*noun- a person who is fond of or greatly admires England or Britain.
I blame Sherlock Holmes.
People have asked me over the years how I came to be so enamored with all things British.
The story starts when I was ten and my parents allowed me to stay up late to watch 20-minute episodes of Sherlock Holmes mysteries on a dinky black and white television. These weren’t even original Conan Doyle’s tales; instead, they were simple mysteries, featuring unknown actors and limited sets, that could be told and solved in 20 minutes. This less than stellar production gave me a glimpse into Holmes’ and Watson’s rooms; the horse-drawn cabs that delivered visitors to 221B; the pony carts that Holmes and Watson took during village investigations; and poor Mrs. Hudson who climbed up and down the stairs at all hours to make announcements and to admonish Holmes for his misdeeds as a tenant. I couldn’t find England on a map, let alone London, but I knew I had to go there.
I fell for the “Sherlock brand.” I fell for Sherlock, for his mind, his melancholy violin playing, for the tragedy of his addiction to the 7% solution (victim as hero). I loved Holmes’ London and his England. It was then I vowed that I would somehow get there. (That was not to happen for another 28 years.) In retrospect, as a ten-year-old, I didn’t pick up on Holmes’ misogyny or his elitism, but, even so, I was pleased when the brilliant Irene Adler tricked him and put him in his place, and he admitted it. (“She was always the woman.”) And, of course, there were all those lovely British accents filling the screen. I was hooked.
Then into my life came the books and stories. For my thirteenth birthday, I asked my parents for The Complete Sherlock Holmes, a massive volume, containing all Conan Doyle’s novels and short stories originally printed in The Strand newspaper. That summer I read all 1,122 pages. As the years went by, I became close to other British detectives and genres (Poirot, Lord Peter Wimsey, Harriet Vane, Inspector Morse), but Sherlock was my first.
In time, I came to know other British writers, including Jane Austen and the Brontes. Reading them led me to understand that the UK was more than London and that I needed to explore all of it.
My love of all things British grew as I discovered British cinema. Watching the 1930s black and white versions of Mrs. Miniver, Pride and Prejudice, and Rebecca on Sunday afternoon television whetted my appetite even more to spend time in the British Isles.
When my friends who vacationed in England raved about how wonderful it was, I moped a bit at the unfairness of it all. They’d been to England; I hadn’t. But that would eventually change.
My LOS (love of Sherlock) fueled my fascination with everything British. Particularly inspiring was Helene Hanff’s first book on her love affair with England, 84 Charing Cross Road. Yet, the idea of actually spending time in England was but a fantasy.
I began drinking tea on a regular basis and reading out of date issues of the London Times at the library. I watched EastEnders and Masterpiece Theatre faithfully.
The tipping point that got me to England came one day in the middle of a professional development class. In my experience, professional development training sessions often tip towards the boring end of the spectrum. That said, hat-eating may be in order, because my life changed that day. As an exercise, the instructor told us to pick a long-term goal and establish a deadline. Then we were to map out the steps needed to achieve it. The goal I chose was to spend 10 days in England by the end of the year.
Before I left the training that January day, I’d produced a step-by-step plan to get myself to England before December 31.
Eight months later I hailed my first ride in a London cab. My first trip to the UK was all I’d imagined and more. Since then, I’ve been back more than 50 times, stopped only by Covid for a couple years.
The more I traveled, the more friends would ask me for advice on what to see, where to eat or stay. I would happily map out itineraries for them. One day a colleague asked, if she found enough people to go with us, would I lead a tour of England, sharing my favorite places? Not really believing she could do it, I said yes.
She came through. Mary Valentine Tours launched in 2007. I led a coach full of American philanthropists to my favorite spots in England: London, the Cotswold, and the North Yorkshire Dales. We met the folks from a wide range of philanthropic organizations, including the Prince’s (Charles) Trust, the Women’s Institute, and England’s Calendar Girls.
Since then, our tours have focused on various themes and have included visits to the Lake District, Liverpool, Manchester, Dorset, Cornwall, Exeter, and Wales. Later this year, we’re expanding again as we go to Scotland.
Each tour is different, so we get lots of repeaters. We pride ourselves on off-the-beaten-path experiences. For example, we’ve: met the Calendar Girls and had our photos taken by their photographer; gone to cooking school in Cornwall where we made Cornish pasties; toured the Bronte’s home and village; walked stretches of the Jurassic Coast; had private tours of the British and Welsh Parliaments; seen Jane Austen hand written manuscripts at the British Library; attended a village circus; met with Dame Zondra Rhodes who designed for Princess Diana and Freddie Mercury; visited a swannery; played croquette on the lawn at Thomas Hardy’s home; visited Lee Miller’s home and gallery where we met her son; attended a Welsh men’s choir rehearsal; and more . . .
Yet, after more than 50 visits, I still haven’t seen it all. More adventures await.
Bottom line: I became an Anglophile. Thank you, Sherlock.
“We tell ourselves stories in order to live.” Joan Didion
