Given the pall of self-inflicted misery which hung over the House of Commons all through early summer, many of my colleagues were more than usually keen to get out of Westminster for this year’s long recess.

Contrary to popular belief, as I have mentioned before, MP’s don’t simply down tools and lie on a beach for the whole of August and September. Even though Parliament is not in session, the work goes on; the constituency problems don’t go on holiday; there are letters to be answered and meetings to be held. The issues – the local, national and global – don’t pack their bags and get on a plane. 

One positive side-effect of the recession seems to be something of a boom in British Tourism. The National Trust is reporting a surge in visitors to its homes and gardens, and even the Elgar Birthplace, near Worcester, has seen visitor numbers up by twenty per cent on a normal year.

I should, perhaps, declare an interest as Chairman of the Elgar Foundation, but if you are passing through the West Midlands, do call in at Elgar’s Birthplace; you can be sure of a warm welcome and a fascinating insight into the humble rural origins of one of our greatest composers.

I have always loved British music and have frequently wondered why it is so little performed and celebrated. One of the best things about the British summer is the BBC Proms season, where Roger Wright, now in his second year as Director, has shown admirable courage and imagination in programming music by less well known but nonetheless marvellous British composers. A highlight so far this year was the performance of the Symphony by E. J. Moeran. E.J. Who? Well, check him out.

Last week, near Aldeburgh on the Suffolk coast (Benjamin Britten territory) we experienced a rare and intensely moving moment. I was aware of rumours that an ancient tradition of spontaneous folk singing lingered on in this part of England, but I had never witnessed it before.

This was not an event laid on for tourists; it was not organised or advertised; it was entirely uncommercial; it did not involve self-conscious Morris Dancers or amplified ‘folk’ instruments. One after another, grizzled and bearded tough faced men rose with their pints in hand and sang the songs their fathers and grandfathers had taught them. Here were the tunes, handed down through the ages, which helped shape a great musical tradition lasting from the Middle Ages to the present day.

In order to understand the present, we need to have knowledge of the past. It is a source of great consolation to me, at least, that there are places still surviving which tell of our living tradition and English culture.

As the poet, T. S. Eliot, who lived for a while in the East Surrey village of Crowhurst, put it: “History is now and England”.