, and agreed to be bound by the Terms and Conditions. Kilvert is so lovely and enjoys his life to crying at the beauty of it - all the pretty children he loves and the trees and fields he loves and his funny welsh parishioners who tell him such great stories.

Kilvert has touched and delighted (and mildly shocked) readers of his diaries ever since they were first published. It's fun to look up all the history Kilvert is living through, but the best parts come when he describes his 11 mile hikes to farms and hermits and villages. Happily inconsequential to us now, though filled with birth, death, sickness, joys and disappointments.The former was a screed, the latter a rigmarole, but the rigmarole was more appropriate and more to the purpose than the screed. As I came down from the hill into the valley across the golden meadows and along the flower-scented hedges a great wave of emotion and happiness stirred and rose up within me.

However, next day Kilvert joins in the fun: "I was out early before breakfast this morning bathing from the sands. Kilvert was born on 3 December 1840 at The Rectory, Hardenhuish Lane, near Chippenham, Wiltshire, to the Rev. This was a book I’d been planning to read for several years as some of my relatives are mentioned in it- my great grandfather was born in and grew up at Bridge House, Bredwardine and his mother was in service at Moccas Park.The nature writing is very strong, as are the descriptions of rural life and the memories of the elderly parishioners he visits, some of whom remember back into the previous century. The owl hooted all night in spite of their putting it up the chimney, before the looking glass, under the bedclothes, and in a circle of lighted candles which they hoped it would mistake for the sun. Robert Francis Kilvert (3 December 1840 – 23 September 1879), known as Francis or Frank, was an English clergyman whose diaries reflected rural life in the 1870s, and were published over fifty years after his death. The thing I enjoyed most about this though was its history from someone who was actually alive at the time. Full of passionate delight in the natural world and the glory of the changing seasons, his diaries are as generous, spontaneous and vivacious as Kilvert himself.