[1] Providing a social history for the time period 1893 to 1947 (including both World Wars), the series is partially inspired by Henry Williamson's own life.
[2] The 15 books total over 3 million words, just over 6,000 pages[3][4], and is considered one of the longest single works written in the English language.
[2] The fifteen books span the time period 1893 to 1947, much of which contain autobiographical elements from Henry Williamson's own life[5] translated into the fictional account of his character, Phillip Maddison.
[17] In parts of Books 12 to 15 Henry Williamson's own political beliefs[18] are reflected in Phillip's, as he is a German sympathizer during World War II and joins a version of Oswald Mosley's British Union of Fascists.
[5] Interviewed on Desert Island Discs in 1969, Henry Williamson stated that the original working title for the series was A Chronicle of a Waste of Time, based on one of Shakespeare's sonnets.
[2] The title of the series, A Chronicle of Ancient Sunlight is a reference to the works of naturalist writer, Richard Jefferies, in particular his 1883 book The Story of My Heart which had a profound effect on Williamson when he returned from the trenches.
Largely set in a suburb of London (Lewisham), near the Crystal Palace, the story follows the courtship and secret marriage of Richard Maddison and Hetty Turney.
Historical events mentioned include; Queen Victoria's Diamond Jubilee, the Boer War, Mafeking Day and the 1906 General Election.
Describing his troubled relationship with his father, a growing passion for nature in the surrounding estates, involvement with school bullies, a boyhood gang and the Cub Scouts.
[28] The Innocent Moon First published in 1961, we see Phillip move to Devon where he follows his dream to become a writer of nature stories in the years 1920-1924.
Spending time with an eccentric friend (Julian Warbeck), and his cousin Willy (where events cross-over with Williamson's other work, 'The Pathway' (1928).
[29] It Was the Nightingale First published in 1962, and set in the years 1924-1926, we follow Phillip as he copes with the tragic death of his first wife during childbirth, and searches for happiness in Devon and on the London Literary scene.
As the Second World War looms on the horizon, Phillip's controversial sympathies with Germany lead him to join Hereward Birkin's Imperial Socialist Party (a version of Oswald Mosley and the British Union of Fascists).
Historical events described, include; Ramsay MacDonald's General Election, Silver Jubilee and death of King George V, Nuremberg Rally, the burning down of The Crystal Palace.
Phillip struggles to make his derelict Norfolk Farm work amidst political tensions with the local villagers, and an unhappy married life.
He describes the volumes covering World War I as "one of the most encyclopedic fictional accounts we have", but that the later pro-Fascist tone is "highly disturbing, and (there is) an almost manic bitterness which is far from acceptable".
"This, remember, is “chronicle”, its effect is achieved by narration supported by fact, without attempt to concoct dramatic moments, and it is all the more powerful for that.
The nature writing betrays fine poetic sensitivity and all the many characters are vitally alive...Mr. Williamson reveals the perplexities and intimacies of their domestic life with candour, tenderness, and a deep insight into the complex emotions that sway the human heart.
Both the social and the literary historian of the past 50 years can dredge from this vast serpentine roman fleuve in- numerable treasures.
Its flawed hero, Phillip Maddison, so arrogant, so vain, so domineering, is vet endowed with a surprising gift of tenderness towards any- one elevated to the privileged rank of comrade.
In this volume there are, as in all its predecessors, stagnant reaches of triviality beside those areas where the tide of narrative sweeps along deep, swift and clear.
Uncomfortably one never ceases to be aware that the author is always working close to the diaries from which he even makes intermittent quotations; and one wonders, as the insignificant is piled on the inconsequential, whether he would not have done better merely to trust to the selectivity of memory.