off the beaten track - hilaire le grand, a Russian detour:

night time, st hilaire le grande or thereabouts, and the skies burst their banks, rain bouncing off the dark, uneven camber of the old n6 so furiously that our only option is to take shelter by an unused railway track, occasional flashes of lightning our only guide. a bucolic storm ensues, a torrent rarely seen in the city.

taking to the road again after a night squished in the car dozing dismally, the roar of the deluge an impossible lullaby, we are met with the unlikely glint of what appears to be the dome of an archaic orthodox church, miniscule but pristine, a chapel really, a gold Faberge egg shining in the pale morning light. yesterdays mysterious road diversions have it seems not only led us deeper and deeper into unmarked ‘yellow’ roads, cutting through dense woods whose velvety blackness the forked flashes had barely illuminated, but into another time and place altogether, an unscheduled detour into nineteenth century imperial russia.

blinking groggily at this little pre-soviet island (whose dates intriguingly overlap between the end of one empire and the birth of another) on the d21 to mourmelon le grand – only a few miles from rheims but a whole century away – we amble towards the apparition to investigate. sure enough the mirage doesn’t evaporate as we approach, it simply reveals 3 lines of plain gold font which reads,

aux soldats russes, morts au champ d'honneur, en france, 1916-1918

to the side of the chapel behind a wrought iron fence and laid out on an immaculate lawn are row upon row of neat white crosses with in its centre a cenotaph dedicated to the memory of a russian expeditionary force that fought in several decisive battles between 1916 –18. beyond, two ossuaries bear the remains of over 1000 compatriots who died in these now silent fields so far from home, never identified, the inconnu. we gaze for a while at the names on the crosses painfully outnumbered by those still unknown, unnamed, but commemorated with equal care and compassion in this corner of northern france, like so many other young men in so many other flanders fields.

the scale of these fields and their endless graves, the frequency of their occurrence and military precision creating a sobering optical illusion, makes for a disquieting experience the first time one takes to the roads here. the facts of the ‘great’ war are so well known, so much the dry stuff of the school syllabus or sunday night documentary that it is a shock to find the simple white crosses so affecting, so heart-rending; a jolt to remember that many grandfathers fought in these trenches, many grandmothers lost brothers, lovers and sons, an entire generation laid out in stark rows on eternal parade.

but what of this field? what brings an orthodox chapel and its retinue of monks here, to this tiny corner of france? what is the tale behind the discreet brass sign bearing the words russe ermitage orthodox, the turquoise of its domes nestled behind shady pine trees, an anachronism, an exile of revolution?

a small signpost beyond the hermitage walls offers this scrap of information –

the cimitière militaire russe de saint-hilaire le grand contains the graves of over 1000 russian officers and men. in 1937 a chapel, 16th century in design, was built to commemorate all of the russians who died on the Western Front, tended to this day by the monks of the adjacent orthodox hermitage.

further enquiry reveals that the russian expeditionary force was sent to france by the then russian empire, initially made up of 2 battalions, the first russian special brigade which landed in marseille in april 1916, and the 2nd special brigade which served alongside other allies in northern greece. the first brigade served with distinction until the outbreak of the revolution in 1917, when the entire force was disbanded, interred in alien camps or returned home. however some stayed and formed the legion russe (or Russian Legion) joining up with the elite french moroccan infantry division. the combined units then took part in the fighting around amiens in march 1918, with severe losses to the moroccan division and the russian legion, its captain even being decorated with the medal of the legion of honour. in may, the moroccan division took part in the fierce fighting on the road from soissons to paris, with losses accounting for nearly 85% of the russian legion's forces, but despite this continued to preserve a significant russian presence in the west and, indeed, in the great war itself, right up until the armistice, attracting volunteers to the very end. after the german withdrawal to the border the moroccan division, including our russian regiment, advanced upon moyeuvre but the operation was halted by the signing of the armistice treaty in november 1918. after armistice the entire russian regiment was recalled and demobilised, and while some chose to remain in france, others returned to revolutionary russia. among the latter was rodion malinovsky, the future soviet minister of defence.

this stirring and rather romantic account can be easily found online, for those requiring more detail. or wiki gives a more dispassionate outline of events.

as we drive off and out of the little copse, absorbed, a little sombre, leaving the fallen russians far from home in the care of their monastic sentinel, life resumes its usual rhythms, a hare lolloping exuberantly in the bright morning sun, whilst nearby a fox exposed momentarily from its early morning ablutions misses a sure chance. and in the meadow beyond, a lone falcon perches atop a hay bale, contemplating breakfast.

and before we know it we too are breakfasting on buttery brioche and bitter café noir in a roadside café once more en route to rheims, our sunrise detour a flight of fancy, a mere whimsy in the morning mists….

just who are the mms...?

the manchester modernist society manifesto:

We are not architects, preservationists or activists, though we do know a number of each of these.

We are not radicals, Situationists, academics or psychogeographers, though we are lucky to count a few of these mythical creatures as our friends.

We do share their passion that the city continues to be a place for poetry and dreaming as well as business and commerce, where its citizens are more than machines for living and consuming.

We are merely a small band of urban enthusiasts, amateurs and latter day dandies, passionate observers of the city and its social cultural and built environment. We believe that none of these phenomena exist in isolation but rely on each other to flourish and foster and create the living tangle of the throbbing metropolis that we call home.

We believe that the recent past and its rich variety of grand and ordinary, cherished and neglected buildings continue to play a part in our shared consciousness and sense of identity, continue to influence who we are and remind us of how we worked, rested and played.

We are keen to foster and help develop a greater public awareness of the rich and complex relationship between architecture, art and design and public space, and draw attention to the precarious nature of much of the 20th century backdrop that we often mistakenly take for granted.

We aim to create a real space for discussing, engaging and enjoying perhaps occasionally even campaigning for the multilayered complexities of a city that is comfortable to wear its carbuncled heart on its sleeve. Not for us the smooth uniformity of a relentlessly brand new city that is too intimidating to use.

We will meet and gather, mooch, amble, collaborate, make connections, gently protest and point things out where we see fit. We will speculate, agitate, cogitate, publicise, dream and philosophise over afternoon tea, on walks, talks and various outings. All we need is for you to join in, keep us informed of your events and activities across and around the city and create some of our own for your delectation.

Watch this space, join in, get involved…

manchester modernist society

manchester histories festival, a celebration of a thousand stories...

saturday was manchester histories festival, a day of walks, talks and displays about the city's multiple pasts, or as the organisers put it 'a one day spectacular celebrating the history of our vibrant city. Discover exhibits, talks, films, tours and music, all inspired by the stories of Manchester's incredible past'.


intrigued by this bold claim and the opportunity to wander about in the grandeur of the town hall, i went along bright and early to book myself in to one or two of the events, watch some film footage from the north west film archive and simply meander about aimlessly in search of a society or group that might take my fancy...

there are already several superb reviews of the festival and accounts of its many highlights on some of my favourite blogs, so i wont bore you with my own day, rather refer you to richard barrett and the shrieking violet for their interesting and pertinent tales of a day in the company of dave haslem, keith warrender, clare hartwell, sheila rowbotham and jonathan schofield, not to mention engels, the scuttlers, the chartists, suffragettes, cholera and the evening news intrepid carrier pigeons!

if i havent already pointed you in the direction of these two excellent bloggers, then shame on me, they both regularly inform and delight me on their fabulous pages! between them their accounts perfectly capture the sheer chaos and delight of a day choc a bloc with mancunians eager to share their knowledge, research, enthusiasm and insights about the city. besides, as i opted for the walks i missed all of the brilliant talks, not least my all time history hero michael wood, of 'in search of...' fame. trojan war, domeday book, alexander the great, he's done them all. not bad for a boy from salford...


after my walks, castlefield in the morning and architecture in the afternoon, i indulged in the simple pleasure of mooching about the lord mayors parlour and banqueting hall, taking in the many stalls, local groups and history clubs assembled to meet and talk to. here was rare and wonderful chance to get a real flavour of the countless projects currently going on across the city that generally stay under the radar. if you have ever had a question about just about anything really, here all under one roof was probably the answer...personal favourites include victoria baths, ruinous recollections, dig manchester, friends of platt fields, memories of belle vue zoo, and granadaland television, now sadly plain old itv....

on a micro-local note, a special mention should also go to a beautiful project i spotted amongst the displays from various manchester educational departments on chorlton on medlock (my very own brunswick!) by miriad masters student elizabeth kealy-morris called mapping memory which evocatively records

the memories former residents have of Chorlton-on-Medlock before being cleared. These maps directly represent memory maps drawn by participants in this project and articulate the everyday knowledge of life lived in their pre-clearance neighbourhoods. The style is appropriated from travel maps that offer official views of the explored tourist city; my visual strategy has been to elevate former residents' memories to the level of official recorded memory and encourage engagement with their stories.

do check out her website, its fabulous!

in short, like everyone else who attended the histories day or has since written about it, i was initially dismayed at the crowds, queues and general clamour but perhaps this simply reflects a dirth of such cultural open days to enjoy, and is proof if anyone should need it that mancunians are crying out for more to do on a saturday than go to harvey nicks!!

here's to a regular manchester histories festival, not just annual but perhaps monthly. given the jam packed programme, it seems obvious that there's already enough on offer to fill a dozen such evenings or sunday afternoons - imagine the glamour of a monthly bluestocking type salon in the glorious setting of the town hall, dedicated to diverse walks, talks and conversations on all things mancunian.

now thats what i'd call a cultural city...

brutal is beautiful!

one of my esteemed boffin friends, mr hale, has drawn my attention to an interesting article in the always 'on the button' manchester confidential.

in Lumpy Concrete Art jonathon schofield defends three controversial 60's concrete horrors, including our very own hollaway wall, which i drew your attention to at the beginning of the year, the 20th century society's january building of the month. like me he is keen for the city to take stock of its recent heritage and appreciate the grandeur of a period more maligned than appreciated:

Get up close to the wall and its impressive, ten times better than Tadao Ando’s concrete thingy in Piccadilly Gardens. It’s full of solemn power, and bashed about grandeur. But above all it's simply weird, drawing you in with its stop you in the street, ‘you-what?’ magnetism...

his other two featured highlights are also worth a mention and a visit - the first living right in the city centre near the gorgeous cis building, a modest but attractive screen wall fronting miller street creating a processional way of the entrance to new century hall; the other a series of bizarre totems on the salford campus. here's his piece in full with great pictures. have a quick read, feast your eyes and please support the petition to list the holloway wall from current development proposals.

because, as schofield ends in his homage to the beauty of brutal architecture -

All cities need context. As we walk through them we need to feel the layers of the city’s history under our feet. It’s best if a city provides a visual reminder in odd tucked away corners – Holloway’s Wall – or right in your face – Mitchell’s three giants - of what it was before and how it then looked on the world and itself. These concrete features do this, they’re not only a physical reminder of the time in which they were built, but also of the mood of that period in our history.

i couldnt have put it better myself...

new year resolutions...umists hollaway wall

just when it seems there simply cant be any sections of the city left to regenerate, that the looming recession might just be the accidental saving of the few remaining post-war architectural gems happily minding their own business and bringing harmless joy to some of us, worrying news pops up to the contrary...

anthony hollaway's 1968 sculptural wall is practically invisible and entirely neglected. chances are you've passed it on the way from piccadilly station to the umist campus or to stockport road and barely noticed this overlooked treasure. or perhaps you have noticed it subliminally and dismissed it as merely a graffitied eyesore.

but this is no ordinary wall, as anyone who looks at it more closely and gives it a second chance will discover. even moss covered, lichen ridden, strewn with discarded takeaways, assorted rubbish and bird droppings, the hollaway wall is a delight, its sturdy exuberance a testimony to the hardy optimism of a small band of utopian modernists of post-war britain, a lovely and elegant length of concrete sculpture. it is as architecturally significant as the piccadilly pavilion, centrepiece to the renovated piccadilly gardens by signatect tadao ando, commissioned at enormous expense for the 2002 commonwealth games, the obligatory 'iconic gateway to the city'.

a deceptively simple curved concrete wall with a covered space on its concave side providing yet more coffee chains and a modicum of shelter, the pavilion has hardly faired much better than the hollaway and is already looking a little shabby, sandwiched inelegantly between rows of plastic urinals and tram machinery. nonetheless this concrete structure, part buffer, part artwork, is a significant coup for the city - ando's first ever british project. to fully appreciate just why this self taught superstar is regarded as one of the world's greatest architects, read benjamin secher in the telegraph. in truth, though ando's reputation is well deserved, the piccadilly pavilion, commissioned as a prestigious kick start to the regeneration of a shabby section of central manchester, now seems hardly the serene japanese garden he aspired to and it has as many detractors as admirers.

in sharp contrast to this and other contemporary iconotastic commissions, the hollaway wall which made no such bold claims and sits unobtrusively in a quiet corner of the city, finds itself in suddenly in the limelight, its future uncertain. in short, it seems that not satisfied with wreaking havoc on the owens campus the powers that be have turned their pitiless gaze towards the splendid umist, with plans apparently afoot to sell off much of the site which includes some of the city's finest and sadly increasingly rare 1960s buildings and structures.

the 20th century society is currently featuring the wall in its building of the month section and is supporting a well deserved submission for listing status. richard brook, senior lecturer at manchester school of architecture, waxes lyrical about the wall, its significance and context within umist as part of a broader 60's utopian vision -

The masterplan for the campus was developed in 1960 by W.A. Gibbon of Cruickshank and Seward and it is Gibbon’s legacy that presides over the stepped site as it descends toward the Medlock Valley. Chandos Hall, the Renold Building, the Barnes-Wallis building and the Ferranti Building are all by Gibbon and all feature his trademark white concrete. He is known to have visited Brazil prior to this commission and was influenced by the work of Niemeyer, though the only real flourishing gesture is the curved stair that elegantly sweeps into the courtyard between the Renold and Barnes-Wallis buildings. The Renold Building was unsuccessfully proposed for listing in November 2005. A further two of the group are currently under threat from the sale and redevelopment of the site as the University of Manchester seeks to consolidate its estate. Also under threat is the innovative Chemical Engineering Pilot Plant by H.S. Fairhurst; originally the service runs were all defined in their own specific colours, predating Pompidou by five years.

This building is flanked by a sculptural wall, similarly at risk, about which little has been written or researched. The wall was built in 1968 to designs prepared by artist Anthony Hollaway, commissioned by the University of Manchester Institute of Science + Technology (UMIST). The artist was working in collaboration with architect Harry M. Fairhurst; they also worked together to design the concrete relief panels of the Chemistry building on the same campus and, much later, the windows at Manchester Cathedral.

Many of the structures similar to this, by artists, were retaining walls. This was designed as a sound buffer. As such, this particular wall has more ‘object’ status as it stands upon its field rather than embedded within. The work was designed to ‘enhance weathering and texture’ by the use of ‘rough sawn formwork’.

modernists, urbanists, mancunians - don't let this careworn creature disappear. please don't take for granted that this and other post war icons will survive the tail end of the noughties building boom or the current recession. visit the wall, get close up and take in its battered beauty, love and cherish it. stroll around the resplendant umist campus with its concrete flourishes, its cornucopia of public artworks, murals and secluded gardens, its harmonious marriage of victorian splendour and 60's optimism. then show your support and demand its listing and appreciation. and do it now, before its too late...

as for me, the holloway wall is as much a part of my life and my quirky corner of manchester, my personal m1, as the mancunian way and its neighbouring tower blocks, so 2009 might just be the year this sprightly bluestocking turns activist and chains herself to it....

oh yes, here's that second welcome surprise...

one of my last entries was a curious and poignant story of an urban wildscape, repository of literary bones and treasure trove of victorian social mores and architectural vernacular - the english cemetary in florence. it's a tale dear to my heart and should be for any urbanist, since an analysis of the city which ignores the disposal and status of the dead does so at its peril.

cemetaries are central to an understanding of the values and preoccupations of successive generations. in previous times and perhaps still in many countries apart from our own, the dead have always left an indelible trace in the living landscape as well as the metaphysical one. for me a visit to any new place includes a trip to the local cemetary. here the city reveals far more about itself, its past glories and aspirations, its darkest deeds, its ups and downs more fluently than a perusal of newspaper archives or grandiose civic totems.

but lately they have moved ever outwards into the hinterland of our social landscape, become peripheral, invisible almost. there is both pleasure and regret for an old archaeologist like myself in this current state of affairs. sadness that we live in a society busy denying its own mortality and that the everyday insights and beauty that can be afforded by a daily walk through the neighbourhood cemetary have been marginalised into a morbid or fanciful affectation. happiness that they offer seclusion and almost rural escapism for city dwellers like myself and a place to spend a sunny afternoon with a book and a picnic in blissful tranquility...

anyway back to my real point - the florentine cemetary in question faces desperate uncertainty despite the dedication of a small band of devotees, gardeners and scholars, led by the remarkable latterday bluestocking julia bolton holloway, whose blog and efforts i referred to about the dangers facing this little guerilla gardening project. imagine my delight to find a reply and update in my comments box by the lady herself! here is what she said -

Thanks from another bluestocking!But I'd rather you be in the library than in the cemetery! Am dreading the loculi to be installed in January. At least they are in the ground. And I've won the battle to keep them away from the centre aisle and all its wild irises, Florence's lilies.

the internet, it seems, once again reigns supreme and brings people a little closer together than would otherwise be possible. and once again i would ask you, dear reader, to visit her blogsite and perhaps add your name to its petition to secure the treasures of the little cemetery and the ongoing work to restore and reclaim it for the benefit of many.

and that reminds me - i really must nip to ardwick cemetery and do something about the terrible state its in...

dry cleaners to the rescue...

mr stillingfleet spied this curious little headline hidden away in the back pages of the guardian yesterday and pointed it out to me over tea and scones at boffin hq. its deliciously wodehousian details were so intriguing i had to find out more...

...dry cleaning firm helps save historic cemetery...

A dry cleaning company has answered an urgent call for funds to help restore and preserve the English Cemetery in Florence. There are 700 memorials crammed into the small cemetery, many of them pilgrimage sites for literary fans from all over the world. Many are in need of repair. "We urgently need funds," said Julia Bolton Holloway, an English academic and Anglican nun, who acts as curator, guide and librarian. The Maida Vale, west London, branch of the American Dry Cleaning Company has pledged a quarter of its takings from cleaning formal wear for three months.

behind the brief but intriguing headline is not one but several stories, befitting this small forgotten charnel house on the edge of 19th century florence: a tale of one of the greatest cities in old europe and the exploits of the artists, writers, adventurers and flaneurs attracted to its glamour and allure; of exile, eccentricity, social and religious reforms and dissent. more recently it’s the saga of one enthusiast and her determination that this historic cemetery be kept open, be restored and declared a unesco world heritage site, after years of deterioration and neglect.

and most unexpectedly it is also a story of guerrilla gardening in a city that would hardly seem to need it…

the protestant cemetery in florence, commonly known as the english cemetery due to the large number of english victorian notables interred in its grounds, is surrounded by boulevards and faded mansions, an oval island of peace overtaken by city sprawl and traffic just outside the ring of florence's old walls, that nineteenth-century florence only recently being rediscovered after a long stint playing second fiddle to the golden age of florence, the city of dante aligheri, boccaccio, and the medicis.

a tranquil haven of victorian gothic, peaceful avenues and quiet arcades, this is the resting place of a host of english poets and writers including elizabeth barrett browning, walter savage landor and arthur hugh clough, as well as several sculptors such as hiram powers and joel t. hart. its silent rows of eloquent headstones and memorials are alive with a tangle of lavender, rosemary, strawberry plants, box, myrtle, pomegranate and rose bushes, attracting birds, bees, butterflies as well as an array of small mammals and the usual army of semi feral cemetery cats. yet this idyllic setting belies its heretical past and turbulent present.

in 1827 the swiss evangelical reformed church purchased land outside the medieval wall and gate of Porta a' Pinti from leopold II, grand duke of tuscany for an international and ecumenical cemetery, russian and greek Orthodox burials joining protestant ones. at that time this was a lonely spot, with widely scattered houses outside the walls, and inside, between the hamlets of Borgo Pinti and Borgo alla Croce, a few small villas almost hidden among the vegetable gardens and orchards that lined the little roads. burials took place from 1838 to 1877, after which only a few cinerary urns were accepted. the 1409 graves represent sixteen nations: the 760 british graves form the core, followed by the 433 swiss, 87 americans, 84 italians and 54 russians who are buried there. in 1877, the cemetery had to be closed, the medieval wall having been torn down at the time of the risorgimento when florence became capital of italy with code napoleon forbidding burials within city limits, ending a subversive chapter in the city's history - that of a clandestine and non-conformist florence.

for years the old landscaping had been rather ferociously over weeded and by the end of the nineties almost all its nineteenth-century plants had been rooted out, the cemetery a dry and forlorn place. then came curator, librarian and enthusiast, Julia Bolton Holloway, with a vision to heal the gardens, restore it to its 19th century heyday and preserve and promote a new library dedicated to the works of all those buried in the grounds, as well as develop an online catalogue for international researchers, with work currently being undertaken on burial records in england, russia and italy. her labour of love has reaped the benefits, the weed killer replaced by bulbs, volunteers and a thriving gardening centre attached to a fledgling Foundation, where apprenticeships in blacksmithing, masonry, gardening and book binding can be formally provided for the refugee families she has long been working with to restore the forgotten cemetery after 125 years of neglect.

in 1996 the cemetery was reopened for the interment of ashes. this has brought misfortune as well as reward with the swiss owners seeking to clear large sections of the terrain to enable the construction of concrete edifices or loculi for new internment. a petition and details of the campaign to protect this urban wildscape, neighbourhood cultural and social centre, and vernacular historic monument, can be found on the cemetery’s blogsite.

look beyond the headline and sign the petition, or better still take a walk round your nearest cemetery and find out whether it has a friends society or is in danger of becoming a supermarket!

the ballad of tinsley towers...

tinsley towers prior to last weeks demolition

well, that's the problem with travelling...look away, turn your back for a minute and when you spin round they've gone and changed it all, pulled every damn thing down and put up a parking lot....

a little while ago, back in the spring, you might remember that i visited sheffield to take a peek at the tinsley towers, a pair of rare but delapidated 1940's cooling towers on the rotherham end of the m1, decried by some as an eyesore but admired by others as elegant modernist icons of the regions industrial heritage. click here for my earlier posting:whilst for the whole story and 3 year long campaign, follow this link.

condemned to demolition despite winning channel 4's Big Art Prize, following a vigorous campaign to preserve what could prove to be an integral and unique part of sheffield's burgeoning regeneration plans, i took the edale train over the pennines. i wanted to take a look around, do a spot of delving and try to understand why a city with a brand new bold 'masterplan' was blind to the potential offered by these iconic structures, why they were determined to ignore the pleas of many of its citizens, and why the support of the likes of anthony gormley and anish kapoor, artists well known for their involvment in other successful regeneration packages, fell on firmly deaf ears.

in the journal entry i wrote at the time i expressed some fears about the future of our cities, devoid as they might soon be of any 20th century icons, without remnants of our troublesome century - fears about the determination of our local authorities, planners and the privatised development companies formed to rebrand, reinvent, and culturally whitewash our thousand-year old bunioned, carbunkled and beautifully wrinkled towns and cities into strait jacketed, endlessly repeated narrow visions of 'cosmopolitan sophistication', usually mediocre and doomed to be almost immediately outdated...

lulled into an insane and clearly unwise reverie of optimism as i subsequently travelled across france, mooching happily round the disshevelled glamour of old europe, with its careworn and casual sophistication, i had temporarily forgotten about the threat to the tinsley towers and fondly imagined that such widespread support and stalwart campaigning would at least instigate a stay of execution or perhaps a re-think and some intervention by the woefully mis-named regeneration company in charge, creative sheffield.

yes dear reader, you of course in your wisdom are already laughing bitterly at this display of naivity from a lady of such long years and life experience! for whilst i was away e-on the owners were moving rapidly with plans for their sad demise, dangling a fat wad of cash to the city as compensation, for you've guessed it, a lovely new 'landmark' artwork in their place. giant stainless steel footballs have apparently already been mooted as suitable replacements for the former eyesores.

the towers were demolished last sunday, the bank holiday weekend, at 3am, with a viewing platform kindly provided for the occasion. video footage and media coverage is all over the internet and easily available to anyone wishing to see the death of these elegant but austere architectural classics. i for one can't bear to look but i read with bitter satisfaction that they literally refused to collapse without a fight.

the demolition and rebranding of our cities is continuing, even gathering pace, and there's not much time left to ensure that we are not erasing our histories, our own archaeological moment, our part in the ongoing patina of the metropolis, warts and all, with every vernacular building we carelessly bulldoze or detonate.

english heritage are belatedly catching up with what is being seen as a crisis by an increasing flottila of 20th century historians, cultural geographers, architects and the like, and for the past 10 years has published an annual list of buildings at risk, deciding this year to take a new approach. to coincide with new legislation, the charity has launched the Heritage At Risk list, a comprehensive guide to monuments at risk of being relegated to the past. this now includes not only buildings, but battlefields, parks and shipwrecks. and for a brilliant overview of the state of the nations heritage, covering all periods, try the save britains heritage website .

and finally i beg you to learn more about the precarious state of our 20th century classics by visiting the 20th century society. its an invaluable site with details of cases across the whole country, a building of the month feature, and details of talks to attend and ways to join in and lend support.

read it, subscribe to it, lend your support. go wild and join it! save our future...

Camping part 1: the seige of carcassonne

tonight we are camped below the celebrated walls of carcassonne, like the motley crusaders of pope innocent 3rd before us, hunkered in under the lofty battlements waiting to storm the cite, whilst its expectant inhabitants gird themselves for the fray to come. but this time round it’s we, both invading hordes and faithful pilgrims, who are lambs to the slaughter enticed like the armies of yesteryear by the lure of a fantasy…. pilgrims just as much as those encouraged to besiege the walls by that fateful papal edict.

the camping i imagine is also not so different despite the centuries - pick a good spot, up canvas, shake out the bedding, light a fire, heat up water and prepare a makeshift meal. eat under the stars and plan the operation ahead...

accommodation around cathar country is notoriously tricky to secure, booked up days, weeks in advance. we were turned away from our first attempt, the aptly named 'camping de la cite', and a scrum of camper vans, cars, cyclists and bikers ensued as alternatives were suggested and the caravanserai of pilgrims moved on to lay siege to another hamlet along the route.

our eventual stop is a trusty municipal campsite 5km south, the hulking fairy topped citadel still visible on the horizon, a confection of heritage, a confusion of history. largely the re-creation of the somewhat notorious renovator of france, Eugène Viollet-le-Duc, who perhaps over enthusiastically restored the fortress in 1853, it bears little actual resemblance to the carcassonne of the albigensian crusade. nonetheless its presence is undeniably stirring as the dark gathers and night closes in on our ragged company of brightly coloured vans, canvases and awnings, reminiscent in my romantic dreamings of medieval encampments long ago…

the campsite proper is full as is everywhere else on route, but we are kindly offered the boules field next door on the proviso we are all gone at first light. as we pitch up the makeshift base fills up with others also on the holy trail and we greet the by-now familiar faces as they draw up, congratulating each other on making it, sharing provisions and passing on nuggets of information about local amenities. by dusk the flurry of activity around the field and the evening repast is over, our improvised company is settled, lamps lit, hammocks slung, beds unrolled.

it’s an early start tomorrow, as our weary band readies itself for the battle ahead. guide books are primed, digital cameras poised, as another 'authentic' experience is anticipated, checked off and bagged. but like all armies before us, the eve of battle brings with it both unease and calm, and over the perpetual hush of the citadel above us can be heard a more prosaic quiet, the snores and wheezes of nearby strangers, the snuffling and rustlings of dogs in strange surroundings providing a peculiar, quite unmodern, lullaby....

green architecture montpelier style

evening has crept up; only the lights of the cafes and restaurants in the harbour and the lamps bobbing and swaying on neighbouring yachts break up the inkyness closing in. i have a brief wifi window so i'm jotting a few impressions down whilst they are still glowing, still vivid, excitable, jumbled and jostling for attention in my head....forgive me if they make little sense.

i'm aboard a tiny boat just outside montpelier in the heart of the languedoc. its the second week of my sojourn but its not my first visit - the region is fertile territory for the flaneur, the archaeologist, the explorer and investigator of the urban phenomena. here the city has survived it all - plague and pestilance, religion, heresy, invasion, inquisition, industrialisation, depression, rediscovery and tourism - its hide a carbuncled palimpsest of grand events and everyday lives.

the region is peppered with history with a capital h. cities like avignon, nimes, carcassonne, arles and albi reverberate with the clashes and cries of the cathars and the crusading church, the battle for hearts and minds in a bloody and relentless civil war, the rigours of the perfecti, the dictacts of popes, the flames and burning oils of orthodoxy versus heresy. the evidence is etched in the fortress cathedrals, the walled citadels, a legacy of fierce independence felt to this day, an isolation from the north and parisian influence that pervades in the dilapidated shutters and arrow slit, seige resistant battlements.

but this isn't the only side to the languedoc - more recently it has experimented with modern architecture, most noticably in nimes and montpelier, both cities that glory in their deep stratigraphy, their ancient and noisy narratives. nimes is of course famed for its venerable roman past with an amphitheatre, temple of diana and magificent aqueduct at its epicentre, whilst montpelier's medieval core and unique cathedral is undoubtedly its drawcard. but neither have been afraid to embrace and commission new architecture not without some controversy.

montpelier is infamous in the guide books for its themed new town, antigone, a sprawling urban development of planned administrative headquarters and new housing, pedestrianised and accessible by its integrated tramways and cycle routes, lush and green boulevards and river running through its middle. but its grand proportions and rather sterile neogeorgian pretensions make it inevitably rather risible in such close comparison to the 'centre historique' and i gave it little thought on my last visit.

however the urban gardening exhibition at urbis this summer alerted me to a couple of treasures lurking in the much derided antigone by the celebrated green architect edouard francois, so this week i hired a velo for the day in montpelier and cycled out in search of these vertical gardens, to see for myself his vision for urban living and the potential for the greening of the contemporary concrete jungle...

riding alongside the tram system, which has cleverly provided room for walking and cycling across 120 km of the city's neighbourhoods is a doddle, and a trick we missed when planning our own metro system. i wasnt really sure where the estate would be but i kept cycling around the vicinity until a curtain of trees and a flash of flowering shrubs and succulents high up amongst some roof tops made me suspicious. sure enough deep amidst this urban verdancy was a series of residencies not dissimiliar in size and scale to the old hulme crescents, but a world away in every other respect.

deck accessed and crescent shaped, perhaps seven stories high and enclosed within communal gardens, the blocks are literally camoflaged by the shrubs, trees and flowering plants emanating from every balcony. these balconies are the piece de resistence, designed as tree houses and wooden look outs. the walls themselves are giant boulders, netted and covered in vines and sprouting succulents, giving the impression that the whole apartment block has risen from the rocks, from nature, threatening to completely envelop it lord of the flies style...

i have taken many photos of this lush and generous vision of high rise living but until i am able to download them, here are a couple of sample snaps taken from the internet to give you an idea. the montpelier flats are now nearly 8 years old and are a riot of green and colour, a visual and olfactory treat!

'sprouting building’, montpellier, france (2000) exterior walls featuring rocks held in place by a stainless-steel net covered in plants.

‘tower flower’ paris, france, 1999, residential building disguised in bamboo trees

if like me you are intrigued by his ideas and designs and wish to know more, follow this link for a short interview and intriguing pictures of his most famous housing schemes - http://www.designboom.com/eng/interview/francois.html

brunswick triumph - andrea booker wins CUBE open

stop press...!!

i have waxed lyrical in previous journal entries about brunswick my tangled and disshevelled heartland, the mysterious moated kingdom on the edge of town whose inhabitants are amongst the most talented, creative and curious i have had the pleasure of meeting since i emerged dusty and bewildered from the archives of the museum just up the road. seeing the city and the new century through their eyes has been truly inspiring, their patient education and befriending of this old fossil a generous and unexpected bonus. it is always a pleasure to accompany any of these bright young things on one of their adventures and a pleasant self imposed duty to praise, draw attention or otherwise support their various endeavours and practices.

you might also recall that my last posting included some details of andrea booker's beautiful exhibition a long time ago at the chapman gallery, an output of her recent residency at the university of salford's fine art department, as well as a part of the lrm's marvellous get lost festival. only running for three days, i was lucky to catch a glimpse of this rather elusive artist's work - andrea, typical bluestocking, is rather shy of publicity preferring to work somewhat anonymously driven more by her private obsessions than for recognition or glittering prizes!

but the game is up for this brunswick stalwart and failed recluse...

andrea has just been announced as the winner of this year's CUBE Open. the judging panel made up of juneau projects, lucienne cole and kwong lee choose her from more than 100 applicants, selecting fourteen artists for this year’s exhibition.

their press release says,

'the artworks that will be exhibited offer differing meanings and parodies in relation to our own ‘displacements’ of identity conveyed through the urban landscape and architectural consequence.'

the preview is friday 1st august at 6pm at cube, and the exhibition will run from the 2nd august to the 6th september. it promises to be just as strong as last years cube open curated by hilary jack and paul harfleet of apartment, so do make sure you visit.

andrea will be artist in residence at CUBE in 2009 and receive a bursary of £1000 to support her practice. for more details about cube, their residencies, programme and exhibitions go to their website http://www.cube.org.uk/

congratulations miss booker. here's to a long overdue opportunity to see an even bigger and bolder a long time ago plus a glimpse into the processes, practices and reflections on the city from this emerging artist cum rescue archaeologist. her work eloquently illustrates that action really does speak louder than words, ironically and appropriately enough through the cherishing and displaying of abandoned lettering, their pathetic, patinated and frequently damaged appearance heightening the poignancy of their rescue.

against the pristine and clinical setting of the gallery and separated from their normal setting in the built environment performing their neon duties of advertising and announcing the commercial, the institutional and spectacular, the subliminal backdrop to our quotidien life, booker's practice reveals society's collective schizophrenia and identity crisis - the contradictory demands for newness and innovation, set against the mandatory veneration of vintage, the antique and 'authentic', the construction of self predicated on what we buy and own, the venues we frequent, our lifestyles and status signposted and directed at every turn.

...ooh and apologies to cube for any accidental pre-empting of their press release!! i'm just so excited...

reflections, pavements, loiterings

the last two or three weeks have been so filled with the surfeit of events, happenings and get togethers that i envy when i read of their regularity in the far off capital of londinium, that i haven’t had time to reflect on them, let alone write about them. i'd forgotten how transformational meeting like-minded strangers can be - hearing their ideas and seeing the city through their eyes has been a privilege.

at last i find myself with some space to absorb all this visual and intellectual stimulation and hope that my own inadequacies have been challenged by the exhilaration of the last few weeks.

it all started with TRIP, the psychogeography festival and conference on 19-21 june and Get Lost the manchester loiterers' activities around the city in june. my bluestocking friends paul, maureen and chris were contributors to TRIP with a pansy walk on the 21 june, and i joined them on this navigation of the city. paul's reflections of the experience can be read on his blog... http://thepansyproject.blogspot.com/

i can heartily recommend the loiterers blog for inspiring reflections on the city and its hidden secrets, plus details of their monthly derives and city wanderings, which are welcome to all: http://nowhere-fest.blogspot.com/2008/06/ruinous-recollections-fellow-wanderers.html

...many thanks to morag rose and alan smith for their fantastic work, imaginative and inquisitive minds and infectious love of manchester! and for doing something...

the conference was an exhausting 3 days of wide ranging papers loosely connected to psychogeography and the city, inviting new ways of reading, connecting to and challenging its many narratives, histories and futures. there was a lovely archaeology paper by peter connelly from york archaeology trust, and my young friends darien and rob presented ideas behind their current project 'ruinous reflections, artistic drifts through post-industrial manchester' currently showing at upper space gallery, newton st, northern quarter. sadly i missed the preview on the 27 june but it seems the rest of manchester made a huge party of it and a great time was had by many of my young bluestocking associates.

the curators have taken a poetic darkly gothic notion of the city and its histories and brought it to fruition via the investigations of 5 very different artists, employed you might say as archaeologists revealing hidden layers as they dig below the surface. as they explain:

'Behind the visible built environment of the city lurk fictions and memories. Neglected narratives echo through the red-brick ruins, literary psychogeography where spectres of a forgotten past ghost-write their tales onto the decaying urban fabric. Taking stories from notable historical figures connected with Manchester, the five artists taking part in Ruinous Recollections will present a mental mapping of the city that constantly evolves over the course of the exhibiton. Artists: Barney Francis, Bec Garland, Nick Hamilton, Paul Harfleet, Victoria Lem.'

what makes this show intriguing in comparison to many others exploring similar issues is the deconstruction of the shadowy impact of the curator, that high priest or wizard of art, plus the chance to witness the evolution of the ideas and processes intrinsic to artistic practice. art and the private view always have something of the magic trick about them - unveiled and revealed only when perfect, framed, hung and displayed, all creases and problematics worked out. here the artifice is explored, made transparent, the journey involved in fact made more remarkable.

do visit this rare opportunity to see work in progress prior to the exhibition 'proper' next year, or at least delve into their blog which has details of the various works being created: http://ruinousrecollections.blogspot.com/

jane samuels abandoned building project made headlines at the green room for get lost, her plaintive photographs of decayed and forgotten buildings around manchester, modern ruins charged with all of the eerie beauty of the gothic fairy tales of our childhood, made more poignant by their peculiar ordinariness, unsettling in their familiarity: http://www.theabandonedbuildingsproject.com/

over in salford at the university's chapman gallery was another beautiful ruinous recollection, a long time ago, the work of another brunswick artist andrea booker. frustratingly only showing for three days between 23 - 25 june! http://www.arts.salford.ac.uk/exhibitions.php

i managed to race over there on the final day and am still in mourning that this artwork, both a physical and metaphorical exploration of the city's rapid regeneration and a labour of love, even obsession, a veritable urban rescue dig, can no longer be viewed. whilst other artists photograph, record and document the loss of whole sections of the city, languishing unloved before demolition and clearance for the brave new world of glass and steel, andrea has been rescuing and collecting their visceral physical remains. a long time ago explores the melancholy of the urban ruin through the display and manipulation of the giant lettering so recently an optimistic declaration of functionality and utility.

still reeling from all this ruinous recollecting, last thursday gave fresh impetus to musings that seem to have become infused into the whole landscape.

brunswick is an ever present absence on the oxford road corridor, the universities and their acolytes surrounding, obscuring yet permanently fixed towards the estate, absorbing and subconsciously reflecting its tangled careworn beauty. the fine art department and its graduate institute miriad sits at the crossroads of chorlton on medlock, their mutual history and development inseparable. it’s no accident that much of its creative output concerns the inner city and in recent years apartment in lockton court has nurtured the talents of many of its art graduates.

pitfall and potential: image, art and the 'public' was a symposium with dr. steven gartside and rut blees luxemburg discussing notions of visibility and disappearance of art in the urban landscape, a contemplation of the relationship between the city, its various communities and the art academy.

the symposium was a prelude to the launch of a new non - gallery space, pavement, based in the institution but conceptually facing beyond it – turning the rarefied somewhat elitist world of the academy inside out, making its outputs available to passers-by from the everyday world, literally on the pavement.

its press release states:

'Pavement is a new exhibition space housed in a former drapery store. The window space, which cannot be entered by the public, provides a highly visible stage for the display of international contemporary art. Any threshold existing between the institution and the outside world is absent; the work can be seen by the public, day and night. A distant glance engages the viewer and the work invites their scrutiny. Pavement will allow for the exploration of potential differences in the relationship of contemporary art to an unconventional institutional setting. The work on display will seek to utilise and exploit its position of visibility in order for its significance to be explored and to generate a wider response.'
http://www.miriad.mmu.ac.uk/pavement/

'pavement' launched with caliban towers by blees luxemburg. originally installed as a billboard sized commission, its 'public' setting was underneath a railway bridge in shoreditch, london. it depicts a group of tower blocks at night, opening up questions about the relationship of image, architecture and location. as i’ve pondered elsewhere in this diary the tower block as social housing is in crisis – as pavement nicely put it, embodying 'a shift in meaning from a site of exclusion to one of exclusivity. the re-staging of caliban towers in manchester is particularly apt. in its new setting the work questions the ways in which we utilise urban space; perceptions of class and social status and the location and purpose of 'public' art'.

caliban towers is showing 7 days a week, 24 hours a day in the window of the righton building on grosvenor street. the perfect viewing is at night followed by a stroll further down the road past sandbar and the mcdougall centre to the junction of upper brook street.

fresh from the luminous gaze of the photographer’s vision, look again across the mancunian way to the tower blocks ahead and appreciate their forlorn beauty, their sturdy simplicity, as they face the city and an uncertain future...

killing castlefield? journeys through a forgotten urban treasure...

the castlefield basin is the original Mamucium, largest single contributor to the prosperity and growth of manchester, its influence spanning 2 millenia – home of the Roman fort, the world’s first passenger railway station, the Museum of Science & Industry, as well as epicentre of our very own Granada TV!

the transpennine railway was the last element in the economic and industrial infrastructure that gave the region its global importance in the 19th century. the castlefield basin connected the leeds - liverpool canal to this new ‘superhighway’, making the region one of the most densely populated and urbanised places in the world: its network of warehouses, canals and viaducts a vivid palimpsest of the city, its cobbled streets a rich repository of 2000 years of enigmatic lives, escapades and adventures, unknown heroes of the industrial revolution.

until recently hailed as the Jewel of Manchester on the city’s tourist websites, boasting a dedicated Castlefield Visitor Centre and with teams of specialised urban rangers on hand to guide visitors and tend the upkeep of this precious archaeological heritage park, its future seemed secure and bright. bustling with al fresco restaurants, loft apartments in listed warehouses, its own annual carnival and boat rally and a community of narrowboat owners, it was a mini venice or amsterdam, a model for manchester’s cosmopolitan aspirations. now, once again faced with neglect, dereliction and an uncertain future as developers close in and for sale signs proliferate, the shortcomings of similarly acclaimed flagship developments are put under the microscope. the predicament of castlefield is symptomatic of prevailing policies of urban branding and regeneration, effectively taking the cityscape out of the public sphere and into a precarious privatised realm.


for arttranspennine08 i will record my explorations deep into this forgotten treasure - heritage centre, Roman settlement and heart of the transpennine rail-and-waterways, exposing the fragile fortunes of our urban topography on my dedicated blog killing castlefield, an examination of this granddaddy of urban renaissance and success story of the nineties triumphantly designated ‘Britain’s first Urban Heritage Park’.

join me on this journey to explore narratives of the city past and present, interrogating accepted orthodoxies surrounding dominant models of urban renewal. i shall post my photos, my thoughts and itineraries, the things i find out, and the people i meet throughout the length of this summer's exhibition.

follow this link to killing castlefield: http://killingcastlefield.blogspot.com/

revered and reviled: a tale of two towers

archaeology is often associated with the sacred, mysterious and wondrous; the grand and glamorous remnants of former civilisations, the tombs of the pharaohs, the perfectly preserved herculaneum and pompeii, the easter island stones and nearer to home the giant men and white horses carved in the chalk. popular books on archaeology are emblazoned with titles such as ‘mysterious’ or ‘marvellous’ not ‘ordinary' or 'everyday' things! the past we are told is another country and all too often it is portrayed as one totally unfamiliar and unusual, with rites and customs we can glimpse at but never really understand. yet any field archaeologist knows (and the average episode of time team will confirm) that the reality of digging is more often than not the ordinary, everyday, mundane objects of humans and their daily activities. the vernacular and the quotidian of yesterday can quickly become the unfathomable of today as any one wrestling with the enigma of the 400 carved stone balls of orkney or the meaning of stonehenge will tell you…

we inhabit a commodified mercantile world where the expensive, unique, unusual and glamorous is our stock in trade and benchmark. no one is interested in the ordinary or the average and not even the humble toilet roll is allowed to be anything less than luxurious and pampering. we simply don’t deal with the ‘everyday’ as a concept because it doesn’t fit in with our ‘aspirational’ lifestyles. this crucial image problem makes it difficult to market the vernacular 20th century artefact as an iconic or historic relic of the future! who wants to save the tatty old cinema, 60’s office block, high rise tower block or cooling tower when it is perceived as unspectacular or even ugly and offensive?

perhaps it is because we are not yet successfully bedded into the 21st century – the noughties more of a transitional period simultaneously looking forward and back, the new era not sufficiently established for the necessary detachment when contemplating the last 100, even 1000 years.

here lies the key to the problem.

the ‘ruin’ is normally the end product of a long process of utility, abandonment, dereliction and neglect, eventually becoming numinous and forgotten, hazy and cobwebby, at once permanent and invisible in the landscape, its very prominence lending it a pseudo ‘natural’ status, like that of the trees, hills and location in which it nestles unobtrusively. finally the ‘ruin’ is rediscovered and with it the inevitable battle to demolish or defend it – to reintegrate it into society, make it useful and accessible, re-engage and acknowledge it as part of the built environment rather than its hitherto ‘natural’ subliminal one on the edges of our subconscious.

this process presents a real and urgent problem for the urban enthusiast or archaeologist of the contemporary, illustrated in the treatment meted out to two contrasting icons of their age – one medieval, the other modern but no less potent in the landscape. recent weeks have witnessed the culmination of years of dedicated efforts on two very similar projects but with spectacularly different results: triumph for one but crushing defeat for the other. at the heart of both tales is the nature of monumentality and cultural memory, urban dereliction and regeneration, and the precarious state of our 20th century architectural heritage: the most pressing issues of our times.


the soaring triumph at maastricht

the triumph is the tale of a disused church in the centre of maastricht, a dilapidated medieval architectural jewel lovingly transformed into an atmospheric and dramatic bookstore. the aesthetics are classic, reassuringly traditional and accessible, the regeneration proposal practical, functional and commercially sound – in keeping with the prevailing language of city redevelopment and urban planning. visually it is indeed a magnificent achievement; a positively glorious yet harmonious marriage of the building’s soaring austere spirituality and restoration into present day cathedral to learning and commerce – the bookstore as secular ‘sacred space’, vessel of cultural and intellectual heritage, scholarship, aspiration and great ideas. jonathan glancey picks up the story in the guardian:
http://books.guardian.co.uk/shoptalk/story/0,,2271953,00.html.

it certainly ticks all the right boxes – maastrict is an established tourist destination, beloved by the chattering classes, picture box perfect for the fashionable ‘urban nomads’ weekend away. everyone’s a winner, not least a beautiful building in peril rescued from the bulldozer, an exemplary and honourable solution to the increasing problem surrounding the rapid decline and crisis facing abandoned ecclesiastical buildings of often remarkable beauty and architectural merit. in stark contrast is our disaster story, a sorry end to an equally vigorous campaign to save an altogether different monument, but iconic nonetheless - a complicated tale packed with all the usual suspects, economic, social and industrial decline, urban dereliction, renewal and regeneration.

the stalwart and dedicated attempts by a dedicated pair of young sheffield urban enthusiasts has captured the public imagination and sparked both controversy and support. over the last three years, 2 1940s cooling towers, simple, austere, elegant, have become symbolic of the battle for the city's soul - between those determined to create a 21st-century gleaming metropolis and those intent on preserving and celebrating some of the city's industrial heritage. it's set out grippingly in the following link, which succinctly summarises the dramatic and inspiring tale from outlandish dream, a dream to turn the vast disused towers into a truly landmark art space - http://www.guardian.co.uk/society/2008/apr/02/regeneration.communities

after years of campaigning a happy ending seemed secure when the towers were amongst the 6 winners of channel 4s big art project with funding and support assured from arts council england and the arts fund. within two days however e-on announced the towers unsafe and set a date for demolition. a subsequent campaign for a temporary artwork has similarly met with rejection. in a intriguing twist, sheffield city council has now accepted a large sum from e-on to commission a new public artwork on the site after demolition. as far as the city council is concerned this is a satisfactory solution, one that fits nicely with their new branded masterplan for a rebranded sheffield in the manchester and liverpool mould.


tinsley cooling towers

the cooling tower might seem an unlikely icon and hardly worthy of our attention or support. who in their right minds would be sorry to see the demolition of a couple of cooling towers on the steel manufacturing corridor between sheffield and rotherham, blot on the landscape, oppressive symbol of 20th century heavy industry, cliched symbol of the north, polluter of public health and the environment? not much to celebrate then nor an obvious candidate for iconic status to be saved and relished by the local or national consciousness, especially with the promise of a lovely shiny new artwork to soften the blow?



au contraire – iconic status cannot be conferred by committee or appeals to our sense of delicacy or good taste. monuments are created not made. the pyramids, the mayan temples, the coliseum, even the tower of London are each forged out of the misery, oppression and sacrifice of ordinary people but we continue to recognise and respond to their sheer physicality and politics of space.

art, architecture, ruination, regeneration, modernity, archaeology: this tale of two towers speaks volumes about the gulf between fate of 20th architectural classics and that of more cherished and respected eras such as the victorian and medieval and of aesthetics, nostalgia and the everyday.

all too often the fate of non sacred, non institutional vernacular buildings (and this isn’t necessarily limited to modernist or brutalist 60’s classics – we still criminally neglect to cherish what remains of the once ubiquitous deco cinema and music hall) is to be demolished despite campaigns of support. the ingenious and sensitive reworking of the maastricht church, symbol of the city’s history and heritage needs no justification whilst nearer to home a similar architectural and archaeological symbol of place, landscape and heritage is foolishly condemned to oblivion.
both have made the headlines in the broadsheets and cultural media but it seems that in the popular imagination only a few misguided modernists or 20th century zealots will be mourning the loss of an ugly industrial blot on the northern landscape.

in a sad and ironic footnote a two week sale of tinsley tower memorabilia, tea towels, mugs and postcards sold out in the first two hours. miniaturised, contained, useful and commodified, the towers have finally submitted to the ethos of our age...

in the words of the campaigners, 'they could have been a tate modern for the north, our own turbine hall. we could have done our temporary art project with Anish Kapoor. we could have changed the way people look at this city. and they didn't let us.'

read an update on the fate of the tinsley towers here: http://diaryofabluestocking.blogspot.com/2008/08/demise-of-tinsley-towers.html

the body vulnerable – an icon disrobed

the independent showed this unusual image on its front page last week, unusual in that it is the antithesis of the prevailing representation of ancient Egypt. the face of a teenage boy, desiccated and exposed, it is a world away from the immortal boy king we have come to know, encased in gold and almost overwhelmed by his symbols of earthly and divine power. that image is instantly recognisable, redolent with the weight of all that is iconic and trite about indiana jones style archaeology – mysterious, distant, othered, ‘the past as another country’. the signifier of the dubious glamour of the tomb raider, the treasure hunter; the death mask of tutankhamen is the sum of archaeology’s enduring appeal.



this new face of the boy king is the flip side to our relationship with the past, foregrounding several burning contemporary issues – the persistent newsworthiness of archaeology, as the vehicle for bringing ‘the past’ to life; the centrality of the image, of the visual as the medium of communication; the abiding fascination with excess, status and power; the impact of the physicality of the body to foster a sense of shared humanity across time and space.




tutankhamen is an archaeological superstar, a global icon, recognisable anywhere in the world. second perhaps only to the dinosaur he is every school child’s favourite subject, epitomising all that is popular about history and archaeology – the actual materiality of the past, the scale and sophistication that we feel we share with many ancient civilisations with their flashy buildings, recognisable urban planning, complicated engineering, familiar and re-assuring plumbing systems, plus a dash of intrigue, mystery and murder for good measure.



the boy king is regal, grand, powerful, entombed with all the trappings of status and success but as this new image illustrates he is vulnerable too, vulnerable both to the machinations of the power politics of the times, a familiar concept to us here and now, and to the weaknesses of his mortal body. it is these contradictions that have kept him in the headlines since the sensation and controversies surrounding his discovery and excavation by Howard Carter in 1922.



these dual aspects to his enduring appeal are aptly illustrated by the twin stories and headlines circulating at the moment. on the one hand we have the unwrapping and delicate preparations to return this newly preserved and revealed body to his final resting place, his tomb in the valley of the kings; on the other we have the export version, the symbols of power that mask and surround the boy/king, the smoke screen of majesty, the sarcophagus, the gold, the baubles and treasures, the marvels of ‘wonderful things’ currently exhibited and already visited by charles and camilla, our home grown dynastic family, our own embodiment of state/religion in the body of the royal family.

the 02 show is undoubtedly a showstopper, the first opportunity in this country since the 1970’s to see the myth and magic of ‘a wonder of the ancient world’, but the real story, the real magic is much simpler, captured in the face of a young man with a slight overbite, face to face with fragile human being, surviving and intruding into our own world via a shared obsession with immortality and celebrity.

the real wonder of archaeology is perhaps captured in this image of his feet, exposed as if he has just drawn his blanket up round his newly naked ears, bereft of all those trappings of power and glittering trinkets that no doubt litter the latest show. i think i might prefer to miss the bling of the dome and pop over to the manchester museum instead where you can wander to your hearts content amongst mummified cats and snakes, spot a pair or two of preserved sandals and if you are really eagle eyed a rather fetching sock that the boy king might appreciate….

canis canem

being ostensibly a frivolous but in reality a perfectly pertinent aside dedicated to our canine friends.

saturday’s cute story of daisy the daschund who recently dug up a 2 million year old mammoth bone on a beach in suffolk made me smile.

this picture of little daisy licking her lips completely dwarfed by a 13in bone is a classic of the 'funny things animals do' school of journalism which ensured the story was splashed all over the weekend papers.

her owner says, "it was obvious that it was some sort of bone and my first thought was that it might be from something like a mammoth. daisy looked quite pleased with herself, even though it was far too heavy for her to pick up. she loves gnawing on bones and always has the leftover lamb leg bone from our sunday roast."

on the face of it, this might seem a million miles from my usual ramblings on the theme of archaeology, art and contemporary culture, but bear with me on this. behind this cute story is the real 'tail' (sorry, couldn’t resist that...) of the significance of our furry friends in the story of archaeological exploration and discovery. dogs simply pop up all over history and some of our most familiar ancient sites are known to us only because of the stalwart nose and paw work of man's best friend...

my own years in field archaeology were filled to the eyeballs in peat, muddy trenches and wheelbarrows, lunches sprawled atop spoil heap mountains, hungrily devouring grubby sandwiches, masses of jammy doughnuts and slurping endless flasks of plastic-y tasting coffee, surrounded by a small gang of similarly grimy colleagues and a couple of lolling dogs. archaeologists like dogs, their lifestyles are compatible, their personalities and favourite activities happily coinciding - plus the ‘office’ doesn’t ban them from coming to work or even joining in. ‘site’ dogs’ antics and loveable peculiarities were an endless source of entertainment and company and as integral to the smooth running of an excavation and its team as any other essential piece of kit or scientific paraphernalia.

there were always amusing tales of famous sites being discovered by the lead archaeologist’s pet dog – barnhouse the incredible neolithic settlement i worked on in Orkney next to the stones of stenness was unearthed during a bout of strenuous digging by the lovely rufus, who despite his legendary status never objected to some of us entertaining ourselves on our breaks by dressing him up in overalls, yellow regulation waterproofs and plastic hat – confirming the long held belief in the importance of dogs on site to almost mythical status. if every profession has a mascot, archaeology’s is definitely canine.

even the briefest furtle into the archives reveals the veracity of this fireside anecdote, illustrating either the essential teamwork underlying the nature of the relationship between ‘man’ and dog, or exposing the serendipitous reality behind much archaeological ‘science’.

you decide…

in any case, this little entry is dedicated to all the dig dogs i’ve ever shared a sandwich with, shivered with under tarpaulin during many a downpour, or made to endure the indignity of wearing my totector safety boots to raise a cheap laugh…sorry rufus!!

dash, aurel stein and the silk route…

during a career that spanned almost six decades, stein pioneered the Silk Road and made three separate expeditions to chinese turkestan, central asia and afghanistan. accompanied always by a small fox terrier named dash -- a total of seven fox terriers, all named dash, served him over the years -- stein traveled a total of 25,000 miles, over freezing himalayan passes and across scorching deserts. with the support of the british and indian governments, he traced the ancient caravan routes, oversaw the excavation of numerous archaeological sites, and documented the spread of buddhism from india to china. his finds filled whole rooms in the british museum and delhi's national museum, and whilst his career and antics are not without controversy, the early years of the archaeological enterprise generally entwined and embroiled in colonialism, nationalism and the so-called ‘great game’, his contribution to our understanding of the region remains unparalleled.

robot & the lascaux cave paintings

one fine day in september, 1940, four french boys and a dog named robot set out on a walk near the village of montignac in the dordogne. heading south toward the great oak forest near their village, the boys soon came to lascaux hill. covered with trees and heavy undergrowth, the hill was a favourite of the little gang, the perfect place for pretending to be explorers. robot disappeared ahead as usual, and, after a bit of looking around, the boys found he had gone down a hole. they were sure he had found an entrance to a treasure-filled cave, and returning with a homemade lantern and sliding down a tunnel found themselves in a large room about 100 feet long and 40 feet wide. this room turned into a narrow passage and, as they entered that passage, they raised their lamp and discovered that the walls of the cave were covered with fantastic pictures of animals.

the boys decided to tell their schoolteacher about their discovery, and the rest is history - the cave paintings of lascaux are one of the wonders of the palaeolithic world, evidence not only of prehistoric art but of cultural sophistication.

benedict allen and the ice dogs of siberia

more recently there’s the intriguing tale of the continuing tradition of canine cruciality with explorer benedict allen, the ranulph fiennes of the anthropology/exploration world. allen has crossed the amazon basin, lived with isolated peoples in papua new guinea and walked the gobi desert with a group of reluctant camels.

on his first expedition, he was attacked by gold miners and left without food or possessions. isolated and near death’s door, allen eventually had no choice but to eat his own dog to survive…

there’s a heartwarming ending to this sad tale. his attempted solo crossing of the frozen bering strait from siberia to alaska, perhaps his toughest yet; solo, apart from his team of trusty sled dogs. while scouting a route forward through the jumbled ice pack, he lost the team and spent a dangerous night out alone on the ice not knowing if he would ever find them again. he told national geographic,

‘i remember turning on the camera and giving sort of an update, but thinking to myself: 'this could be a death sentence.' i needed my dogs.

no one in the world knew where i was, and it was reinforced to me how dependent we were upon each other. when i found them [still] waiting for me the next morning, i knew that they would go to the end of the world for me—and that feeling was the most important achievement. more important than any specific feat was the trust of these individuals who allowed me to see this place as a sort of home.

i thought that these dogs deserved to get back to their home. in the end, i was responsible for their lives, and i was absolutely determined that i would come back with these ten characters. more or less right then i decided to turn around with them and go back.’

aaahhh!! where would we be without dogs?