Notes From an Island by Tove Jansson & Tuulikki Pietilä

Book Review – November 2021

We dreamed about what our new cabin would look like. The room would have four windows, one in each wall. Towards the south-east we’d need to see the big storms that rage right across the island, on the east we’d see the moon’s reflection in the lagoon, and on the west side a rock face with moss and polypody ferns. To the north, we’ll keep watch for approaching boats so we’ll have time to get ready…

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In 1963 Tove Jansson and her partner Tuulikki Pietilä set up their summer home on Klovharun, an almost barren outcrop of rock in the Gulf of Finland. With the help of Brunström, a local fisherman, and Jansson’s mother, Ham, they spent their first summer on the island building a log cabin that would be strong enough to survive the harsh Finnish winter. The two women then spent the next 26 summers on Klovharun: writing, painting, fishing and simply contemplating the sea, sky and local wildlife. They only left when they eventually became too old and frail to cope with the challenges of island life. This new English translation, by Thomas Teal, tells the story of their time on the island.

Klovharun

Klovharun

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Tove Jansson is best known as the author of the Moomin series of children’s stories. She also wrote for adults including The Summer Book, a fictionalised version of life on an island like Klovharun. Tuulikki Pietilä (‘Tooti’) was a talented artist and lecturer with a very useful (on the island) affinity for tools and anything mechanical. Notes From an Island comprises Jansson’s prose and extracts from a logbook donated to her by Brunström. The book also features 24 exquisite copperplate etchings and wash drawings of Klovharun by Tooti.

Tuulikki Pietilä - 1976

Tuulikki Pietilä – 1976

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Tooti wandered aimlessly around the island and stood stock still for long periods. I thought I knew what she was doing. She was working again. Copperplate etchings and wash drawings. Mostly the lagoon, the lagoon as a consummate mirror for clouds and birds, the lagoon in a storm, in fog. And the granite, first and foremost, the granite, the cliff, the rocks. It’s all peace and quiet now.

Life on the island is physically demanding, but is satisfying in its simplicity. Their daily routine revolves around keeping their small boat seaworthy, chopping driftwood for fuel, fishing for food and keeping the generator running for power. However, attitudes to the environment are very much of their time: rubbish and unwanted items are simply dumped in the sea, for example.

With each autumn Tove and Tooti would secure their house against the Baltic winter before returning to life on the mainland. They never locked their cabin; the local etiquette was that winter visitors to these small islands were free to borrow and use any item they needed. Unfortunately, however, Tove and Tooti found that many of these ‘borrowed’ items were never returned. But the sea was a much bigger challenge. After their first winter they returned to Klovharun to find that a winter storm had swept through their newly-built wood store and taken back every carefully chopped and stacked piece of driftwood.

But the island gives far more than it takes. Both artists found that its quiet, meditative quality was a perfect location for working on their creative projects. Ultimately though, this is a story of love: the love of two women for nature, for the sea, for their art, for each other and the home they built together.

Tove Jansson

Tove Jansson (1914–2001) is best known as the creator of the Moomin stories, which were first published in English sixty years ago and have remained in print ever since. In her fifties, Jansson turned her attention to writing for adults, producing a dozen novels and story collections, including the classic, bestselling The Summer Book.

 

Tuulikki Pietilä

Tuulikki Pietilä (1917–2009), Tove Jansson’s life partner, was a Finnish graphic artist and professor at the Academy of Fine Arts in Helsinki. Together they collaborated on many art projects, and the Moomin characters had a significant role in Pietilä’s work as an artist.

 

Notes From an Island
Tove Jansson & Tuulikki Pietilä
Sort of Books
1996 – published in Swedish
2021 – English translation
UK – £12.99 (hardback)
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Midges, Maps & Muesli by Helen Krasner

Book Review – November 2021

I met Helen Krasner briefly many years ago, not long after she had completed her epic walk around the coastline of Britain, which she talked about, but several years  before she published her account of that journey: Midges, Maps & Muesli. By a stroke of serendipity I recently found a copy of this 1998 book in a local secondhand shop.

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I hadn’t done more than the occasional stroll for years. So it seemed sensible to do some weekend hikes, at least. In fact, against my own happy-go-lucky inclinations, I decided to do some Serious Training. But somehow it never actually took place.

In 1986 Helen Krasner made a journey on foot around the coastline of Great Britain, starting and finishing in Brighton and covering nearly 5,000 miles. Her sole objective was to complete the walk and have fun doing so; she had no interest in setting records nor in becoming a celebrity. Looking back on her achievement, the amazing thing is that she did so as a slightly-built lone woman with no back-up team, very little planning and a limited budget. Also, this being the 1980s, she did it without the benefit of a smart phone and access to the internet.

Helen’s journey presents her with plenty of setbacks, which she eventually  overcomes. She also encounters lots of kind, helpful people and a few unpleasant ones. Throughout it all she seems to deal with whatever comes her way with humour and good grace.

Midges, Maps & Muesli is a book that is very much of its time and serves to emphasise how much landscape writing has changed in the last twenty years or so. There are no asides, no dwelling on memories or embracing sensory associations and no stream of consciousness musings. Helen describes her journey in a very plain, somewhat traditional style. There is very little in the way of psychological insight – we learn almost nothing about her inner journey. Nor does she offer up detailed descriptions of the places she passes through and not very much at all about the landscape and its history. Instead Helen concentrates on recounting her daily mileage, her occasional difficulties with navigation and how she manages to find food and accommodation for her overnight stays.

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Yet this journey clearly had a profound effect upon her. When we met through work a few years afterwards she spoke about it and then, a full twelve years after the walk, she published this book. Looking at Helen’s current website, she still gives prominence to her long-distance walk; which, of course, is fair enough given it was such a profound achievement.

The book includes a few rather muddy black and white photographs Helen took along the way. There is also an appendix with a helpful chart with her daily route and mileage. What is missing though, I feel, is a map of her route.

Finally, in January 1987, Helen arrives back in Brighton. She is greeted by a small crowd and the local press and radio. In customary fashion, however, she downplays the whole event:

I think I annoyed everyone by telling the absolute truth, even though it wasn’t what they expected and didn’t make a particularly good story. For actually the truth was very mundane—I felt fine, but not particularly ecstatic or outrageously happy; my feet didn’t hurt at all, and I’d put on weight, not lost it. I didn’t manage any memorable quotes or really give them that much to write about or broadcast. And I didn’t paddle in the sea. It was no good; I just didn’t live up to everyone’s image of a long distance walker; in spite of everything I was far too ordinary.

While writing this review I also read the 2015 e-book version. It contains an additional chapter charting Helen’s life in the decades since she completed her walk. Her story’s twists and turns includes a few difficult times and surprises but, ultimately, is very uplifting.

 

Helen Krasner

Author

Helen Krasner was until recently a rotary commercial pilot and worked for many years as a helicopter instructor. She combined this with her love of writing, having had work published in a number of aviation journals as well as several books about her travels. In 2004 she was nominated for an Aerospace Journalist of the Year award.

Midges, Maps and Muesli
Helen Krasner
Garth Publications
1998
UK – £7.99 (paperback)
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The White Birch: A Russian Reflection by Tom Jeffreys

Book Review – November 2021

It has been hand-planted by Tsarinas and felled by foresters. It has been celebrated by peasants, worshipped by pagans and painted by artists. It has self-seeded across mountains and rivers and train tracks and steppe and right through the ruined modernity of a nuclear fall-out site. And like all symbols, the story of the birch has its share of horrors (white, straight, native, pure: how could it not?). But, maybe in the end, what I’m really in search of is a birch that means nothing: stripped of symbolism, bereft of use-value . . . A birch that is simply a tree in a land that couldn’t give a shit.

Book Cover

 

The birch tree is the unofficial national emblem of Russia and is a ubiquitous presence throughout that nation’s forests. For Tom Jeffreys it is the birch, and in particular the white birch, that he tries to use to get a handle on the nature of what it is to be Russian. Jeffreys travels across Russia, from the Finnish border to Vladivostok on Russia’s Pacific coast, and everywhere he goes he finds birch trees from one species or another of the genus Betula.

But it is not just the physical presence of this species that he examines, it is much more the powerful hold that the birch tree has on the Russian psyche. A key part of this mindset is the place of the birch in Russian art and, as a specialist writer on art, Jeffreys examines this at length. The White Birch has a handful of black and white illustrations, but otherwise Jeffreys faces the perennial art writer’s problem of discussing paintings that the reader cannot see. That said, he shows considerable skill in rising to this challenge and is able to bring alive some of the key works in Russian landscape painting.

Most of this is not great art, Jeffreys suggests, but what it represents is still central to the Russian identity. For Russians the most famous and popular of these works is The Rooks Have Returned by Alexei Savrasov, the meaning of which generations of Russian schoolchildren have been required to write at least one essay about.

The Rooks Have Returned

Alexei Kondratyevich Savrasov: The Rooks Have Returned, 1871. Courtesy: Tretyakov Gallery, Moscow

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The birch is a pioneer species; it colonises newly broken ground, puts down deep roots and brings long-dormant minerals to the surface, thereby encouraging other vegetation and other, more substantial, trees to move in. The bark of the birch tree has many uses: a substitute for paper and leather, dressings for wounds and, when boiled down to a rich tar, a weatherproof coating for wood. Birch sap can be used in a variety of foods and drinks and the wood of the tree for building and for fuel.

As a symbol, the birch has been claimed by both dictators and protestors in Russia. Campaigners against a new Moscow to St Petersburg fought for several years to protect swathes of ancient birch woodland to the north of the capital. They were subjected to surveillance by the FSB and violence from hired thugs, while the local police just looked on. The protesters were at least partially successful when President Medvedev suspended the project in 2010 to consider other options.

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Isaac Levitan, Spring, High Water, 1897, oil on canvas, 64 × 57 cm. Courtesy: Tretyakov Gallery, Moscow

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jeffreys travels take him to Catherine the Great’s garden, a drunken dinner with Pussy Riot activists in Moscow and on an epic journey by train into Siberia. As he travels he considers the idea of Mother Russia, a nation that is feminine in its character. But, we learn, the related concept of ‘eternal Russia’ is somewhat misleading; Russia as a nation only emerged in the last few centuries. Before that these lands were populated by a host of different tribes and peoples. Among these were the Rus, after whom Russia was named. But for millions of years, before all of these peoples arrived, the birch tree has occupied these lands.

Jeffreys previous book, Signal Failure, was about the environmental and economic folly of the HS2 project and involved him taking a journey by foot along the proposed route. It was not a bad book. In fact it was impressively researched and very well written. However, in my admittedly very personal opinion, it was a book that could have been written by any one of several other authors. But, with The White Birch, Jeffreys has discovered his own very unique voice and produced a work that is both profound and beautifully written.

 

Tom Jeffreys

AuthorTom Jeffreys is a writer based in Edinburgh. His work has been published in magazines, newspapers and websites like art-agendaArtReviewApolloCountry WalkingCricinfoFinnish Architectural ReviewFriezeThe IndependentMonocleNew Scientist, and The World of Interiors. Jeffreys is the editor of the online magazine The Learned Pig. He is the author of two books: The White Birch: A Russian Reflection (Little, Brown, 2021) and Signal Failure: London to Birmingham, HS2 on Foot (Influx Press, 2017).

 

The White Birch: A Russian Reflection
Tom Jeffreys
Little, Brown
June 2021 
UK – £16.99 (hardback)
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Buried Garden: Lockdown With The Lost Poets Of Abney Park Cemetery, by Chris McCabe

Book Review – Halloween 2021

Buried Garden is the fourth volume of Chris McCabe’s exploration of the so-called lost poets of London’s Victorian cemeteries. These burial places, now known as the Magnificent Seven, were established on greenfield sites on the edges of an ever-expanding nineteenth-century London in a bid to relieve the overcrowding of the capital’s inner-city churchyards and to house its growing army of the dead.

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This book, published appropriately enough on the day of Halloween, is an attempt to unearth, in a literary sense, the forgotten poets buried beneath the soil of Abney Park Cemetery in Stoke Newington. Other volumes, three already published and another three yet to come, delve beneath the earth of the cemeteries at West Norwood, Nunhead, Tower Hamlets, Highgate, Kensal Green and Brompton.

mapAbney Park is the buried garden of the title. Like so many other cemeteries of this era it was once an immaculately-tended garden with flowers, lawns and trees, all providing a suitable backdrop for the memorial stones of Victorian certainty. Now, as with many others, it has become an overgrown tangle; perhaps not an entirely neglected space, but certainly one where nature has been allowed to reclaim her own. It is a place frequented by dog walkers, contemplative wanderers, dogged joggers, al fresco drinkers and unreformed lurkers.

To stand at the gates of Abney Park Cemetery is to stare through a portal into the afterlife. People walk past here all the time, missing the gateway.

But there is, suggests Chris McCabe, another garden at Abney Park: a garden of the imagination, or perhaps even one existing in an alternative reality. Arthur Machen’s secret garden of Stoke Newington, as described in his story N, constantly infiltrates its way into McCabe’s researches and his wanderings through the cemetery. This notion of a hidden garden constantly disorientates, disturbs and excites McCabe’s consciousness as he explores Abney Park and leads him to speculate that it may well be the location of Machen’s visionary oasis. Whether this garden is an actual physical space or, perhaps, the site of a portal through to another location is left for the reader to decide.

McCabe conducted his field research earlier this year just as the restrictions of the second English lockdown were being eased. Other people may have taken the lifting of travel and mixing restrictions as a chance to visit friends and family or check in at their place of work. For McCabe, however, it was the opportunity to take a train from his home in Liverpool to spend time wandering around a cemetery in North London.

But who are the lost poets, and why are some writers from this era still remembered and others, often widely celebrated at the time, now all but forgotten? McCabe locates and ponders over the graves of several writers who fit into the latter category, among them George and Isabella Varley Banks, Rev. Dr. Hibbert Newton, Josiah Conder, Thomas William Robertson, Dr. Alexander Japp, Alice R. Cron, William Hone, Rev. Thomas Toke Lynch, Eric Walrond and Emily Bowes Gosse.

Bowes Gosse is an interesting example of a once revered but now lost poet. She was something of a polymath: a landscape painter, poet and author of gospel tracts. Her posthumously published Narrative Tracts (1864) was distributed to over 7 million readers, yet it is her evolution-denying naturalist husband, Philip Gosse, who is the better remembered. Indeed, when McCabe finally finds the ivy-strewn Gosse gravestone the only discernible reference to Emily on it is the inscription: ALSO HIS WIFE.

Isabella Varley Banks, McCabe discovers, is also buried at Abney Park. She is still remembered as the author of political novels and as a campaigner for the Anti-Corn Law League. Indeed, I was easily able to obtain a secondhand copy of her best known novel, The Manchester Man, while working on this piece. Yet, although Varley Banks was a widely-read poet in her day, she is now rarely remembered for her verse.

Less than a year after George Floyd was  publicly executed in a Minneapolis street for allegedly passing a counterfeit banknote, McCabe located the grave of Guyana-born journalist Eric Walrond in Abney Park. Although he passed away as recently as 1966, Walrond’s poetry is forgotten and long out of print. However, his highly-rated short story collection, Tropic Death, is still available. Reading this work, McCabe is taken aback to discover ‘startling metaphors, personification, assonance, alliteration, anaphora’. Indeed, the techniques of a potential poet.

McCabe has set out to create an ambitious and important body of work with these seven volumes and I look forward to reading the remaining three. The latest, Buried Garden, is deeply researched  and wide-ranging in its vision. McCabe writes with energy and verve and manages to effortlessly blend academic research, reportage, speculative fiction, poetry, dreams and fragments of found fiction.

I still say Abney Park Cemetery is Stoke Newington’s paradise garden, just as Machen describes it in N. What some people have described as madness can just as easily be explained as poetry.

So why are some poets remembered and others forgotten? There certainly seems to be a gender bias in who is admitted to the poetic canon. Our society happily celebrates male genius while talented women are often ignored. Looking at the examples of verse from the (mainly male) poets that McCabe unearths, however, it is not hard to see why some of them are best forgotten. He is yet to turn up a neglected Tennyson, Hopkins or Yeats.  Ultimately I suspect we will not have a definitive idea of who might be London’s great lost poet until the end of McCabe’s seventh and final volume.

 

Chris McCabe

McCabeChris McCabe’s work spans artforms and genres including poetry, fiction, non-fiction, drama and visual art. His work has been shortlisted for the Ted Hughes Award and the Republic of Consciousness Prize. His latest poetry collection, The Triumph of Cancer, is a Poetry Book Society Recommendation and he is the editor of several anthologies including Poems from the Edge of Extinction: An Anthology of Poetry in Endangered Languages. His first novel, Dedalus, is a sequel to Ulysses; his second, Mud, a version of the legend of Orpheus and Eurydice, set beneath Hampstead Heath. He works at the National Poetry Library as the National Poetry Librarian.

Buried Garden: Lockdown With The Lost Poets Of Abney Park Cemetery
Chris McCabe
Penned in the Margins
31 October 2021 
UK – £9.99 (paperback)
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A Dill Pickle

This piece is taken from a longer review of the short stories of Katherine Mansfield which I published in 2013. It was used by the composer, Matt Malsky, as the programme notes for his chamber opera, A Dill Pickle, which was premiered at the Jean McDonough Arts Center in Worcester Massachusetts on Sunday 10th October 2021.

A Dill Pickle explores the subject of the power relationships between men and women. Vera and the unnamed male protagonist of the story were once lovers. After a six year hiatus they meet again in a café; whether by chance or arrangement we are not told. A Dill Pickle is typical of many of Katherine Mansfield’s short stories in that it seems to start in the middle; the reader is not told what happened before the story starts, nor what comes after. Although the story is told from Vera’s viewpoint, we learn very little about her. The man, on the other hand, although un-named, provides a great deal of detail about himself.

 

Vera and her former lover reminisce about the time they spent together. He has clearly prospered since the end of their relationship:

Now he had the air of a man who has found his place in life, and fills it with a confidence and assurance which was, to say the least, impressive. He must have made money, too. His clothes were admirable, and at that moment he pulled a Russian cigarette case out of his pocket.

Vera, on the other hand has gone down in the world since they parted; her beloved piano has gone: ‘sold, ages ago’, and she no longer has time for music. As a woman alone in a male society, a woman with a past, she struggles to make a living. With only thinly disguised glee, he highlights the power imbalance that prosperity has created between them. She fascinates him still, but he is no longer in her thrall. He makes a point of reminding her of the letter she wrote to him at the end of their relationship:

I’ve often thought how I must have bored you. And now I understand so perfectly why you wrote to me as you did – although at the time that letter nearly finished my life. I found it again the other day, and I couldn’t help laughing as I read it. It was so clever – such a true picture of me.

With carefully chosen anecdotes, he parades a world of travel and the fine things of life before Vera. He confesses he was ‘such a kid’ before, but now he seeks to impress her with the wisdom and sophistication he has gained. Vera is tempted, but the balance of power between them has clearly shifted. She leaves swiftly and without a word, as if trying to snatch at some last remnant of her dignity. Although the man’s crushing sense of his own self-importance is made clear, Mansfield also suggests a hint of egotism on Vera’s part too. In a moment of epiphany she suddenly realises that her former lover, although he is clearly vain and self-opinionated, understands her far better than she understands herself.

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Abandoned in the Woods: Part 2, Horsley Hall

In the middle of the journey of our life

I found myself astray in a dark wood*

 

Beyond the northern edge of the derelict Royal Pioneer Corps camp we visited in Part 1, the way through the wood is blocked off by a 2m high barbed wire fence. The fence runs the full width of the wood, though it has clearly been breached at one point, as shown in the second picture below. But nothing is visible through the wire, other than more trees and undergrowth. What can possibly lie on the other side of it?

Woods1

Woods 2The answer, I later discovered, was that this whole wood, and much of the land surrounding it, once belonged to a country estate centred on a large manor house known as Horsley Hall. Beyond the barbed wire, further into the wood, is the remains of this hall. It was demolished in 1963 and the site is no longer accessible to the public.

Aerial view

Horsley Hall Woods from the air

The first house was built on this site by a local landowner, Dafydd Hen, in the early fifteenth century. The house and estate remained in the same family for many years, though they adopted the modern surname Powell. In 1540 Thomas Powell rebuilt the house creating a substantial wooden structure surrounded by a moat. By the eighteenth century, however, the hall had passed out of the hands of the Powell family to new owners. In 1875, Frederick Potts, now the squire of Horsley Hall, demolished the timber building and replaced it with one constructed from stone.

Horsley HallPotts lived in the hall until his death in 1898 after which it was bought by an Alfred Ashworth. Ashworth enlarged the hall and remodelled it in the Jacobethan style. He also had a formal garden laid out by the architect George Herbert Kitchin. The property was put up for auction again in 1933, by which time it was a substantial property with 20 main bedrooms, servants’ quarters, formal gardens and even its own golf course.

Main staircase

Main Staircase

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

By 1934, however, the prohibitive cost of maintaining the hall convinced its trustees that it should be demolished. But the building was reprieved by the onset of WW2 and the house and estate were requisitioned by the War Ministry for use by the army. When the military finally left in 1958 Horsley Hall was used for a time as a private school. By 1963, however, the school had closed and the hall was demolished.

Very little remains of the hall itself. However, in the Edwardian formal gardens, which are now considerably overgrown, stand a dovecote and  gazebo which are listed and maintained by Cadw, the Welsh Government’s historic environment service.  Sadly, it is not possible for members of the public to visit the remains of the hall and the formal gardens, hence the barbed wire I encountered on my walk through the woods.

However, three women from a group known as Sisterhood Paranormal Wales managed to get access to the site in December 2014 and some pictures from their Facebook page are shown below.

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Very little of the hall remains standing at ground level and above. However, many of the basement rooms remain intact. Even from just the pictures, the eerie atmosphere of these remaining rooms is evident. But, sadly, little of the one-time grandeur of Horsley Hall can still be discerned.

 

References

* From Dante’s Inferno Canto 1, Translated by Seamus Heaney, 1993

https://www.secret-bases.co.uk/

https://cadw.gov.wales/

https://coflein.gov.uk/en/site/27368/

Lowe, Raymond: Lost Houses In and Around Wrexham ( Landmark Publishing, Ashbourne, 2002)

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Abandoned in the Woods: Part 1, The Lost Army Camp

‘It has a really creepy feel to it’, she said. ‘You’d love it!’

Ever since the first lockdown, Mrs S has gone out on her bike at least once a week, exploring the local lanes, going a little further and getting a little fitter each time. In recent weeks she’s started taking a few empty tubs with her in her saddlebag, coming back with a glorious harvest of hedgerow blackberries. I’ve been able to convert these into delicious crumbles, tarts and jam and exchanged some with our neighbours for cooking apples from their tree. It’s been a good year for blackberries, people keep telling me.

While she was out blackberrying the other day, she told me when she got back, she came across what seemed like an abandoned village in the woods a few miles from here. In this woodland, away from the road, she found a host of derelict buildings, paved walk-ways and even a concrete square; all of them broken and half swallowed-up by vegetation and self-seeded trees. ‘It has a really creepy feel to it’, she said. ‘You’d love it!’

A lost village is definitely my kind of thing, so I immediately decided I had to get down there to explore.

At first the buildings were reluctant to reveal themselves from their clothing of leaves and branches. Then, in piecemeal fashion, we began to perceive their hidden shapes: a wall here, a doorway there, occasionally a chimney. What began to emerge, as we walked through this stretch of woodland just outside Marford in North Wales, was the bare bones of some kind of long-abandoned settlement. Judging by the red-brick building style and the extent to which nature had now taken over, I would date it at mid-twentieth century.

As we walked on, the track became a gravelled walkway, then a narrow tarmac road, before finally emerging into a clearing in the middle of the wood. Despite the proliferation of saplings now colonising it, it was clear that this was once a large tarmac-covered square. It seemed to me that this was once a car park or perhaps, now the idea began to strike me, a military parade ground.

As we explored further, the notion that this was once some kind of military installation seemed to be confirmed; we found several concrete bunkers and the entrance to what was clearly an air-raid shelter. The fact that this place was deep in the woods and far from any main road gave it a particularly sinister air.

We’d parked in a nearby lane and pushed our way through a hedge to get into the woodland. Mr S was right too, even in bright daylight the whole place had a decidedly eerie atmosphere. I returned on my own a few days later to take the pictures I intended to use in this report. Walking around the site, poking into corners and pushing my way through undergrowth, I constantly had the feeling that I was being watched, that my presence was being tolerated rather than welcomed.

What I discovered, from some research I did between my two visits to the site, was that Horsley Hall Wood was home to the No.12 Camp of the Royal Pioneer Corps between 1951 and 1958. The Royal Pioneers were a section of the British Army who specialised in light engineering tasks, such as mine clearance and constructing logistical infrastructure in combat zones.

No. 12 Camp housed between 400 and 600 troops and was an offshoot of a larger Pioneer Corps Depot at Hermitage Barracks in Wrexham. It was a training centre for new recruits and a military transport driving school, which explains the large tarmacked area in the middle of the woods.

The army finally left Horsley Hall Wood in July 1958. The square was used for remote control car racing in the 1980s, but since then the whole site has been left to be reclaimed by nature.

Just beyond the last building of No. 12 Camp, the woodland to the north is fenced off with barbed wire. In Part 2, to follow, we will look at what lies beyond that wire.

 

References

The Pioneer: Background History of the Training Centres 

Royal Pioneer Corps Major Units

 

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A Garden Village

In 1913 the Welsh Town Planning and Housing Trust proposed an innovative new housing scheme in Wrexham; the first of its kind in Wales. Taking as their inspiration similar schemes at Port Sunlight on the Wirral and Bournville in Birmingham, the Trust proposed a ‘garden village’ on the north side of Wrexham.

A plan for a garden village, 1913

A Plan for a Garden Village, 1913

The new village would provide homes of far better quality than the overcrowded slums of much of the town as well as access to fresh air and open space. Many of those for whom the development was intended worked at the recently-opened colliery at nearby Gresford. The idea was to build attractive homes for the colliers and their families and a handful of more substantial houses for the pit managers.

Garden Village, 1930s

Garden Village, 1930s

The Trust’s vision was to construct an integrated community with modern homes, gardens, allotments, shops, churches, a school and leisure facilities. The village was to comprise social housing in a leafy setting along Kenyon Avenue, Cunliffe Walk, Ffordd Estyn, Ael y Bryn and Wat’s Dyke Way. Grander houses were to be built along Acton Gate.

Village Shop, 1960s

Village Shop, 1960s

The first 240 of a planned 1,000 houses were built between 1913 and 1917. But the scheme then stalled because of the lack of labour and materials as a result of the demands of the First World War.  Bit by bit, the remainder of the land purchased by the Trust for social housing was sold off to private developers.

Cunliffe Walk, 2021

Cunliffe Walk, 2021

 

Kenyon Avenue, 2021

Kenyon Avenue, 2021

 

 

 

 

 

Ffordd Estyn, 2021

Ffordd Estyn, 2021

Acton Gate, 2021

Acton Gate, 2021

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The initial building programme also provided the village with a range of community facilities. Some of these, but by no means all, of these were built in the first phase. A village hall was constructed on Kenyon Avenue and is still in regular use. Shops were built on the edge of the village along Chester Road and playing fields at Wat’s Dyke Way, where a primary school was later added. A tennis club and two churches were also built.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The original vison was never fully realised, but the bare bones of the scheme remain to this day. Indeed, Garden Village is now regarded as a desirable suburb of Wrexham and the original working people’s homes have been sold into private hands and extensively gentrified in recent decades. But Welsh Town Planning and Housing Trust’s plan gives a tantalising insight into a path we could have have taken with social housing in this country but, starved of adequate funding, we ended up instead with the largely low quality, unattractive public housing we now have.

References

Williams, W Alister: The Encyclopaedia of Wrexham (Bridge Books, Wrexham, 2001)

Llyfrgell Genedlaethol Cymru/National Library of Wales: Welsh Town Planning and Housing Trust Records (1890-2003)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Why the Germans Do It Better: Notes From a Grown-Up Country by John Kampfner

Book Review – September 2021

In 1994, when Angela Merkel was Germany’s environment minister, her British opposite number, John Gummer, invited her to stay with him and his family in his Suffolk constituency. They spent each evening in his sitting room talking about politics. Before she left he took her for a drink at his local Conservative association club. According to John Kampfner’s account, she chatted to a number of local Tories and was ‘taken aback by the anti-European sentiments, the incessant invocation of the war’. For Merkel it was a lesson about a particular strand of English opinion; an insight she never forgot and one which came to a head with the Brexit vote of 2016.

Why the Germans Do it Better is a work of meticulous research and sober analysis; a well-written overview of post-war German history. The only thing that spoils it is the click-bait style title. But, perhaps, that is the point: this book is as much a book about Britain as it is about Germany. Kampfner does not lecture his readers: we are left to draw our own conclusions. But present-day Britain does not compare well with our neighbours from across the North Sea. Germany is indeed a grown-up country, one that has come to be at peace with its past and comfortable with its role in Europe. Whereas Britain, he suggests, is trapped in the past and swayed by a fantasy world of imperial power.

Germany is a strong liberal democracy at the heart of Europe; a country of serious-minded politicians. Angela Merkel and the UK’s Boris Johnson are both conservatives, but they are cut from an entirely different cloth. At the height of the Syrian crisis Merkel welcomed a million refugees to Germany. Johnson, like his predecessor, continues to play to the jingoist gallery and now threatens to ‘turn back’ refugee boats.

Kampfner divides his book thematically rather than chronologically. He examines history, society, politics and the economy through the key themes of post-war reconstruction, reunification, multi-culturalism, the green movement and the Merkel era. Although Germany’s economic achievements are immense, particularly in reinvigorating the economy of the East after reunification, it is Germany’s social structure that Kampfner highlights.

Germans in large numbers are involved in clubs, societies and voluntary associations. Culture and the arts are highly regarded and subsidies to artists are generous. It is a country that emphasises the community rather than the individual. Germany’s cities are vibrant regional centres and the country as a whole is not dominated by the capital, as is the case in France and the UK. Indeed, without Berlin Germany’s GDP would actually be 0.2% greater.

Das Deutsches Eck, Koblenz. Confluence of the Mosel and Rhine and symbolic birthplace of modern Germany. ©Bobby Seal

 

But, as a long-time resident of Germany, Kampfner accepts that German society is far from perfect. It lags behind other nations in the adoption of digital technology and its infrastructure is beginning to creak. In politics Merkel’s open-door approach to refugees has provoked a negative response from some and the far-right AfD is gaining ground.

But Kampfner sees much to be optimistic about for the future. Merkel’s government is widely acknowledged as having managed the COVID-19 crisis extremely well with far fewer deaths per 100k of population than the UK and USA. Mutti, as she is known, will soon gone, but even without her, Kampfner asserts:

Germany is Europe’s best hope in this era of nationalism, anti-enlightenment and fear. Britain was always seen as a beacon, America too, but both countries have abrogated much of their responsibility to the wider world. Who will represent European values in a fast changing world? Who will stand up to authoritarian regimes? Who will make the case for liberal democracy? Germany can, because it knows what happens when countries fail to learn the lessons of history.

 

Why the Germans Do It Better: Notes From a Grown-Up Country
John Kampfner
Atlantic
June 2021 (revised edition)
UK – £9.99 (paperback)
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I Belong Here: A Journey Along the Backbone of Britain by Anita Sethi

Book Review – August 2021

Warning: This review includes a quote of the racist expletives used by the perpetrator of a hate crime.

I Belong HereAccording to the CPRE, just 1% of visitors to England’s National Parks and Areas of Outstanding Natural Beauty are people from black, Asian or minority ethnic backgrounds. Yet the 2011 national census established that just over 14% of England’s population identified as part of these ethnic groups.

This can partly be explained, perhaps, by the paucity of public transport links between the England’s urban centres of population and it’s rural areas. Our cities tend to be the places where less affluent people, many of whom are from black, Asian or minority ethnic backgrounds, live and the lack of public transport presents a significant barrier to their ability to access the countryside.

But there is another, more insidious, explanation. All too often people of colour are made to feel that they do not belong in England’s countryside; that it is a place that is not for ‘people like them’. Anita Sethi was forced to confront this corrosive notion when she was subjected to a sustained attack of racial abuse and hatred on a busy train between Liverpool and Newcastle in 2019.

Sethi is a Manchester-born writer, a proud Northern lass who also celebrates her Asian, East African and Caribbean heritage. The perpetrator of the attack against her was subsequently arrested and prosecuted. But the wounds his words inflicted on Sethi were deep and took a long time to even begin to heal. Her attacker had questioned her very right to live in the country of her birth. He told her, in the most violent language, that she did not belong:

Do you have a British passport? Get back on the banana boat. Paki cunt. Fuck off!

Sethi was brought up in Manchester by her mother, a single mum. There wasn’t much money around in her childhood home, nor did the family ever have expensive holidays. But Sethi vividly remembers once staying in the Lake District as a girl and the sense of wonder she experienced when contemplating the open expanses of hills, lakes and sky. Then, as an adult plying her trade as a writer and living in rented accommodation in Manchester and then London, Sethi always looked forward to the sense of relief, the ability to breathe, that came from managing to get out into the countryside.

It was natural, then, that she should seek to heal the wounds of the incident on the train by going out into the wilds and walking. She sensed, almost instinctively, that there was healing to be found in the landscape. It was also natural that the long-distance walk that Sethi decided upon, as a woman from the North, was a journey along the northern backbone of England: the Pennines.

Pennine WayAs she walks Sethi tells us about her life and about that of her ancestors who were forcibly recruited as indentured labourers in British India and set to work in Britain’s colonies in East Africa and Guyana. The British Empire was not built solely on trading goods and commodities, but relied on shipping people from one place to another for the purposes of hard, brutal labour. She ties in her own experiences as a British woman of colour with the wider picture of Black Lives Matter and the word-wide ripples of the murder of George Floyd in 2020.

The hate attack on the train was not an isolated incident for Sethi: she has been on the receiving end of racial abuse on regular occasions both as a child and as an adult. Just as upsetting were the people who tried to downplay the hurt that these words inflicted; the white people who tried to convince her this was not really racism. This is ‘gaslighting’, in other words:

the attempt to manipulate the truth by invalidating someone’s experience and presenting a false version of reality.

Reading I Belong Here, it is clear that Sethi is fascinated by language. She explores the multiple uses and meanings of seemingly simple words like ‘skin’ and ‘backbone’ and delves deeply into the history and significance of the weaponised words ‘Paki’ and ‘banana boats’ that her train carriage persecutor taunted her with.

Sethi’s feel for the landscape she walks through is acute and her descriptions are vivid and poetic. But there is nothing pretentious about her nature writing; she confesses that she does not know the names of all of the trees and plants she observes, but that does not prevent her enjoyment of their beauty, nor her ability to share that joy with the reader.

In a similar vein, although she loves walking, Sethi admits that she is not a hardened hillwalker: her feet, at the start of the walk at least, are soft and she does not possess a collection of fancy walking gear. But she does, she discovers, possess a well of grit and determination and seems to draw strength from the hills and moorland that she walks through. Sethi is also buoyed by the encouragement of strangers; their smiles, their nods and their friendly conversations.

Near the end of her journey, walking on the Pennine Way, Sethi feels a sense of belonging as she sits down and looks out over Hull Pot, an enormous collapsed limestone cavern on the slopes of Pen-y-ghent:

I sit down for a while and gaze at the landscape and breathe. I knew that journeying through the North had something to offer up to me. I felt it calling to me. Go back to where you’re from. This is where I’m from. I’m from the North. The glorious North.

 

I Belong Here: A Journey Along the Backbone of Britain
Anita Sethi
Bloomsbury
June 2021
UK – £15.29 (hardback ) £8.99 (paperback)
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