It is difficult to pinpoint the very definite charm of this very British book. For some readers its Britishness will be a hurdle -- not because of the locale, which is pleasantly nostalgie in its assumption of familiarity with London, Southeast England, the Midlands and in particular Durham and Leicester; but because of the British mores,- the revolutionary finace of accepted codes as Mrs. Williams dares to wear slacks and to go without a hat, even after she becomes ""the bishop's wife"" the doing without a kitchen staff, the choice of mountain climbing instead of church organizations as a passionate dedication, etc. Cicely Williams was brought up in a churchly atmosphere -- rectories were no novelty to her, church music she knew long before secular music. Holidays were hardly earned through selling pieces to various ladies' magazines -- and by holidays she meant Zermatt and climbing. It is a delightful family portrait, a warm and loving picture of a happy marriage, a generous tribute to friendship in many guises. The years of the war, when her husband, Ronald, held a chaplain's post in the Administration and she drove through London's bombed streets and carried official papers and VIP's, proved part of a period of growth. A gradual acceptance of the challenge of her husband's calling was another facet. And the long battle with fear and sorrow during his desperate illness as was a third side of the triangle. For the rest life was set in pleasant ways. Not everyone's dish -- nor evenly entertaining, but honest, revealing and different.