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Celebrating John Buchan
August 26, 2023, is the 148th anniversary of the birth of John Buchan. Born in Perth in 1875, the son of a Free Church of Scotland minister and his wife, Buchan attended the University of Glasgow as a scholarship student, then moved on to Oxford where — according to Wikipedia (which can sometimes be trusted to get basic facts of this sort right, especially when they present with verifiable attribution) — he did very well and mixed with luminaries such as Hillaire Belloc, Raymond Asquith, and Aubrey Herbert. Subsequently, he was elected president of the Oxford Union. Sort of diminishes the whole “classism” business as the basis of British society, don’t it?
Ignore that last bit. Off message. Nevertheless–as they say–“an inconvenient truth.”
Post-university, Buchan was recruited by the British army to draft intelligence communications for headquarters staff. Then he entered upon a successful diplomatic, political, and publishing career ranging from administrative positions in South Africa to election as a Conservative member of parliament to a job as editor of The Spectator. Along the way, he sat for a law degree (although he never practiced), got married, and raised a family.
In March of 1935, King George V approved the appointment of John Buchan — by then a prolific and popular author who’d (amongst several other honors) been elevated to the peerage as Baron Tweedsmuir of Elsfield–to the post of Governor General of Canada. During his years in that position, he earned a reputation as a rather independent supporter of Canadian national identity, once saying that
a Canadian’s first loyalty is not to the British Commonwealth of Nations, but to Canada and Canada’s King
and that ethnic groups
should retain their individuality and each make its contribution to the national character…[and that] the strongest nations are those that are made up of different racial elements.
John Buchan died in February 1940 after striking his head on the rim of a bathtub. He was given a state funeral in Ottawa, after which his ashes were returned to Elsfield, Oxfordshire, for burial.
My own encounter with John Buchan began quite simply, and in my uncle’s bedroom. (He wasn’t in it, so fear not; this post isn’t venturing into bizarre or unnatural territory.)
I was 12 or so at the time and a boarding-school pupil at The Abbey School in Malvern Wells. My parents and my sister were in the United States, and I spent free weekends and holidays with members of my family still in the UK. One of them was my Granny Molly, who lived in Birmingham.
When I stayed with Granny and Grandpa, I slept up on the third floor, in what had been — in his youth — my uncle’s bedroom. At the side of the bed was the bookshelf, still populated with his childhood favorites. And that’s where I discovered — among others — Richmal Crompton’s Just William series, Agatha Christie’s Poirot, my uncle’s deep interest in birding, and a few other treasures.
One of which was The Thirty-Nine Steps. It was the novel which had an interesting backstory and which introduced the character Richard Hannay, who went on to become the hero of four other of Buchan’s books. I’ve read all of them (recommend!), although I’ve barely scratched the surface of the dozens of volumes of fiction and non-fiction compiled by Buchan over the years.
But it’s The Thirty-Nine Steps (written in 1915) on which his reputation still rests. It’s a book Buchan wrote while recovering from an illness, and which–in the dedication–he described as “the shocker, the romance where the incidents defy the probabilities…[reflecting back to the days] when the wildest fictions are so much less improbable than the facts.” Fifty years earlier, and had it been published in installments, I like to think The Thirty-Nine Steps might have been called a penny-dreadful.
Its apotheosis in modern culture probably occurred in 1935 with the Alfred Hitchcock film starring Robert Donat and Madeleine Carroll. Although there have been several other (purported) adaptations since, none of them has remotely approached the success of this one:
Happy Birthday, John Buchan. And thank you for being such a happy memory of youth, life, family, and culture.
Additional note for those who find it difficult to believe that “striking one’s head on the rim of a bathtub” could lead to a catastrophic head injury and subsequent death, as it did in Buchan’s case: My granny Molly (the very same!) had a huge cast-iron tub in her (otherwise) rather primitive bathroom. I tripped on the linoleum one day, when I was very young, and struck (thankfully) just my chin on the rim. The scar remains to this day. I don’t think such serious injuries are inevitable in these days of acrylic and fiberglass tubs, but long ago they weren’t that uncommon.
Published in General
And for those wishing to read Buchan’s works (I have them all on my e-reader) may I recommend downloading them from Fadedpage? The link will take you direct to Buchan’s page, but do stop and browse what is in the rest of the shop.
Thanks for the Faded Page link. Lot’s of good stuff there!
Yup.
So many great lines in that film and funny moments.
“‘Oo was the last British heavyweight champion?” “‘Enry the Eighth!”
“‘Ow far is it from Winnipeg to Montreal?”
“The man I’m looking for has part of his finger missing on his right hand.”
“Really? Are you sure it wasn’t this hand?”
Thank you She. I always found Buchan interesting because writing was a side gig for him. “39 Steps” and the other Hannay stories are so good. And I, of course, fell in love with Robert Donat. Sigh. I thought the tv version (80’s? 90’s?) was ok. Cheers.
Robert Powell was Hannay in the 1978 version. He was Jesus in the tv series. Never have seen the Kenneth More film from the 50’s.
And he was, actually. Just a couple of decades before the movie came out, the song, which passed in the early twentieth century as the equivalent of viral hit, had put its singer–Harry Champion–on the map as one of the greatest music hall singers of all time:
Likely, many in the movie audience knew it.
By the time Herman’s Hermits came along? Probably not so much. Girls swooned over the hair and the toothy grin, though.
Britain had to wait many years after The 39 Steps for the real “Heavyweight Henry,” Sir Henry Cooper–one of very few men to send the fighter then known as Cassius Clay into the ropes–to arrive.
For me, Robert Donat will never be other than Mr. Chips:
Although I do recommend the 1980 Masterpiece Theatre series of R.F. Delderfield’s To Serve Them all My Days which has–along its way–much of the same vibe:
Goodbye Mr. Chips and Hilton’s other novels are also available at Fadedpage.com
Many thanks.
Did I mention all books at fadedpage.com are free? Just like Gutenberg.org.
Well, I was inspired to watch The 39 Steps. It was available for streaming on ROKU so I settled in and started it off. The film proceeded until the protagonist gets off the train while crossing a bridge in an attempt to elude his pursuers (The bridge itself was the subject of an interesting Ricochet post a few months ago).
At that point my power went out. When it came back on the ROKU still wouldn’t stream. The internet was back up so I went to Fadedpage.com and looked around. Decided to try some Raymond Chandler so I downloaded The Big Sleep. I’m enjoying that.
Edit: The bridge is the Firth of Forth.
I’m back watching The 39 Steps today.
I, for one, admire your persistence. Keep Calm and Roku on or something like that.
Also She I have to say in looking up more info on
Mr.Lord (?) Buchan, he looked great in his robes of office but also in the fullIndianNative American Native Canadian?indigenous peoples’ headdress. There was something about an Englishman who could just pull that off and not look ridiculous. Comfortable in one’s skin? ‘I’m representing the British nation and the Queen so don’t mess with me’? or? Did your father ever don a ‘native’ outfit in his work? Again, thanks so much for this post.You are so welcome, @colleenb. Thanks for your kind comments. I don’t remember Dad ever donning native costume. He’d sometimes get dressed up in what we called his “glad rags” for official functions (he’s in the middle):
Somewhere, he had one of those magnificent hats with the feathers, but between leaving Nigeria in 1963 and when he died in 2007, it had, unfortunately, disappeared. He was always at ease, no matter the situation, but I think it was less a matter of British “privilege” (to coin a word) than it was the way he taught me to view my own place in life–“I’m no better than anyone else, no worse than anyone else and–above all–I don’t have to put up with any [expletive] from anyone else.” He certainly lived his own life on those terms.
Been devoted to Buchan’s « precipitous yarns » for years, and his portrayal of Hannay’s bluff, sincere, un-ironic character. Thanks for bringing him up!