It’s summer in the city, the pubs are crowded, and the coast beckons. In a year that has so far brought five significant heatwaves, a phenomenon increasingly linked to anthropogenic climate change, this description of the current holiday season feels strikingly apt. Yet, this contemporary longing for cooler climes is not a new phenomenon. It mirrors the much less frequent, though equally impactful, hot and dry summers of the past, including one 186 years ago when literary giant Charles Dickens put pen to paper, eagerly anticipating his escape from the stifling grip of London for the refreshing sea breeze of Broadstairs, Kent. On a sweltering 12th August 1840, Dickens captured the pervasive sentiment of the era in a letter to his brother Alfred, writing: “There is no news in London – everybody is hurrying out of town – the two great theatres are shut up – and all the watering places are crammed with hot people.” This vivid snapshot of a Victorian summer exodus reveals a shared human experience of seeking respite from urban heat, an experience that transcends centuries and underscores the timeless appeal of coastal retreats. The London of Dickens’s time was a city grappling with unprecedented growth and the stark realities of the Industrial Revolution. Its streets, though bustling with life, were also choked with coal smoke, industrial effluvia, and the noxious emanations of inadequate sanitation. The "Great Stink" of 1858, though still years away, was a culmination of decades of river pollution and an overwhelmed sewage system. In such an environment, the summer months, devoid of modern air conditioning and refrigeration, transformed the capital into a veritable oven, a breeding ground for disease and discomfort. The heat-island effect, exacerbated by dense building materials and paved surfaces, would have been intense. For those who could afford it, escaping to the countryside or the burgeoning seaside resorts was not merely a luxury but often a necessity for health and well-being. The traditional "Season," when the aristocracy and gentry flocked to London for social events and parliamentary sittings, typically concluded by late July or early August, prompting a mass migration to country estates or fashionable watering places. Dickens’s observation that "everybody is hurrying out of town" and "the two great theatres are shut up" perfectly encapsulates this annual ritual of urban flight. This remarkable letter, set to go on public display for the first time, forms part of a fascinating collection of correspondence. These insights shed new light on Dickens’s personal life and his approach to holidays, painting a picture far richer than his public image alone. The exhibition, titled "Holidays with Dickens," is being held at London’s Charles Dickens Museum, situated in the very study where he penned some of his most iconic works, including Oliver Twist, Nicholas Nickleby, and The Pickwick Papers. It offers a unique opportunity to connect with the author on a more intimate level, understanding the man behind the magnificent prose. Emma Harper, deputy director at the Charles Dickens Museum, emphasizes the paradox of Dickens’s relentless energy and his need for escape. “While Dickens rarely slowed down, he made sure to find time for holidays and days off, packing up plenty of his belongings and heading to the Kent coast or the West Country with his family,” she notes. This dedication to seeking out moments of respite, even amidst a demanding creative schedule, resonates deeply in our own hyper-connected age. Harper further explains, “While Dickens loved London, he was very happy to escape its crowded hot pubs for the cooler climes of the coast, or if he decided to break his routine by taking a spur of the moment day off, he would consider this a holiday.” What is particularly revealing about Dickens’s holiday habits is his unwavering commitment to his craft, even when supposedly relaxing. “He would take his work on holiday with him and sometimes even brought his favourite pieces of furniture along so he could write from the chair and desk that suited him best,” Harper adds. This detail underscores not only his work ethic but also his need for specific comforts and environments to facilitate his prodigious output, an early form of "work from anywhere" but with a decidedly analogue twist. The exhibition showcases a range of Dickens’s holiday pursuits, revealing a man who embraced both simple pleasures and adventurous escapades. His correspondence details everything from leisurely picnics on the Thames to invigorating, if somewhat unconventional, beach showering on the Isle of Wight, and even the less pleasant experience of being ravaged by mosquitoes, bugs, and other unwelcome insect companions – a stark reminder of the realities of travel before modern pest control. One particularly vivid anecdote recounts his trip to Bonchurch on the Isle of Wight in 1849. Dickens positively gloated about his successful mission to construct an outdoor shower cubicle near his “very pretty” holiday cottage. With characteristic humour and a touch of playful disregard for convention, he expressed no qualms about spoiling the view for others. He recounted to his printer William Bradbury: “We have made all visitors in search of the picturesque, mad, by putting up an immense wooden caravan on the beach, to shut in a noble waterfall and convert it into a shower bath! With some five hundred feet of fall. Which we take, every morning, to the unbounded astonishment of the aboriginal inhabitants.” This passage is a delightful insight into Dickens’s mischievous spirit and his practical ingenuity. Bonchurch, a picturesque village nestled on the island’s south-east coast, was a fashionable resort known for its dramatic cliffs and lush scenery. His "immense wooden caravan" and commandeering of a natural waterfall for a personal shower would have been quite the spectacle, a blend of Victorian eccentricity and resourcefulness. This act speaks volumes about his desire for personal comfort and perhaps a slight rebellion against the staid norms of public bathing, which often involved restrictive bathing machines for modesty. Another charming glimpse into his leisure time comes from an 1851 trip on the Thames with his eldest son, Charley, and "three other young Eton Shavers" (a colloquial term for Eton schoolboys). He promises his friend Thomas Beard that if he joins them, he will be "armed with a hamper from Fortnum & Mason’s." The iconic London department store, even then synonymous with gourmet provisions, conjures images of an elaborate picnic. They planned to dine on a riverbank, and Dickens added a convivial invitation for post-dinner relaxation: "and if you can come, you and I will console ourselves for our antiquity, after dinner, with a trifle of tobacco and champagne." This scene evokes a quintessentially English summer day, blending youthful exuberance with mature camaraderie, all against the backdrop of one of London’s most vital waterways. The Thames, while a major artery of commerce and increasingly polluted, was still a popular destination for recreational boating and riverside picnics among the middle and upper classes. Emma Harper aptly describes Dickens as someone who “relaxed energetically,” highlighting his active and often adventurous approach to downtime. He was, by all accounts, an avid traveller. In a letter to his biographer John Forster, reflecting on a 1842 trip to Italy, he paints a romantic and liberating self-portrait: “I see myself in a striped shirt, moustache, blouse, red sash, straw hat, and white trousers, sitting astride a mule, and not caring for the clock, the day of the month, or the day of the week.” This image speaks to a deep yearning for freedom from the rigid schedules and societal expectations that defined his London life. Italy, a crucial destination on the traditional Grand Tour, offered a profound cultural and sensory contrast to industrial Britain, allowing Dickens to shed his formal persona and embrace a more bohemian, unburdened existence. Such experiences undoubtedly broadened his perspective and enriched the tapestry of human experience he drew upon for his novels. However, not all his travels were idyllic. Reflecting on one particularly long excursion, he tells Beard in 1845 of the less glamorous realities of 19th-century travel: “the gentlemanly vagabond I have been, for the last six or eight months – the extraordinary beds I have slept in – and the bewildering amount of fleas, mosquitoes, bugs, and other insects I have unwillingly bepastured – these things have hardly left me any leisure in my holiday, until within the last four or five weeks.” This candid admission offers a humorous yet genuine counterpoint to the romanticized image of travel. It reminds us that even for a celebrated author, travel in the mid-19th century came with its fair share of discomforts, a far cry from the sanitized experiences of modern tourism. Yet, despite these trials, Dickens found his own unique way to unwind. He concluded this reflection by describing a period where he was “employed, chiefly, in lying on my back on sofas, and leaning out of windows and over balconies, in a sort of mild intoxication.” This image of passive, almost languid relaxation, suggests a profound exhaustion finally giving way to genuine rest, a rare and cherished state for the ever-active author. The timeless allure of escaping urban heat and the daily grind, whether to a Kentish seaside town or a distant European land, resonates strongly today. While the specific challenges of Victorian London differ from those of our 21st-century metropolises, the underlying human desire for rejuvenation, for a change of scenery, and for moments of unadulterated pleasure remains constant. The increasing frequency and intensity of modern heatwaves, as referenced in the opening, add a contemporary urgency to this historical narrative, reminding us that while Dickens sought refuge from hot summers, we now confront a climate crisis that makes such escapes increasingly vital and, paradoxically, sometimes more challenging. These newly exhibited letters offer more than just a historical curiosity; they provide a profound insight into the personal life of one of Britain’s greatest literary figures. They reveal a man who, despite his immense fame and demanding work, cherished his holidays, sought adventure, and found solace in nature and the company of loved ones. His experiences, from battling insects to building shower cubicles, inform our understanding of his character and perhaps, indirectly, the rich tapestry of life he so masterfully depicted in his novels. The exhibition at the Charles Dickens Museum serves as a poignant reminder that the pursuit of happiness and the necessity of escape are universal human needs, echoing across centuries, linking our contemporary experiences of summer heat and the call of the coast to those of Dickens himself. Post navigation ‘The only way is up’: cycling Norway’s mountainous ‘Milky Way’
