Francis Kilvert (1840–1879)

I'm not sure why this book seems to have the reputation it does. The diary of a low-level Church of England cleric who spent much of his career in Wales and the Welsh border country. Because of relatives doing the usual and censoring or destroying much of his documents, we don't have much more than a fraction of what he really wrote, so it can be tricky to get a feel for the man himself. The last bit of the diary is very sketchy indeed, and aside from the author's concern for his parishioners, there's not really a whole lot of interest, here. A pretty edition with contemporary photographs to give a sense of place and setting, but I can't honestly recommend this.… (meer)

I'd vaguely heard of this but was inspired to read it after Susan Hill's repeated recommendations in 'Howard's End is on the Landing.'
The recollections of a curate in Clyro, Radnorshire...later Wiltshire and Herefordshire. The reader is introduced to the locals, from the poor to the gentry (Kilvert's aspirations to a connection with a couple of local ladies are firmly quashed by parents). He recounts stories they tell him, interesting things he sees, events in the church, everyday life. But perhaps what makes Kilvert's diary memorable are his vivid, magical descriptions of the beauties of the world around him.

"Why do I keep this voluminous journal? I can hardly tell. 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 away altogether without some such record as this, and partly too because I think the record may amuse and interest some who come after me."

Kilvert died aged 39. Throughout the diary is a sense of time passing, of ephemerality. Quite lovely.… (meer)