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The Frank Patterson Picture Book, complied Jim Willis (1978)
Cyclists Touring Club Quarto 100pp
A collection of 130 of the black-and-white line illustrations
of Britain's most celebrated cycling draughtsmen - originally published
in the CTC magazine from 1925 until Patterson's death in 1952
 
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Line drawings were a staple of magazine publishing from the dawn of
offset lithography until improvements in photo reproduction pushed the
medium to the sidelines. That period, from about 1900 to the late 1950s,
is very close to that in which Patterson was an active contributor to
the cycling, and other journals.
Glance through century-old copies of many specialist magazines and it's
obvious that there were dozens, if not hundreds, employed in providing
images to illuminate the pages of periodicals. Most are forgotten, but
not Patterson. Originals of his work, when they come up for sale, can
fetch hundreds of pounds; even this long-out-of-print celebration of his
sketches fetches decent prices second hand.
The pictures within have a clear, common thread. Patterson's scenes
are idyllic. The countryside looks fascinating, picturesque and beautiful.
Of course the roads are empty - the only vehicle Patterson ever depicts
is a baggy, plus-four wearing, cycle tourist, idling through the landscape
on a drop-handlebared, hub-geared mount. And where there are other people,
they are rustics from central casting - a dairymaid, in a white smock,
bearing two pails; a Welsh cockle woman, weighed down by baskets; or a
pipe-smoking crone astride a donkey in Donegal.
His hills fold gently around stone houses with irregular rooflines.
The craggy ruins of castles rise above the hedgerows. And, even in rain,
snow or the enveloping cloak of night, the cyclists emit a glow that warms
the scenes.
In the early years of the twentieth century ordinary Britons rediscovered
their countryside - the nation having industrialised and urbanised earlier,
quicker and more completely than anywhere else in Europe. First by bicycle,
then by car, we returned (at weekends) to the rural hinterland as a place
for recreation, and to rediscover our roots. It was this enthusiasm that
spawned Betjeman's Shell Guides; to which the railway posters of Tom Purvis
and Frank Sherwin spoke; and, which found expression in the music of Vaughan
Williams.
Eric Newby, who was cycling from the early 1930s, has argued that Patterson's
depictions, while romanticised, drew a basically accurate picture of life
a-wheel in that decade. That may be true of the quietness of the roads,
the bagginess of the apparel and even the gnarled country folk one encountered.
Patterson's Loch Rannoch, however, is almost unrecognisably tranquil.
It seems nearly impossible that an artist could visit the spot from which
he apparently looked out and not find high drama - in the surrounding
high peaks, the icy waters of the vast wilderness surrounding.
The reason for that is that are two-fold. Publishers clearly wanted
to see life through a slightly syrupy lens - to illustrate, say, a tale
from Ragged Staff.
Also, Patterson largely worked from photographs, rather than real life.
Friends and fans sent postcards, by way of source material, to his 16th
century farm in Sussex where he lived and worked for most of his life.
He adapted the scenes to his publishers' needs, and inserted a cyclist
at some point where it would catch the eye. He was very good at cyclists,
as you might expect, capturing perfectly the relationship between rider
and machine. And the Cotswoldian charm that he sprinkles over scenes from
Devon to the Shetlands is certainly seductive.
Should he be revered as a great artist? Almost certainly not - he was
a commercial illustrator, albeit one of the best. But that's no reason
not to thoroughly enjoy the journey into a nether, never, world in to
which his pen draws us.
PS Sep 09
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