‘Anyone who has ever heard him will remember the charm of his reading voice, the best reading voice of any poet known to me, or indeed of any man’ (J. W. Haines). This is not the photogenic and charismatic Rupert Brooke, but the little-known poet Lascelles Abercrombie (1881–1938), whose reputation has not survived, despite the enthusiasm shown for his works by critics during his lifetime. Although Abercrombie largely gave up writing poetry during the First World War and turned increasingly to criticism during the 1920s, his reputation as an academic and literary pundit were sufficient to guarantee a high profile until his death; so it is not merely an early cessation of his poetic activity which caused a downturn in his creative reputation after 1938.

Neither is this posthumous lack of profile due to a reluctance in effort from Abercrombie himself while he was alive. Letters and reports agree that he was an engaging person, witty, knowledgeable, and unstuffy. An early talent for natural history and science meant that he was not confined to bookish pursuits, and at least one visitor to The Gallows at Ryton had a first-hand experience of the Abercrombie ingenuity. He debated and wrote letters with relish, and met figures as diverse as Edward Marsh and Aleister Crowley. He was also the subject of a notorious literary tirade from Ezra Pound, who challenged him to a duel; Abercrombie's unruffled reaction was to suggest that he and Pound should attack one another with rolled-up copies of their unsold poems. Clearly, Abercrombie could attract the attention of the famous and the infamous; and the following extract from a postcard provides an example of his cheerful hospitality towards friends:

On personality grounds alone, the wide-ranging Abercrombie, with his escape to the country, his bohemian way of life, and his constant literary activity, does not suggest an outcome of spiritual disappointment and temporal failure.