Hugh Trevor-Roper at Peace and War

Hugh Trevor-Roper’s name has become synonymous with a vanished world of 18th-century architecture and monographs full of untranslated Greek, of mandatory chapel attendance and cheap foreign holidays, of priceless port consumed immoderately at candlelit high-table dinners, of black-robed dons intriguing relentlessly, their cloven tongues guarding jealously not the wisdom of the ages but the name of the little shit who carved up old Namier’s book anonymously in last week’s TLS.