James Woodforde: the complacent cleric

James Woodforde was a parson of a Norfolk country church for 27 years. In principle, his diary could be a unique insight into rural life in the 18th century, but I found it an excruciating read.  In a word, Woodforde is complacent. For example, pretty much every entry in the diary begins as follows:

I breakfasted, supped and slept again at home.

The reader might think, because the author has not moved house, that such a detail is not worth recording – at least not repeating the same sentence thousands of times. For Woodforde, it seems a significant guide to his character. Habit, repetition, the daily round, is good. He records:

·       How much money he gave away in charitable donations - but he doesn’t mention the much larger sums he received in tithes from his parishioners. According to Wikipedia, the living of his parish was worth £400 per year.

·       How much money he won or lost playing at cards

·       How much he spent on travel.

·       What he cooked or ate.

Does anything else motivate Woodforde? Not religion. Woodforde’s faith is of the “minimal folk superstition” variety. Religion is only mentioned when someone dies, is born, gets married, of if something exceptional happens. There is no questioning or investigation of faith. Typical references to religion are:

I got to Ansford, I thank God safe and well this evening about 6 o’clock [Feb 1st 1764]
I … married my Sister Jane and Mr Pouncett by license. Pray God send Thy Blessing upon them both, and may they be happy in each other. [May 24 1774]
Thank God Almighty, for preserving us all safe from so violent a Tempest. [Aug 10 1787]

As for positive aspects of the diary, they seem to be an excellent depiction of the unthinking life at Oxford in the 18th-century: Woodforde records drinking, competing for livings, and disciplining undergraduates who drink too much, but no mention of any learning. These are the words of a complacent fellow.

The Buildings are grand at Cambridge but few of them [May 22 1776]

Quite a Summer’s day and exceeding fair.

Had a letter this evening from my Sister Pounsett.

Had another from Dr. Oglander, Warden of New

Coll: Oxford, in answer to mine, and very satis-

factory it was. Five poor unhappy young men were

hanged this day at Norwich, for divers misdemeanours,

at the last Assizes they were condemned — Bell, Boddy,

Bridges, Partridge and Gryfin, none of them but

what were quite young, but Villains … [April 3 1778]

The effect of the diary is smug and soporific. Worse, it brings into question the whole nature of diary writing. Must writing a journal be as egocentric and complacent as this? What makes a good personal diary or journal? Montaigne’s writings are a fierce self-examination, carried out over many years. Sartre describes his childhood with merciless condemnation of the people about him. Boswell’s journals are a masterpiece of self-assurance accompanied by the less comfortable reality he encounters. He is enthusiastic. Where is Woodforde’s excitement?