MEANDERING IN EDEN

I was thinking about the viability of my ‘walking in gardens’ project, and how to make it interesting, when I had an idea.  Since walking in gardens is a low key, low intensity activity, I reckoned that what was needed was some added rigour.  

 

I wondered how it would be if, instead of just wandering around a garden, going wherever your feet and your eyes take you, you went to a somewhat well-known location, say the RHS garden at Hyde Hall, in Essex, set over 360 acres of more or less rolling hills, and made your walking schematic.  Now obviously there are different kinds of scheme and rigour that could be applied but I thought I’d begin simply enough, by walking systematically down every single path in the garden.  Fortunately there was a map.

I’d been to Hyde Hall before and found one or two favourite spots; the Dry Garden and the Winter Garden especially, but this was no time to back favourites.  As far as the walk was concerned one place was as good as any other, the Rose Garden, the Global Growth Vegetable Garden, Sky Meadow, the Queen Mother’s Garden, the Floral Fantasia, the Sky Meadow, and so on, all had to be treated as equals as I walked the paths.

 

My trusty amanuensis and I started in a section known as the Birch Grove and there was a rather poetic introductory sign that included the words, ‘Meandering paths immerse you in an airy woodland, dappled and cool in the summer sun.’   

In fact it was autumn, but even so that sign set me thinking: here it's the path that meanders, not the walker. And I wondered if you walked rapidly along a meandering path could you still be said to meander?  I admit it isn’t one of life’s greatest questions.  

 

And so we walked.  And inevitably we walked in places we might otherwise not have.  I’m sure, for example, I’d have avoided the Children’s Play Area and yet there was the Grand Bug and Pest Hotel.

 

Who’d have thought there were fans of Wes Anderson at the RHS?

We covered the ground and the paths. NB - that isn't us in the picture above. There were no Keep Off The Grass signs and occasionally we did stray off the path.  There were also one or two desire lines and you might well ask whether a desire line can be construed as a path, and I’d say it probably can, though I wouldn’t fight about it, and in any case we avoided them: the desire lines not taken.

 

To be honest I think by the end, as our resolve faltered, we may have missed a few short stretches of path but for a first expedition it wasn’t too bad.

 

There were others walking too. As a cross section of British society it was hardly representative but as a snapshot of the kind of people who like to walk in gardens it was probably typical – mostly older, mostly couples, mostly though not exclusively white, a few parents and children, some of the kids looking bored, others looking dangerously excited.  Nobody else seemed to be walking rigorously.

 

And somewhere in the course of the walk I started to wonder whether this could be considered a form of psychogeography. And you know, after deep reflection, I do believe it could. Debord says psychogeography is ‘the study of the precise laws and specific effects of the geographical environment, consciously organized or not, on the emotions and behavior of individuals.’  And heck, a garden of any size is full of varying geographic elements and full of specific (and sometimes vague or downright ambiguous) effects, as you move from one part to another.  At Hyde Hall the ‘feel’ of the Birch Grove was very different from that of the Dry Garden, the Floral Fantasia was very different from the Global Growth Vegetable Garden.  So hell yes, walking in gardens may be considered a form of psychogeography. Whether this makes my walking in gardens project any more viable, remains to be seen.

PRO BONO PUBLICO

 

I’ve been talking to Stefan van Norden about being on his podcast titled ‘Nature Revisited.’ Stefan is also a gardener and a filmmaker, perhaps best known for the documentary Negotiating with Nature about the natural world, gardening, connection and disconnection.  Walking inevitably comes into it. This is the man himself:

 

He wants to do a podcast to be called something like ‘Walking In The UK.’  He’s based in the States in New Hampshire, and his line is that British walking culture is very different from any other in the world.  I’ve been pondering whether and how this is true, and naturally I dug out a few volumes from the Nicholson Pedestrian Library to see what others had had to say on the subject. The one that seemed most on the money was The Magic of Walking by Aaron Sussman and Ruth Goode, in which there’s a section titled ‘Walking, British Style.’  

Part of it runs, ‘Wherever we may set foot (in Britain), some eighteenth-century essayist or nineteenth-century poet walked there before us.  When Thomas Gray whose ‘Elegy written in a country churchyard’ we all read in school, walked the Lake District in 1769, after a long day’s walking he found the inn’s best bedroom dark and damp, and went sturdily on for another 14 miles to Kendal and another inn that pleased him more, before he stopped for the night.’  

I’m not sure that this is especially British, and it does seem a bit like showing off.

 

 

         Stefan is particularly fascinated by our system of Public Footpaths. He’s thrilled by the idea that you see a sign that says Public Footpath and you know you can walk freely there, across or through other people’s land, and who knows where you’ll end up.  That part I absolutely agree with.  I have quite a collection of photographs I’ve taken of Public Footpath signs; this kind of thing:

 

And when I see one pointing to a footpath like this, I often feel compelled to go down it.

 

I was able, to a limited extent, to explore this further last week when a mixed group of fellow trudgers came to Manningtree; 3 from London, one from lower Essex, one from Brazil, to do the somewhat familiar walk to Dedham, in Constable Country.  Here we are looking like a little-known but still surviving prog-rock band.

 

There was one woman in the group, who took the above picture.  She looked like this, while admiring a mound of sheep’s wool.

 

We didn’t have any great sense of urgency or purpose in our walk, and even with detours and meanders we probably only covered about 7 miles:  Thomas Gray would have laughed at us, but we passed a considerable number of Public Footpath signs in their various forms:

 

And at my instigation we did discuss British notions of walking versus hiking versus trekking, and how these might be different elsewhere in the world.  We found the ‘rambling’ especially interesting.  The British Ramblers Association has been around since been around since 1935.  Looks like it was a great way to meet babes.

 

And we certainly discussed how different English rambling is from American rambling.  I’m still singing the Allman Brothers’ ‘Ramblin’ Man,’ not least because of its lines

My father was a gambler down in Georgia

And he wound up on the wrong end of a gun.

As Stefan and I had discussed, if you stray from a footpath in Britain you might possibly get yelled at by an angry farmer, but in general you’re unlikely to get shot. In America it can be a little different.

I suspect the Allman Brothers weren't great walkers.

 

 

OF WALKING AND SITTING

 

Photo by Caroline Gannon

Look, you know me; I like walking. But however much you like walking, however intrepid you are, however much stamina you’ve got, a moment always comes when you need to sit down.  Of course if you’re truly intrepid you’ll happily sit on a rock or an ants’ nest but some of us are glad to find a bench on our travels.

 

All benches are good and some are downright exotic but the memorial bench is a particular favourite of mine. 

 

As far as I’m aware, nobody I’ve known personally, has ever been memorialized on a bench but I think it’s a great way of remembering someone.  And so I walk through the world sometimes sitting on benches, sometimes just looking at them and particularly noting the plaques and inscriptions. 

 

However, in most cases, these memorialize people I never knew and have never even heard of.  I got rather enthused by his one, in the Painswick Rococo Garden in Gloucestershire which memorializes John Berryman, but it’s not John Berryman the poet, it’s some quite other John Berryman.

This next one in Holland Park commemorates Arnold Toynbee who I’d sort of heard of, and Daisaku Ikeda – who I absolutely hadn’t, but he sounds like a good guy – look him up.  

This is the two of them having a dialogue:

But fame isn’t necessary.  Below is a wonderful bench in a churchyard in Chelsea which I like a lot.  Aren’t all spouses debating partners in the end?  Until they stop talking. Though of course you want to know the back story.

Similarly with this one.  What exactly do you have to do to become known as The Duck Lady.  Is it just a matter of feeding them or is it more that that?

Sometimes the back story seems a more complicated and inscrutable and possibly tragic one, as with this one in Wivenhoe (I think).  'Lost in India' raises a lot of questions.

And I'm intrigued by this one in Richmond. And no, I haven’t been able to find out who John 'Jack’ July is.  He could have been a dancer, but perhaps the dancing was only figurative.  And was he really still dancing in his 90s?

 Of course picking the right spot for your bench is all-important: you can’t put it just anywhere. They say that if everybody who wanted to put a bench on Hampstead Heath was allowed to, the place would look like a giant arena.

      Which brings me to Nicky Hopkins’ memorial bench in the wide open spaces of Perivale. 

Hopkins played keyboards with huge numbers of bands and artists, including the Stones, Quicksilver Messenger Service, Joe Walsh and L. Ron Hubbard (yes really).  He died aged 50 in Nashville Tennessee.  I wonder if there’s a memorial bench for him there.

 

 

 

 

 

A WALK IN THE WALKING CITY

 

It’s that point in the year when a lad and lass think it’s time to walk around the City of London, a place that in general have no reason to go, in order to see Sculpture in the City, a now annual project that puts sculptural artworks in among the zesty new buildings (and some old ones) of the City’s insurance district.

In fact it lasts much of the year and as they say in their publicity ‘it’s completely free and is accessible 24 hours a day, 7 days week,’ but we always seem to end up going there on an autumnal Saturday morning when lots of other people walk also around the City, staring at the buildings, peering at maps, looking vaguely lost. Some of them are no doubt there for the sculpture though many seem to find them a big surprise when they come across them, as with these folks discovering ‘Earthing’ by Jocelyn McGregor.

 

It has snail shells and human parts!

 

Inevitably some of the works of art strike you more forcibly than other. I was particularly taken by Jesse Pollock’s ‘The Granary,’

And below is ‘Miss’ by Emma Louise Moore which is carved from Carrara marble, and apparently becomes translucent when the sun hits it, although on a slightly grey morning in late September you had to take their word for that.

 

But I was there, at least partly, to see some work by Isamu Noguchi, who’s become a recent interest of mine, though not yet an obsession.  In fact there were three sculptures of his, all grouped together in St Helen’s Churchyard: Mountain, Duo and Neo-Lithic all made from galvanized-steel and which according to the literature ‘express his (Naguchi’s) lifelong engagement with sculpture, the landscape and the bodily sensorium.’  I don’t believe I’ve ever previously typed the word sensorium. They looked like this:

To be honest Noguchi’s work looked rather low key compared with the bells of whistles of many of the other sculptures, but the quietness was part of its appeal.  

 

There obviously is some connection between walking and sculpture. Sculpture is one of the few art forms you can actually walk around, and certainly when the sculpture gets to any size the sculptor has to walk around while making it.

 

Noguchi made works such as ‘Walking Void,’ ‘In Silence Walking,’ ‘Large Walking Box,’ ‘Little Walking Box,’ 'Man Walking.  

 

This is ‘Man Walking’

This is 'Walking Void#2.’

 

Noguchi did once say 'I want sculpture equal to myself walking.’  I’m having fun trying to work out what he meant by that.  Here’s a picture of him walking.

And here for reference, as alluded to in my title, is a walking city as conceived by Archigram

HIGHWAY WRONGS

 I was walking into the grounds of Colchester General Hospital the other day and I came across a sign at the entrance from the main road that read, ‘No highway rights exist or shall accrue beyond this point.’ (I take a great interest in signs that forbid or limit pedestrianism.) 

 

Being in a Philistine frame of mind I started thinking about Deep Purple’s ‘Highway Star,’ AC/DC’s ‘Highway to Hell’ and a great many other songs that tend to refer to the highway as a place for truckers and demon drivers as opposed to pedestrians, which left me wondering what ‘highway rights’ are.

 

A little research on various plausible-seeming websites tells me that, ‘Highway rights mean that the public has a right to “pass and repass” over the land.’  Got that? Not just pass but pass and REPASS.

 

What then is a highway?  ‘A Highway is an area of land which the public at large have the absolute right to use to “Pass and Repass” without let or hindrance.’ OK then, but it’s worth noting, ‘Though the term highway is popularly used to refer to roads, its legal definition covers any public road, track or path. Historically, a highway, which was also referred to as ‘the King’s highway’, was defined as a public passage for the use of the sovereign and all his or her subjects.  The Highway Act 1835 defines highways as ‘all Roads, Bridges (not being County Bridges), Carriageways, Cartways, Horseways, Bridleways, Footways, Causeways, Churchways and Pavements’.

 

The ancient King's Highway was a trade route from Egypt to Mesopotamia, from Heliopolis (where the obelisks abound) across the Sinai peninsula and by a circuitous route to Resafa, now in Syria.  It’s a long walk in anybody’s book, and not one our present monarch is likely to be undertaking.

 

In England, of course, we have ‘The Highway Code,’ a handy little book that you acquire and read when you’re learning drive then never think about again once you’ve passed your driving test. 

We tend to think of it as a guide for drivers but in fact rules 1 to 36 apply specifically to pedestrians.  Most are straightforward and common sense but one or two are slightly baroque.

Rule 15: Reversing vehicles. Never cross behind a vehicle which is reversing, showing white reversing lights or sounding a warning.

Rule 16: Moving vehicles. You MUST NOT get onto or hold onto a moving vehicle.

Good advice there.

 

Above is an illustration from the Highway Code website. You and I might think that walking across that road wouldn’t be too much of a challenge, but if Death Race 2000 has taught us anything it’s that you can never be sure what’s coming round the bend.  Bonus points for killing pedestrians.