The Road to Huddersfield
Huddersfield here is posited as the exemplar of industrialised society, the epitome of 20th century civilisation, the very birthplace of the modern world, whose 'horny, stocky, taciturn people were the first to live by chemical energies, by steam, cogs, iron and engine grease, and the first in modern times to demonstrate the dynamism of the human condition'. Aye, that's right enough.
The assigned task of the World Bank was then (and, more or less, is now) to help those less advanced nations advance along the titular road to Huddersfield - to fund those infrastructure projects which, according to theory, will speed those economies towards the wealth and freedom from want of industrial society, that very state of Huddersfieldness.
After a visit to the World Bank HQ, under the idiosyncratic rule of Eugene Black, Morris travels through some of the recipients of the Bank's aid - Ethiopia, Siam, southern Italy, Colombia, and the Indian-Pakistani borders - in an elegant and picturesque odyssey. Given that the book was commissioned by the Bank, Morris stays remarkably ambiguous about the effects and efficacy of its work - a lot kinder than many of its latter-day (or even contemporary) critics, but no apologist for its occasional incompetence or amorality.
Some 45 years on, some of the descriptions of the countries visited strike a little odd. 'Nobody is starving' in Ethopia, though that country 'is still a long, long way from Huddersfield'. Further East, 'it is no coincidence that Burma, that gilded stronghold of Buddhism, is perhaps the only country on earth that shows no eagerness at all to take the Huddersfield Road." On the other hand, the chapter detailing political and ethnic tensions in the Indus basin seems ever relevant - though some might see a certain irony as Morris notes of Pakistan, 'never did a country seem to need her Huddersfield more.'
It all makes for an intriguing slice of political and economic history. Although it seems slightly unfair that the book's thin section of photographic plates does not show the titular Yorkshire town, but rather its neighbour Halifax - a view from Beacon Hill of a near-unrecognisable forest of belching chimneys. Were it not for the dark satanic smog, now long gone, you might just see my house from there.