Adam Sowan, who died in June 2025, was a longstanding and integral part of Two Rivers Press, and our most prolific author.
On leaving Notting Hill, somewhat reluctantly, for Reading in 1973, Adam immediately set about exploring his new home town. A committed pedestrian, with a passion for architecture and planning, he became familiar with all the odd corners, byways and buildings. His first contact with local publishing was providing crosswords for the short lived but lively Catalyst magazine produced by ‘a merry band of social rejects’ . Through contacts at Catalyst, when he retired early in 1994 he met Peter Hay the founder of Two Rivers Press.
His first book, A Much-Maligned Town, collected together the various things, rude and not so rude, that people had said about Reading over the years. Other titles followed, some large, some small, but all beautifully illustrated. From Abattoirs Road to Zinzan Street, to a detailed look at the Bricks and Brickwork of the town’s buildings, Adam’s interest in Reading never waned.
~
From John Froy who ran the Press 2003–9
Adam Sowan was already unofficial history editor when I arrived at the Press. The local interest manuscripts all went to him, and he was writing his first books. A mine of information on Reading history, arcane local knowledge, his ability to sniff out the unusual and quirky, and poke a bit of fun too, always made his writing highly readable. Two Rivers published Adam’s books and projects for over twenty years. Here’s a reminder of some of them.
Much-Maligned Town: Opinions of Reading 1126–2008, enlarged 2nd edition. Taking John Betjeman’s phrase for his title, Adam accumulated a feast of opinions about Reading, many of them enjoyably negative, rude and irritated. He sought them everywhere, he’d ask you to pass on any mentions of Reading you came across in your reading, including in fiction. I was thinking, it’s been thirteen years … but take a look at the reviews on TripAdvisor and see how little has changed!
Abattoirs Road to Zinzan Street, new expanded edition in 2004 – our own A-Z! ‘Every town should have one,’ said Keiren Phelan, our supporter at the Arts Council, full of praise for this book: interesting, odd, surprising facts about the roads and streets we live in. Of course, this was pre-Google (and AI), everything researched in the old way, through wide reading, hours in the library, Public Records Office, archives of local newspapers.
Then there was The Holy Brook, a history and guided walk along Reading’s third, secret river, associated with the monks of the abbey. There was Mark of Affection, a look at locally born architect Sir John Soane’s newly refurbished Obelisk in Market Place.
And The Stranger in Reading, an eyewitness account of Georgian Reading by John Man, 1810, edited by Adam, with his pithy margin notes. Anonymously published by Man because he was so rude about the town – the state of the streets and pavements! – it became controversial, especially with the church, though surely was only seeking improvements, fairness, a better lot for the poor. There was something of The Stranger in Adam too – both came from London, settled here, and after retiring became ‘grassroots’ historians, walking the streets, observing and mapping the town, including its watering-holes …
Some of the Interesting Facts picked up on these perambulations would turn up later in Adam’s perennially popular Reading Quiz Book. And just a word on his last publication, a quintessential Sowan: Bricks & Brickwork in Reading. A book of love for bricks, the colours, patterns, styles and uses of the humble brick of which Reading is built – and a TRP best seller. After reading this, you will see the town and its fine brickwork in a new light. There’s still an old crinkle-crankle wall in Caversham Court Gardens …
Adam Sowan will be greatly missed by Two Rivers Press – and a new history editor is yet to be found. Our thanks to him for all his editorial work and all his great books. Thank you Adam.
~
Adam Sowan’s books for Two Rivers Press:
- A Much-Maligned Town (1997), edited by Adam Sowan, illustrated by Peter Hay (currently unavailable). A second edition was published in 2007 (also currently unavailable)
- Abattoirs to Zinzan: Reading Streets and Their Names (2000), by Adam Sowan, illustrated by Peter Hay and Sally Castle (currently unavailable). A revised and expanded edition was published in 2004, with a slightly different title: Abattoirs Road to Zinzan Street: Reading Streets and Their Names.
- The Holy Brook, or the Granator’s Tale (2003), by Adam Sowan, illustrated by Peter Hay, hand lettered by Sally Castle (currently unavailable)
- The Stranger in Reading by John Man, edited and annotated by Adam Sowan (2006) (still in print)
- A Mark of Affection: the Soane Obelisk in Reading (2007) by Adam Sowan (still in print)
- The Reading Quiz Book (2011), by Adam Sowan (still in print). Revised and updated edition published in 2023.
- Believing in Reading: Our Places of Worship (2012), by Adam Sowan (still in print)
- All Change at Reading: the railway and the station, 1840–2013 (2013), by Adam Sowan (still in print)
- Bricks and Brickwork in Reading: Patterns and Polychromy (2020), by Adam Sowan (still in print – and our bestselling local interest title!)
~
A few words of tribute…
From Martin Andrews:
Adam made an enormous contribution to the Two Rivers Press. Non-conformity, strong individual characters, and campaigning were at the heart of the early days of the Press and Adam fitted perfectly into that genre. Although he grew up in London his passion for the history of his adopted town inspired his writing for the press and he brought a less mystical approach to documenting Reading’s past.
He was meticulous in his research and with his extensive knowledge wrote with authority, but in an engaging way which communicated with ease and his books are immensely readable. He became the Press’s most prolific author and two of his early books have become ‘classics’ – A Much Maligned Town (1997) and Abattoir to Zinzan Street (2000). Adam became the focus for the local history publications and I greatly valued his editorial advice (and Barbara’s) when I wrote my book on Henry Fox Talbot.
He has been a constant presence in all the Press’s board meetings and activities – a wise and thoughtful contributor. I was sitting with him in the garden when his calm and gentle presence and his long beard made me feel I just had to paint his portrait.
From Katie Amos:
I was sorry to hear of the passing of Adam Sowan. Back in the day he was a regular visitor to the library, especially when he was researching something, and of course we have copies of his books on our shelves. Abattoirs to Zinzan in particular is one I often turn to for queries about streets, so his contribution to Reading’s history has been invaluable. He cut a distinctive figure, with his angular shape and long beard, and was always happy to chat about whatever topic he was interested in at the time. He will be missed by many of those who came into contact with him at Reading Library.
From Kerry Renshaw:
I was very sorry to hear of Adam’s passing. He was such a fount of knowledge on Reading and gave freely of advice when I asked him to read through parts of Reading Detectives. He often steered me right in a very uncritical way. I treasure the moment I was able to tell him something about Reading Station that he didn’t know. A unique occasion!
From John Dearing:
I first met Adam in Waterstones’ bookshop in Broad Street at an event promoting his new book, Abattoirs to Zinzan, detailing the stories behind Reading’s street names. Many years later this gave me the idea for the title of one of my books, Abbot Cook to Zerodegrees, co-written with David Cliffe and Evelyn Williams, and similarly detailing the stories of Reading’s pubs and breweries.
I wasn’t just there, though, to secure a copy of Adam’s book but to give a talk in my own right on the genesis of my earlier book, The Church that would not Die. I was rather surprised to be invited as it had been on sale for seven years by then!
Adam kindly cited that book in several of his own publications and in Believing in Reading he enjoyed a bit of a joke at my expense by describing St Mary’s Castle Street as ‘the church that would not accept women priests!’ I similarly cited him in some of my own works and Believing in Reading appears in the bibliography of my imminent publication, How the Good News came to Reading. However, I earnt a well-deserved slap on the wrist from Adam when listing Abattoirs in the bibliography of Reading Pubs as published by the Three Rivers Press – I obviously had the Holybrook in mind! Happily, my book sold well enough to go to a reprint in which the error was corrected.
Adam was also one of the number of historians who responded to my appeal for help in compiling the Reading Book of Days. Adam’s submissions covered his many interests but the one I remember most was his brilliant entry for September 4th: ‘1752: On this day, as on all the days from 3rd to 13th September, nothing happened in Reading or anywhere else in England. These days simply did not exist, thanks to the change from the Julian to the Gregorian calendar.’
The last time I recall seeing Adam was when I met him walking up my road (Sherman Road in Katesgrove) and discovered that he was researching a new book on Reading’s bricks and brickwork – alas his last. He will be much missed by family and friends but his tremendous contribution to the history of Reading will also be long remembered.
From Kathryn McCann:
As many of you will know, Adam was a regular at The Global Café. Perhaps because he was there anyway, he became a regular at Reading Green Drinks, which met there on the first Tuesday of each month. He became one of the hardcore of members, but would invariably disappear at some point during the evening without saying goodbye.
As I got to know him and understand his depth of knowledge about Reading, I asked him to lead a walk for some of our members along the Holy Brook, following part of the route described in his book, The Holy Brook, or the Granator’s Tale.
Over the years he led several amazing walks, which were always popular, sharing interesting insights as we went. As you can see in this image (below) of our walk to Playhatch in August 2014, Adam often struck out ahead, and he didn’t have much patience with people dawdling and snapping photos along the way. Despite that, I have a feeling he enjoyed the walks too, and I always appreciated the efforts he made to plan the route and do a recce beforehand.
By the time of our last walk together in April 2021, looking for Loddon lilies in their native habitat, Adam had slowed down dramatically. In fact we ended up turning back part way through when it started snowing.
He last joined us for Green Drinks at our new location, The Castle Tap, in August 2023. It was a lovely surprise to see him, though he was even quieter than we had become accustomed to.
I’m glad we had so many great experiences walking and chatting with Adam over the years. It was a real privilege.
~
A eulogy for Adam Sowan
given at New Road, Reading, 27th September 2025
by Nick Bradbury
I’m speaking today as a friend of Adam’s, and about that friendship.
I leave it to others to talk about his writing, and his long association with the Two Rivers Press.
But I will start with a brief extract from a book of his with a wonderful double meaning in the title: ‘Believing in Reading’.
“I have tried to tell a story of growth and change in Reading’s religious life; both of these processes will no doubt continue. The older churches are unlikely to be threatened with demolition, and more secular places will be adapted to faith use… A rich variety of buildings will, for the foreseeable future, serve this happily multi-ethnic, multi-cultural and multi-faith town.”
Adam was an atheist, and so am I, but how tolerant and civilised those words of his are.
They are, if you like, the gospel according to St Adam!
And he was tolerant – discriminatingly tolerant…
Which means, logically, that he was selectively intolerant.
He disliked Stephen Fry…
…for his ubiquity and smugness..
He hated the music of Brahms…
Which he found dreary.
For years I lived in fear of the BBC announcing a new documentary on Brahms, narrated by Stephen Fry.
But Adam civilised me. By his example. And, for example: by constantly playing Radio 3, he converted me to it.
And much to my surprise, Radio 3 is full of surprises.
Sadly, but appropriately, Adam died listening to Radio 3 in hospital.
A moment to thank Barbara. Barbara, thank you for tolerating my constant visits to see Adam – with, of course, Radio 3 always on in the background. And thank you for kindly inviting me here at Christmas 2011, when I had nowhere else in the world to go.
And Adam too was characterised by kindness. If I criticised someone…
…and that someone was not Stephen Fry or Brahms…
Adam would look pained, and say, plaintively, “Awwww”.
A word and a tone I can’t reproduce exactly here – unique.
Adam regarded himself as a flaneur – a stroller, a saunterer, an observer – and he was.
But he was also a psycho-geographer. He encouraged us to see familiar environments anew.
He took me on the best day out I’ve ever had. And where did we go?
He took me to Croydon!
Adam was a marvellous and patient teacher. He must have been. He taught even me to do cryptic crosswords… during long, sozzled afternoons at the much-missed Global Café.
And he taught me using the hardest crosswords – from the Guardian. He’d mark me out of five for each clue, depending on how much help he’d given me.
You see, the great thing about Adam was that he was that ideal combination – he was a father figure, but not actually my father.
Now, it’s true that reading the Guardian is pretty much compulsory here in New Road…
But it was Adam’s example in contributing to that paper that eventually led me to contribute frequently to the Financial Times, so I have him to thank for that too.
And thus to… alcohol?
There should never be a question mark after the word alcohol when it comes to Adam.
He was a steady drinker, not a hard drinker.
No dancing on tables. No getting into fights.
But some mysteries remain. Why did he suddenly switch his main daily drink from ale to continental lager? No-one knows.
Why did he turn to rosé wine at exactly 5.45 each evening? I never dared ask.
Of course we took it in turns to buy rounds. And he died owing me not one but two drinks.
The bastard!
He was right about mobile phones. I begged him to let me buy him a phone, so that he could arrange to meet friends more easily, but he hated mobiles. And now we know the damage social media does to young people, we see he was quite right.
Cinema? Adam’s favoured sort of film was about goatherds, with subtitles, and in which very little happened. As long as the film got a good review in the Guardian.
He loved definitions, and he was distressed by my inability to adequately define the term ‘middle-class’. If he were here now, I could just point to all of you here today and say that this is the very definition of a middle-class gathering.
Notoriously, Adam took almost no photographs of people, concentrating instead on architecture and landscape. Once, having gone through his three thousand pictures of Armenian monasteries, I asked him where the humans were.
He said, “I know what people look like.”
Now, ladies and gentlemen, we must speak of lurve. Yes, lurve, with an r.
Every Saturday we would read the ‘Blind Date’ column in the Guardian (because the Financial Times doesn’t run a dating service for its readers), and speculate on the chances of true love for the selected couple. And Adam would frequently say, “I don’t think there was a spark!”
Imagine! Adam as an arbiter of romance!
Of course, in another way, I loved Adam. Though I’m afraid I never told him so. The nearest we got was, when drunk, but pretending to be drunker, we put on the voices of sentimental old soaks: [Slurred voice] “You’re my best friend you are, I love you, you’re my best friend you are.”
Finally, let’s remember how funny and wry Adam was. Wry is, I think, the word. Even latterly, when he could barely talk, he could still be very funny.
But. But. But.
Let’s also remember that there was, ultimately, an unknowability about Adam. About which perhaps no one can say more.
Well-meaning friends say to me that at my age I should get used to people dying.
And to those well-meaning people, I say, bollocks!
I shall never get used to the loss of Adam.