t seems as though every civilisation in history has turning points that push its people into conjuring a hero who may lead them through difficult transitional times, and the hundreds of generations laying claim to the green isle of England are no exception. After the inexorable plunge into the Dark Ages, wherein barbarians ransacked what remained of culture and forced all people –whether they were peasants or nobility– to shiver with the uncertainties of a world without hope, a time without order, the legends of a king called Arthur and his Knights of the Table Round held aloft a banner to rally those who sought an ideal to lead them into an enlightened era. During the rampant corruption of king and clergy, the bugle call of Robin Hood was sounded amongst the forests, glens and dales, and the tales of a noble outlaw who demonstrated compassion to the poor and made fools of those in authority spread like fire in a dry hayfield.

Several revolutions of the wheel later, the late nineteenth century proved no different. The promises of prosperity following the Industrial Revolution brought the teeming hordes from the farmlands to pursue a better life in the cities, only to find themselves facing starvation in the squalour of cramped quarters filthy with sewage and rotten with thievery, prostitution and wanton murder. Still, the late Victorian and Edwardian eras brought new life-changing advances in science and technology every day –electricity, motorcars and telephones, to name but a few– and a new age of reason and scientific thought was dawning amongst the more learned classes of society. It was into this time, the temporal juxtaposition of rampant crime and intellectual potential, that was borne a new hero who embodied a sense of hope that seemed to transcend all class and geographical boundaries: the Great Detective, Sherlock Holmes.

Hundreds of books and articles by people far more scholarly and astute than I have tried to unravel the appeal of this figure, probably the most famous fictional character of all time, and I have no wish to dwarf myself alongside their copious documentation and well-annotated theories. I can only speak for myself.

For me, Sherlock Holmes is an ideal hero, and –like all archetypes– he is a veritable checklist of characteristics we can internalise. Reason and observation are within the grasp of us all, and while Watson himself describes Holmes as a perfect thinking machine at times, he is not without compassion. This combination carries with it the hope of extinguishing hatred, settling differences, ending dispute, providing for others less fortunate, and setting a foundation for benevolent leadership. Likewise, the quest for knowledge and a thirst for adventure instill a life with purpose and a need to charge onwards into unknown territory, safety be damned. And then there is the unstoppable and incorruptible force for good, an ideal to aspire to in trying times brimming with greed, destruction, blind anger and lost souls.

All this amounts to a very dry analysis, I’m afraid. Let me be more frank. When I imagine the dark, dense fog swirling about and smothering a London gaslamp, the distant clatter of horse hooves and hamsom wheel upon wet cobblestones, and –in the rooms of 221B Baker Street– Holmes shaking Watson awake with the cry of “The game is afoot!”, a jolt of electricity surges through me and the hairs on my neck stand erect. I am everyman Watson, I am in awe, and I must follow, wherever he may take me.

So please, welcome to my new site, wherein I follow –and lay homage to– my hero.

Original statue image from The Sherlock Holmes Museum of Baker Street