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These Ruins Are Inhabited
In 1957 George W. Beadle, a visiting professor at Oxford University, won a Nobel Prize and he and his wife, Muriel, took the chance to discover England as the English knew it. In this delightful classic, constantly in print since 1961, Muriel Beadle sets down anecdotes and impressions, illuminating with great sense and humour, the English character, from an American viewpoint. The Beadles were shocked to find Oxford was no sleepy university town, but resembled mid-town Manhattan at high noon. They were faced with mundane problems of stoves and heaters, electrical outlets and library research. As for Mrs Beadle, she found such familiar friends as Heinz, Lux, and Birds Eye. "These Ruins are Inhabited" is sheer enjoyment. It also offers a discerning commentary on English and American education at the time, both at the university level and at secondary schools like the one the Beadles' 15-year-old son attended. (He went home saying 'jolly good' and with a taste for cricket.). The Beadles found that the ruins were, indeed, inhabited, as is this book - with several of the nicest people you've ever met.
- GenresNonfictionMemoirTravel
Paperback
First published January 1, 1961
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Displaying 1 - 10 of 10 reviews
January 22, 2015
I picked this book up cautiously. Would this turn out to be a thinly veiled criticism of just how awful post-war (WW2) standards of living were in England in 1958? No. It took only a few pages before I felt thoroughly guilty for the very thought. In the main, Muriel Beadle exercises her proactive, thoughtfully observant and positively insatiable curiosity with real understanding and humour. She warily and wisely accepts little at face value. As Oscar Wilde observed “We have really everything in common with America nowadays, except, of course, language”. That is precisely why this book is such a success.
It’s refreshing to seeing late 1950s Oxford through a new pair of wide open eyes. Mrs Beadle’s obvious irritation at not being able to buy a pot holders ”in all of England” was, I suspect, most likely attributable to the fact that particular household item was invariably home-made and not bought! Goodness knows what she’d have made of Oxford and England if she’d arrived with her husband and son during wartime and post-war rationing, when so very much was in short (or no) supply. Other of her observations remain curiously topical today; such as “…nostalgia for the good old days before the welfare state had corrupted the working classes.” (p.70). Arguments based on affordability and expectations are returning to national politics. How to differentiate the ‘deserving’ and ‘undeserving’ poor? Equalities (aka ‘inequalities’) legislation and distrust of the EU additionally muddies the present-day political trout stream.
One of the funniest episodes in this book is Muriel’s righteous and indignant frustration at the incompetence of the Oxford telephone company’s call-operator to make a swift connection to the US. This coupled with the company’s sublime incompetence in charging a ‘phone call to a different number; necessary because the Beadle’s number was out of service (pp.220-225), would on its own make a great comedy sketch on stage or screen.
This book rides a broad wave. The Beadles holidays in Britain, France, Italy, and the Nobel Prize ceremony in Stockholm are all recounted here, and all described in delightful detail (precisely enough, not too much), even if unlike Mrs Beadle I’ve never thought of Yorkshire as “England’s Texas” (p.312). Not only is the climate very different, but ranch cowboys are not to be found in Yorkshire. Whatever would John Hillaby (a Yorkshire man perhaps best described as an earlier cross between Nicholas Crane and Ray Mears) have thought?!
From Britain to Italy; and a worryingly reassurance comes to the fore: that unlike in its liturgy, over the play of fifty years the Vatican remains constant in at least one aspect. Muriel observes that, “The Sistine Chapel was clogged with tourists. You’d have thought that a convention was in progress there, and the message of the magnificent Michelangelo frescoes was virtually drowned out by the babble.” (p.243). Later, in Stockholm, her account of her husband receiving his Nobel Prize (in brief, awarded for explaining the control of certain biochemical processes by genes), within what was essentially an extremely convivial house-party, is sweetly fascinating. What other written accounts of Nobel presentations exist, I wonder?
I have but one criticism of this book. My interest palled over several lengthy sections on the author’s deep and abiding interest in the comparison of secondary education in the US and UK. Despite that, I couldn’t help but be impressed by Mrs Beadle’s very healthy interest and positive curiosity. Anyone reading this review who IS interested in the different systems of schooling in the mid C20th , will doubtless find much of interest here.
So it was that as I approached the end of this book, it came as a shock to do the calculation that Red (Redmond, Muriel’s son from her first marriage) must now be over 70 years old; that is assuming he is still alive (his mother died at 78). Red comes over as a thoroughly likeable boy, who as a 15yr old very quickly and successfully adapted to Oxford schooling. The end of this book left me longing to meet him and to discover his side of the stories of the Beadle family’s entertaining experiences in Oxford, England, and Europe.
p.s. I do find it rather fun to speculate as to how this US first edition came to England, and (last Summer) into my hands. I shall never know for sure.
It’s refreshing to seeing late 1950s Oxford through a new pair of wide open eyes. Mrs Beadle’s obvious irritation at not being able to buy a pot holders ”in all of England” was, I suspect, most likely attributable to the fact that particular household item was invariably home-made and not bought! Goodness knows what she’d have made of Oxford and England if she’d arrived with her husband and son during wartime and post-war rationing, when so very much was in short (or no) supply. Other of her observations remain curiously topical today; such as “…nostalgia for the good old days before the welfare state had corrupted the working classes.” (p.70). Arguments based on affordability and expectations are returning to national politics. How to differentiate the ‘deserving’ and ‘undeserving’ poor? Equalities (aka ‘inequalities’) legislation and distrust of the EU additionally muddies the present-day political trout stream.
One of the funniest episodes in this book is Muriel’s righteous and indignant frustration at the incompetence of the Oxford telephone company’s call-operator to make a swift connection to the US. This coupled with the company’s sublime incompetence in charging a ‘phone call to a different number; necessary because the Beadle’s number was out of service (pp.220-225), would on its own make a great comedy sketch on stage or screen.
This book rides a broad wave. The Beadles holidays in Britain, France, Italy, and the Nobel Prize ceremony in Stockholm are all recounted here, and all described in delightful detail (precisely enough, not too much), even if unlike Mrs Beadle I’ve never thought of Yorkshire as “England’s Texas” (p.312). Not only is the climate very different, but ranch cowboys are not to be found in Yorkshire. Whatever would John Hillaby (a Yorkshire man perhaps best described as an earlier cross between Nicholas Crane and Ray Mears) have thought?!
From Britain to Italy; and a worryingly reassurance comes to the fore: that unlike in its liturgy, over the play of fifty years the Vatican remains constant in at least one aspect. Muriel observes that, “The Sistine Chapel was clogged with tourists. You’d have thought that a convention was in progress there, and the message of the magnificent Michelangelo frescoes was virtually drowned out by the babble.” (p.243). Later, in Stockholm, her account of her husband receiving his Nobel Prize (in brief, awarded for explaining the control of certain biochemical processes by genes), within what was essentially an extremely convivial house-party, is sweetly fascinating. What other written accounts of Nobel presentations exist, I wonder?
I have but one criticism of this book. My interest palled over several lengthy sections on the author’s deep and abiding interest in the comparison of secondary education in the US and UK. Despite that, I couldn’t help but be impressed by Mrs Beadle’s very healthy interest and positive curiosity. Anyone reading this review who IS interested in the different systems of schooling in the mid C20th , will doubtless find much of interest here.
So it was that as I approached the end of this book, it came as a shock to do the calculation that Red (Redmond, Muriel’s son from her first marriage) must now be over 70 years old; that is assuming he is still alive (his mother died at 78). Red comes over as a thoroughly likeable boy, who as a 15yr old very quickly and successfully adapted to Oxford schooling. The end of this book left me longing to meet him and to discover his side of the stories of the Beadle family’s entertaining experiences in Oxford, England, and Europe.
p.s. I do find it rather fun to speculate as to how this US first edition came to England, and (last Summer) into my hands. I shall never know for sure.
April 4, 2020
I inherited this book from my grandmother by way of my mother. It has been on my shelves, moved house a couple of times since 1978. I really never thought I would read it or enjoy it, but I had run out of library books, due to the COVID-19 pandemic, and don’t enjoy ebooks. So I am so glad I was forced to read it! It is a wonderful memoir of a year spent by Californians at Oxford, England. The author wrote so interestingly of all the things they learned and experienced while there, as the father was a guest lecturer and their teenage son attended one of the schools. I’m sure things have changed a lot, but this really was an enjoyable book! It was well written and fun to read.
October 13, 2019
It's actually a shame I can't give this book more than 3 stars, but here's why: it's wonderfully written with amazing descriptions and witty observations, but the constant comparisons between American and English (or better European) lifestyles - though often interesting and thought provoking - are in the long run just exhausting. It's really good to read about different schools system, traditions, way of approaching and interacting with other people, but we don't need to compare every single irrelevant detail (plugs are different, so?). Moreover, even when the author admits that sometimes certain things work better in Europe, the tone always betrays a strong belief that Americans are after all superior.
And honestly, I don't see why we shouldn't be proud of not having let cake mix enter our cuisine.
And honestly, I don't see why we shouldn't be proud of not having let cake mix enter our cuisine.
September 27, 2021
This book was fairly interesting, some fun cultural sharing. I could wish the book to be longer and with more cultural detail. In all I was entertained and learned some things but felt there was more material that could have been added in.
September 27, 2025
Well written, by an observant and intelligent academic wife. Shocking to read what life was like in Oxford and England in 1959, the class divisions, the sexism and the poor quality housing.
November 1, 2014
These Ruins Are Inhabited was recommended to me by a new acquaintance, a charming gentleman of 94 years who, in the mid-60s, moved with his family to "Old Blighty" to spend a year in Cambridge, England. He had the good fortune to know one of the college dons, and was regularly invited to sit at table with the academicians of the school.
This work of autobiography is a wonderfully detailed account of another family's similar experiences after moving from the U.S. to live in Oxford, England. In this case, the father, George W. Beadle, was a visiting professor of genetics from Caltech, and the move took place in 1958. During their stay, it was announced that he had won a Nobel prize.
This work of autobiography is a wonderfully detailed account of another family's similar experiences after moving from the U.S. to live in Oxford, England. In this case, the father, George W. Beadle, was a visiting professor of genetics from Caltech, and the move took place in 1958. During their stay, it was announced that he had won a Nobel prize.
September 19, 2020
Read this book the first time somewhere around 1965. Found it funny, witty and so interesting. She writes of living in Britain in 1959, a period of British life leaving behind the old and beginning a newer, better era. Decided to reread and am enjoying it as much as the first time. Muriel Beadle was a journalist, so she has an interesting look at life in general. Her husband was a Nobel Prize winning geneticist. Now I want to track down some other writings of theirs.
November 2, 2012
As an American who is new to Oxford, I found myself wishing I had read this book before I even came here! Some of Muriel Beadle's experiences seem to mirror a few of my own, even though 55 years span between. It's a great read, even if you're not in the same situation; Beadle is a witty and gifted writer.
July 19, 2012
A delightfully old-fashioned (1960's) account of a year in Oxford.
July 6, 2014
loved it! Read it while living in Oxford and it was cool to relate her experiences to mine in the 21st century!
Displaying 1 - 10 of 10 reviews