Road to Perdition

The Roman Gartree Road is scored straight across south east Leicestershire, sometimes city street, sometimes country lane, more often than not just an ancient trackway between ash and beech, the haunt of owl and fox. It bypasses the Strettons (on the 'street')- Little Stretton, the largest of the two, of course, and Great Stretton, of which virtually all that remains is this little church out in the fields. It makes up for it by being the photograph on the cover of W.G.Hoskins' Leicestershire: The History of the Landscape.

But these acres are now under a threat that would make Hoskins revolve in his grave; but that perhaps would gain immediate grape-eating approval from the Romans. Dev the Developer can't wait to bend the newly-revised planning laws in order to turn this landscape, much of which is a truely-green enclave of Leicester itself, into what is oxymoronically called an 'eco-city'. In this case one the size of Hinckley in the same county. The idea pretends to cash-in on the environmental bandwagon, claiming the desire to build 'green' houses on already richly-green pastureland. We all know that this is a lie, greed dressed-up in eco clothes. The Government, so called, will fall over their miserable ill-thought out commitments to let it happen, intent as they are to ritually destroy the English countryside. But who is selling all this land, in one go, so that Dev doesn't have to spend decades buying it up? None other than the Co-Op. Yes, the 'caring sharing Co-Op' who once used these pastoral acres to graze cattle that supplied milk to their shops. Hang on a minute. Isn't this the Co-Op that was formed in Rochdale to benefit all of us? Apparently not.

Water Marks

I need help. (Muted cyber-chorus of agreement.) Why is it that I find water towers,and I have to say these white-painted ones, so appealing? And at the same time find wind turbines so unattractive to the eye? I found this one on my fenland tour whilst out picking-off candidates for Classic Constructs, a new book for later on in the year. It sits out in the bleak landscape at Newton, where Cambridgeshire narrows to a point up near The Wash, a simple unadorned landmark structure that has enormous appeal for its functional simplicity. Coupled with the fact that thought was given to its placement here by planting a stand of silver birch and willow around it. Water towers are necessary where natural gradients are insufficient to maintain a good head of water, and, like all things, the acceptability of their presence in isolated countryside comes down to design. There are stunning examples- the landmark towers of Ravensden in Bedfordshire, the Wellsian science fiction Mappleton out on the Plain of Holderness. You probably wouldn't want one looking over your back garden- the concrete and glass Haddenham comes to mind- but necessity can still be the mother of inventive design. I suppose it comes down to taste, like good old-fashioned tap water versus over-priced 'eau' run-off from your local volcano.

Fit for Purpose

Having mentioned Fitton Hall in my last blog, I thought it would be churlish not to show it. At first glance I did think it was a derelict railway station, until I realised there was no sign of a platform, no sign of a dismantled line on my map, and in any case no earthly reason why there should be a station of this size here. No, it's just a simple Victorian house, not particularly pretty, but with some attempt made to liven things up a bit with courses of blue brick layered into the stock red. There's also been an attempt to produce a little bit of grandeur with the porch, into which is set a stone roundel with the name and date- 1869. But I think it has immense charm, possibly because of its comparative airy isolation, and because the cart horses and orange slurry tank lend it a certain Animal Farm ambience. The name Fitton comes from 'fit' meaning grassy banks on a river, and 'tun' for settlement. It's perhaps interesting to note that the River Nene is only a short distance away, but before the great reclamations of land around here nearby Wisbech was a port actually on the coast, (there's a section of old sea bank in the next village of Leverington). So previous manors here at Fitton End would have looked out on to the muddy reaches of The Wash, now over ten miles away.

Game of Two Halves

Fitton End is only three miles from Wisbech, a handful of houses including the derelict Fitton Hall that looks like a gothic railway station marooned in the fields. You won't find the hall in Pevsner or a Shell Guide, but it's certainly worth a look before it gets restored. But it wasn't what made me turn round in a farmyard and retrace my tyre marks. At first glance this pair of cottages look nothing out of the ordinary, the left hand dwelling still almost original. But on looking more closely I thought 'Voysey'. Charles Francis Annesley Voysey (1857-1941) was a leading member of the Arts & Crafts movement, and is famous for his country houses that, although large, were never grand. His trademarks were pebble-dashing, angled buttresses, porthole windows. And he designed everything from the wallpaper to the knives and forks. This pair of semi-detacheds aren't by him, far from it, but there is certainly a Voysey-inspired architectural game going on here. Out on the fen I see the landowner at breakfast at the Hall, reading Building News and, on seeing a Voysey retrospective, turning down the page corner for a later chat with his estate manager. Rose Cottage maybe painted-up like a lighthouse, but I think Voysey would have loved it.

French Lesson

Out on the Fens again, and a discovery on a back road between Eye and Crowland. This is one of the distinct pleasures of keeping one's eyes open in this, some would say, featureless landscape. Apart from there always being something odd out of the corner of the eye there will also be the names: Teakettle Hall, Whipchicken Farm, Dog Drove South, Dog Drove North. And so Powder Blue Farm. At first I thought it was simply a farm named after a favourite on a colour swatch, perhaps there'd also be a Fowler Pink Farm, a Lamp Room Gray Rectory. Then it occurred to me that Powder Blue might be a local name for the Holly Blue butterfly, here right on the edge of its territory. Thank goodness for Edward Storey's The Solitary Landscape. Storey tells us that woad was grown around here right up to the late-eighteenth century, and the French Huguenots were the only ones prepared to take on the unpleasant task of grinding woad into the blue powder sold as dye to the clothing trade. They would have called it poudre bleu,and their presence is also still remembered in the names French Farm and French Drove. But the condition of this sign still suggests to me that Prairie Gold Yellow Farm might break through at any moment.

Merry Easter

"It's snowed Dad" shouts Smallest Boy, as he yanks back the curtains. "Happy Easter".I open one eye and see a fir tree and the corner of a barn in the lane rendered in monochrome. Snowflakes still score across the image in precisely-angled lines. "Actually, it must be Christmas" says Smallest Boy. He is very confused, and so am I; I don't think I've ever seen snow at Easter, at least not so much as this. We decide to snuggle-up and sing carols, just in case. I start with 'God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen' and then he joins in with a surprisingly rude version of 'Twinkle Twinkle Little Star'. Larger Boy moans in his sleep and tells us both to be quiet. I read to Smallest Boy Robert Frost's Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening, and the wireless greets the day from the Anglican Liverpool Cathedral. I imagine snow driving across the Mersey, the dark pink sandstone block gathering white highlights on the ribs and buttresses. "If it's not Christmas, is there eggs?".Yes, there'll be eggs I'm sure, and a wonderful idea I sneaked a look at in a carrier bag under the stairs- a chocolate rabbit and hen in real wood and wire cages. The snow is starting to melt now, patches of blue appearing like rags caught in the trees. Time to go downstairs and get that rabbit in the oven.

An English Deference

Just to bring my short Tony Meeuwissen season to an end (got to get out in the fresh air) I give you The English Difference. The cover was illustrated by Mr. Meeuwissen, but the design for this and the rest of the book was by John Gorham (1937-2001), and it is this man I want to introduce you to. The Times obituary said of him 'John Gorham was a graphic designer whose supremely individual approach to his craft stood out more and more in a world dominated by the impersonality of the computer...His work will be remembered for its wit, elegance and attention to detail'. It was his work for Penguin Books that first drew my attention to his work, books that I immediately picked-up and turned over to assure myself, yes, it was John's cover design. He was just as much at home designing a honey label or a cheese packet as he was a film poster for Alan Parker. And at home he was, in a little back bedroom with his knapsack and camera hanging on the back of the door. I knew John, a very gentle man, and felt very privileged not only to work with him, but also to spend time in his company, which was always a rewarding and stimulating experience. Find yourself a copy of The English Difference, and you'll understand John's passions about the country he loved. And publishers, get working on a Gorham monograph NOW.