Blythe was born in Acton, Suffolk, on 6 November 1922, [4] the eldest of six children. His father, Albert, who had seen action in the First World War at Gallipoli and in Palestine, came from generations of East Anglian farmers and farm workers. [5] His London-born mother, Matilda (née Elkins), had worked as a Voluntary Aid Detachment nurse during the war and passed on to her son her passion for books. [6] [5] [7] Blythe could remember as a child seeing the sugar beet being farmed by men in army greatcoats and puttees. [6] He says that, as a young man, he was “innocent to a degree, but also kind of learned in a way. I loved language, but was not very at ease in what you might call the ordinary world.” But his innocence and faith­ful­ness was not capsized by the new, socially liberal world that the Nashes introduced him to. A life rooted in East Anglia has given Blythe a rare depth of vision. His writing is attuned to the physicality of existence, attentive to the world around him, and always listening to people and other species, as here, in June: IN THE late ’40s and early ’50s, Suffolk rivalled Cornwall as a haven for artists, writers, and musicians. Benjamin Britten and Peter Pears were hatching the Alde­burgh Festival. Sir Cedric Morris and his partner, Arthur Lett-Haines, were running the East Anglian School of Drawing and Painting at Benton End, a large house at Had­leigh. They had taught Lucian Freud, and were to teach Maggi Hambling.

My life got caught up with his in a way. He did illustrate some of my work when he was alive but he’s connected with our lives here at different times.

UK

East Anglian author appointed lay canon". East Anglian Daily Times. 24 March 2003 . Retrieved 12 February 2020.

I’m not a proper oral historian. After I’d finished Akenfield, I was nursing an old friend and I felt there was a great literature for old age but people ignore it – right from the classics onwards, and it’s a special time for being alive – that’s what that book was about. Blythe was born in Suffolk. His family has lived here for centuries; even his surname comes from its river Blyth. He thinks his mother, who "read all the time", is responsible for his love of books. He devoured French literature and wrote poetry. He did not go to university but does not feel that he missed out. "I was brought up with all these very cultivated people, botanists and artists. None of them went to university." Working as a reference librarian in Colchester library, he met Christine Nash, wife of the painter, John Nash, and was first invited to their home, Bottengoms Farm, in 1947.DR BLYTHE was born in the Suffolk village of Acton, in 1922, and grew up in the south of the county. “I was a very quiet sort of boy, with a bike,” he says. He was also “a watcher and listener”, and “a terrific reader”. This combination of mobility and writerly qualities meant that he observed lovingly the details of village life, the minutiae of seasonal change, and the “glory and bitter­ness” of hands-on, horse-drawn agricultural toil, at a time of seismic change. He has preserved our knowledge of a rich way of life and rural culture that otherwise would have disappeared forever. This knowledge is his legacy to Suffolk and to everyone who lives there," she said.

The Deep-brown Dart was the first to be seen, clinging to the white sheet that had been laid on the grass. It was new to me. I wasn’t certain that this was the correct identification but I was sure that I hadn’t seen one like it before. Charlie Fletcher confirmed and told me that there is possibly a Northern version of this species. The scientific name refers to ‘difficulty’ ( aporos) and ‘muddy’ ( lutulentus) which pretty much sums up its appearance. But it was also a new moth so was imbued with that special quality of not having been seen before.Nobody really knows. I’ve done a little research and it’s an ancient name – it might even be Saxon. Each Returning Day: The Pleasure of Diaries (Viking, 1989) - published in USA as The Pleasures of Diaries: Four Centuries of Private Writing (Pantheon, 1989) It was also a time of great change. Village life and farming practices, which were historically intertwined, were becoming disentangled. In his 50s, Blythe wrote The View in Winter, a moving account of growing old which Collins feels is due a revival. “It’s a wonderful book, a very positive view of old age. He lives an incredibly contented life.” Collins helped his mentor “retire” in 2017 and began to manage his affairs after asking him about a pile of unpaid bills and receiving Blythe’s answer: “I’ve decided I’ve given them enough money over the years. I’m not giving them any more!” In the mean time, he would like to see in the Church the simple, ele­mental things that he values in life. “The Church itself has a lot of certainties which nobody can pos­sibly believe in, accumulated over the centuries. So I have no difficulty in disposing of these in my thoughts.