Name: A Time of Gifts
ISBN: 9781848545236

Patrick Leigh Fermor

In 1933, at the age of 18, Patrick Leigh Fermor set out on an extraordinary journey by foot - from the Hook of Holland to Constantinople. A Time of Gifts is the first volume in a trilogy recounting the trip, and takes the reader with him as far as Hungary. It is a book of compelling glimpses - not only of the events which were curdling Europe at that time, but also of its resplendent domes and monasteries, its great rivers, the sun on the Bavarian snow, the storks and frogs, the hospitable burgomasters who welcomed him, and that world's grandeurs and courtesies. His powers of recollection have astonishing sweep and verve, and the scope is majestic.

On Foot to Constantinople: from the Hook of Holland to the Middle Danube

A Time of Gifts

Ned Summers 

My feeling explained very well in this review: https://www.goodreads.com/review/show.... I did like when he was talking about his interactions with people.

on foot to Constantinople : from the Hook of Holland to the Middle Danube

A time of gifts

Andrew John Kinney

A Time of Gifts is a book I’d been meaning to read since about 1999. I can’t remember who recommended it to me, but I do recall it being mentioned in The Common Reader catalog (sadly defunct) along with Ill Met by Moonlight, a book about the incredible (and successful) mission to kidnap the commanding general of German forces in Crete during WW2. That book was written by W. Stanley Moss, Patrick Fermor’s second in command on that operation, and Fermor was said to have been irritated by the book, because it seemed a bit too much like boasting for his taste. 

Patrick Leigh Fermor was almost the same age as my father, with similar tastes in literature, so perhaps I feel I know him a little (and by the way, the reason I am not approaching eighty years old with a father who was born during WW1 is that I arrived on the scene when my dad was in his late 40’s). The only book Fermor says he carried with him on his walk across Europe was the Oxford Book of English Verse, a book which Dad always had at hand. Fermor was educated (until he was thrown out of school) in the pre-war tradition of the Western Canon, and his walk from the Hook of Holland to Constantinople was informed by that education almost every step of the way. There is no better advertisement for how a liberal arts education enhances one’s experience of life than Fermor’s commentary on each new city or castle he encountered and how it figured in art or history, and I humbly say that as a graduated engineer with a minor in mathematics. Fermor knew French, but he chose a route that avoided French-speaking areas so that he would be forced to learn at least German (which he did), and other languages as well, though he mastered none as well as German. He later became, famously, a scholar of modern and ancient Greek, but that part of his life is not dealt with in A Time of Gifts. 

Aside from being a wonderful, rambling, anecdotal education in European history (at least for me), Fermor’s book is full of happy stories, which glow brighter in the retelling because they are true. Fermor wandered across Europe at a particular time in history when the fallen kingdoms and empires of old Europe were not long in their graves, and members of the aristocracy, still in their 40’s and 50’s, could recount tales of formal dinners with the King of Saxony, or having met the Emperor Franz Josef. Indeed, Fermor’s travels were fortuitously redirected by a meeting with a Count in Germany who took a shine to young Patrick; the Count then wrote letters of introduction for Fermor to all his relatives and aristocratic friends along the route of Patrick’s path to the Bosporus. This resulted in a strange dichotomy, as Fermor said, whereby for every two nights he spent sleeping in a barn or a field, he spent one night in a “schloss”, i.e., “castle” in English, though the term can denote something a good deal less grand in German, such as a well-appointed country home. 

Fermor’s travels in Germany in 1933-4 are also interesting because they sometimes foreshadowed the Gotterdammerung to come. He met many educated Germans who could hardly believe that Hitler was really Reichs Chancellor, and who thought that he wouldn’t last. But over and over, he met working-class people who supported Hitler because Hitler seemed to be doing something to stabilize the economy, or simply because he seemed a strong, focused leader. Well, I suppose he was that. But also, the kleptocratic element of National Socialism was illustrated by Fermor’s platonic sojourn with two delightful students in Stuttgart, during which they took him to dinner with them at a “big Nazi’s” home. This Nazi fellow was a creep, but also a successful industrialist, thanks in part to his Nazi connections; the girls wanted Patrick along with them in part because they knew the middle-aged businessman would attempt to get handsy. Later, one of the aristocrats who entertained Fermor in Vienna who was about his age became a good friend; later still, fighting the Wehrmacht in Crete, Fermor learned through captured documents that his friend was a Hauptmann fighting on the opposite side of the line, so Fermor managed to move his unit to the right flank of his division in order not to be in the position of firing on his friend. 

Fermor’s reflections on literature and history are guides for me for future reading, and some of his various commentaries have already led me to read (God bless Wikipedia) many great stories of which I was unaware, such as the death of blind King John of Bohemia in battle at Crecy, and the honor done him posthumously by the Prince of Wales (The Black Prince). The level of cultural knowledge to which Fermor’s supremely active mind gave harbor is amazing; the fact that he combined such knowledge with a light-hearted love of life is uplifting. From what I can learn, Fermor was one of those people who was, if not the life of the party, then at least always welcome for his witty conversation and curiosity about everything. And to top it all off, he was fearless. 

A final note about this trip of his: from Holland to Hungary, traveling with little or no money, he never found himself in any real danger, and he was treated with incredible hospitality so many times that it was more the norm than something to remark upon. And yet, Fermor looked back at all those helpful inn-keepers and burgomeisters with gratitude, and he never took for granted the kindness of strangers, no matter how commonly it befell him. I have had similar experiences in Germany and France; I remember riding in the back of a truck in Germany in chilly September, and a farmer tossing me a ripe apple with a smile, and a French woman correcting my French, and then giving me free admission to an event, because I had tried to speak her language, or a Forstmeister explaining the growth of beech trees, and then beaming at me because I was truly interested. Fermor knew that one does well to be good and trust in others rather than to fear. Trust is usually returned with interest.

My only quibble with the book is that Fermor loved to talk architecture (what was he not interested in?), and I have little interest in the subject, especially baroque architecture, which is what ones sees a lot of along the Danube. But that’s a minor reservation. As a travelogue, this book has few if any peers in my experience. Highly recommended, and damn it, why did no one tell me thirty years ago that I should travel to Greece, when Fermor was still alive, and buy him a drink and listen to him tell stories?

Vicky (A City Girl's Thoughts)

Jonathan Leigh Fermore's A TIME OF GIFTS is a richly written memoir of his travels through Europe. An unruly child with a great love of literature, Fermore decides he'll travel-on foot-to Constantinople, Turkey, learning about the different literary landmarks he's read of. As you read he describes his surroundings with vivid detail while splurging on extravagant vocabulary to assess his emotions. I've only read up to chapter 7, but I might not finish. And I *almost* don't care. Why? Fermore failed to draw me into his story. 
Chapter 3 is the only chapter where I was able to connect with other characters and understand them, even though most of them were on the Nazi's side. Fermore held back on his big words, giving us a heart-to-heart conversation with him and his companions as they tried to make sense of Germany's economy, present problems, and their future. Here was where he bared his deepest emotions and tried to make sense of the prejudice and hatred Germans had towards certain groups of people and his own people, which conflicts with his love of German culture, language, and people. Chapter 3 is where you'll find Fermore as his real self, in my opinion, because the next chapters are filling with the excitement of his geographical surroundings and favorite landmarks, but no simple, emotional connection with his readers. There are some parts where he does do that but I felt he was more concerned with showing off his knowledge in history and his vocabulary than trying to connect with his readers and show us WHY he loves those landmarks and what they mean to him. 
I found myself fighting sleep and boredom to finish, but I don't think I will. I decided to read his novel because it has a high rating online, but I'm sad to say I'm highly disappointed.

Donald

One of the greatest memoirs ever written by one of the most interesting men who ever lived. This should be the introductory text for classical studies.

Teaghan Grayson

It took me a long time, reading sporadically over several months, but it's an outstanding book.

A Time of Gifts On Foot to Constantinople: from the Hook of Holland to the Middle Danube