Platypus Man

Magpie mythology and internet lies

Posted on January 17, 2024 by Platypus Man

Magpies are unmistakeable. Members of the crow family, seen from a distance they are long-tailed birds with distinctive black and white plumage. Up close, however, the colouration is more subtle. In the right light a Eurasian magpie’s wing feathers take on a purplish-blue iridescent sheen, while the tail bears hints of a subtle glossy green. It’s a handsome bird, and also – in some circles – a controversial one.

Some people dislike magpies because they are noisy, raucous birds that posture and strut around gardens, parkland and fields, apparently believing themselves to be top bird. Others object to their omnivorous lifestyle, which can include raiding the nests of smaller birds and carrying off their eggs and chicks. And their reputation for stealing jewellery and other bright, shiny objects wins magpies few friends amongst their human neighbours.

However, while their fondness for scavenging and their bully-boy tendencies on the bird table make them unpopular with squeamish bird lovers, it is their alleged association with Satan that upsets others. Yes, that’s right, folklore tells us that magpies are in league with the Devil. According to this tradition, magpies refused to join the other birds in mourning at Christ’s crucifixion, thus marking themselves out as the Devil’s own.

The magpie’s supposed indifference to Jesus’ crucifixion is just one of a huge number of tales and superstitions that surround this striking bird. In the UK, one of the first nursery rhymes many children hear is about magpies. The rhyme references the birds’ association with prophecy, and is found in countless variations up and down the country. Here is just one of them:

One for sorrow
Two for joy
Three for a girl 
Four for a boy 
Five for silver
Six for gold
Seven for a secret never to be told

So, according to this piece of folklore, the future that awaits you is indicated by the number of magpies you see. It’s a compelling part of our oral tradition, and I must confess that one day a little over a year ago – when a new baby was expected in our family – Mrs P and I happily counted the number of magpies we could see in order to predict the gender of the new-born. On the day in question we spotted three together in a field, and the baby, when born, was indeed a girl. Spooky!

The same nursery rhyme indicates that spotting a single magpie is a harbinger of bad luck. Again, this belief is deeply embedded within our culture. I clearly remember a former work colleague revealing that, when out for a drive in the countryside, he and his wife would wave vigorously to any lone magpies they spotted, because in so doing they were bidding farewell to ill-luck.

Alternatively, to dissipate the impending misfortune associated with seeing a single magpie, you should point it out to someone else, presumably on the basis that bad luck shared is bad luck halved. And if there’s nobody else around to take on the burden, the best course of action is to salute the magpie with a cheery ‘’Good morning Mr Magpie, how is your lady wife today?’ in the hope that he will take pity on you!

How did a single magpie become associated with bad luck? One theory is that, as magpies mate for life, seeing one by itself may suggest that its partner has perished. The surviving magpie has therefore suffered bad luck, and associating with it may cause its bad luck to transfer to the observer. However, by asking after the welfare of the lone magpie’s wife you demonstrate your belief that his partner is alive and well, which, if true, means no bad luck awaits you.

As well as waving to a lone magpie, or asking after the health of his wife, there are other ways in which the bad luck might be avoided. These include raising your hat to the bird, spitting three times over your shoulder, blinking rapidly to fool yourself into thinking you’ve seen two magpies rather than one, and flapping your arms about wildly and cawing loudly to mimic the magpie’s missing mate. But be warned: most of these activities, if undertaken in public, are likely to result in ridicule, arrest or an enforced appointment with a psychiatrist.

This post barely scratches the surface of the superstitions surrounding magpies. Variations on the theme include the following:

In Scotland, a single magpie seen near a window warns of an impending death. However, in the county of Sussex a magpie perched on a house roof is a good sign, indicating that the roof isn’t about to cave in.
In Wales, if you see a magpie moving from left to right when you set off on a journey, that journey will be hazardous.
Yorkshire folk associate magpies with witchcraft, and when seeing one (a magpie that is, not a native of Yorkshire!) you should make the sign of the cross to ward off evil spirits.
According to tradition in the county of Dorset, if a fisherman sees a magpie before he sets sail he won’t catch any fish that day.
In Somerset it is advised that you carry an onion with you at all times to protect you from the bad luck a magpie may bring. (As an aside, while I cannot testify as to the veracity of this advice I will readily admit that during my working life I sometimes kept a bulb of garlic in my office to ward off the accountants. I’m pleased to say it seemed to work!)

Regular readers of my blog will know I have a passion for folk music, and it’s therefore a pleasure to share with you below a link to a song about magpies. The harmonies may be challenging, but the story told is highly relevant to this post. It was written around 50 years ago by a guy called Davey Dodds. The story goes that one day Davey gave an old lady a lift in his new car. Davey was bemused, and probably a little horrified, when the lady insisted on shrieking “Devil, devil, I defy thee”, and spitting on the floor of his Jaguar every time she saw a magpie.

Intrigued, Davey looked into the mythology of magpies, and this song is the result. Its lyrics* reference some of the magpie superstitions I’ve written about in this post, and others that I haven’t had space to include. This version on YouTube was recorded in 2014 by a trio of singers called the BlueBirds.

At first glance, magpie mythology is totally out of place in our rational, comfortable, well ordered 21st century lives. I mean, it’s all a load of nonsense, isn’t it? Of course it is! But on the other hand, the mere fact that humans embraced these stories for millennia tells us a lot about our species. Our ancestors believed that magpies were the Devil’s disciples. Gullible, weren’t they?

Today, large sections of society enthusiastically embrace the conspiracy theories and other vile lies peddled relentlessly on the internet. Their need to feel good about themselves, their quest for certainty and their desperate desire for simple answers to complex questions leads them to believe stuff that is patently ridiculous, often downright dangerous and occasionally evil. Gullible, aren’t we?

* * * * * * *

* The complete lyrics to Davey Dodds’ song are as follows

Chorus (after every other verse)
One for sorrow, two for joy,
Three for a girl and for for a boy,
Five for silver, six for gold,
Seven for a secret never told,
Devil, devil, I defy thee.
Devil, devil, I defy thee.
Devil, devil, I defy thee.

Oh, the magpie brings us tidings
Of news both fair and foul;
She's more cunning than the raven,
More wise than any owl.

For she brings us news of the harvest
Of the barley, wheat and corn.
And she knows when we'll go to our graves
And how we shall be born.

She brings us joy when from the right,
Grief when from the left.
Of all the news that's in the air
We know to trust her best.

For she sees us at our labour,
And mocks us at our work.
And she steals the egg from out of the nest,
And she can mob the hawk.

The priest, he says we're wicked
To worship the devil's bird.
Ah, but we respect the old ways
And we disregard his word.

For we know they rest uneasy
As we slumber in the night.
And we'll always leave a little bit of meat
For the bird that's black and white.

A good year for windmills

Posted on January 10, 2024 by Platypus Man

Have I mentioned that Mrs P is fascinated by windmills? She grew up in a village just a few minutes drive from here, a village that boasts a highly unusual six-sailed windmill that I wrote about in this post a couple of years ago. I guess it was this magnificent structure that fired her interest in all windmills, wherever they are. And so it is that, whenever we’re travelling about the country, we seek out and visit any windmills in the neighbourhood. Last year, 2023, was a good year for windmills!

Perhaps I should clarify what I mean by a windmill. Encyclopaedia Britannica defines it as a “device for tapping the energy of the wind by means of sails mounted on a rotating shaft.” I understand this to mean that windmills power machines used to process a range of materials, including the milling of grain into flour, the sawing of timber and the manufacture of goods such as paper and paint.

***Jill windmill, Clayton, West Sussex***

These days, however, “windmill” is also used in some quarters to describe those towering, gleaming edifices used to generate electricity from wind power. Most people I know refer to the latter as wind turbines, and although we have no problem with them (in the right place!), they all look pretty much identical and have nothing to recommend them in terms of their individual character or history. To be absolutely clear, Mrs P and I do not spend our days out visiting and taking photos of wind turbines…we may be a little bit eccentric, but we’re not totally out to lunch!

***Ovenden windmill, Clayton, West Sussex***

In terms of their history, windmills have been around for over a thousand years. The earliest written references are from Persia – now Iran – in 644 AD and 915 AD. The use of windmills in Europe expanded rapidly from the 12th century onwards, and they remained a visible and vital part of the landscape until the early 20th century. Today they have little practical value, but as reminders of a simpler, lost world they have many fans. Across the country nostalgic groups of windmill enthusiasts work hard to maintain many of those that still survive, much to the delight of Mrs P.

Left: Chailey windmill, East Sussex. Middle top: Berkswell windmill, West Midlands. Middle bottom: Oldland windmill, Keymer, West Sussex. Right: Brill windmill, Buckinghamshire

An interesting example of this enthusiasm is Chinnor Windmill in the county of Oxfordshire. Built in 1789 as a flour mill, it was abandoned in 1923 and finally condemned in 1967 to make way for a housing development. However, someone involved with this decision had the foresight to recognise that future generations might be interested in this local landmark, so instead of outright demolition the mill was dismantled and some of its components put into storage. Forgotten for many years, the pieces of old windmill were rediscovered in 1980 and plans were set in motion to rebuild it a short distance from its original location. As Mrs P’s photo shows, this was good decision!

Left: Hawridge windmill, Cholesbury, Buckinghamshire. Middle: Lacey Green windmill, Buckinghamshire. Right: Herstmonceaux windmill, East Sussex.

The “Jill” Windmill at Clayton in West Sussex is another fine example of a restored windmill. First built in 1821, it ceased operation in 1906 and was badly damaged by wind two years later. Basic restoration was carried out in 1953, and in 1978 work was undertaken to restore it to full working order. Flour produced by the mill is sold to visitors on Sundays, when it is opened to the public.

Left: Green Ridge windmill, Patcham, West Sussex. Centre left: West Blatchington windmill, Brighton West Sussex. Centre right: Ringle Crouch Green windmill, Sandhurst, Kent. Right: Stone Cross windmill, East Sussex

Ovenden Windmill in Polegate, East Sussex survived longer as a commercially active mill. Built in 1817, the mill continued to be wind powered until 1942. It was then powered by an electric motor until it ceased operation in 1965. At this point it was bought by a Preservation Trust, which set about restoration work. The windmill’s future now appears secure, but sadly members of the public are no longer able to enter it as the floors in the tower have been deemed unsafe. Hopefully, one day, they will raise enough money to sort out the problem, but until then visitors will have to be content with viewing the windmill from the outside only.

Left: Rottingdean windmill, East Sussex. Top right: Quainton windmill, Buckinghamshire. Bottom right: Kings windmill, Shipley, West Sussex

Each windmill in today’s landscape has its own unique history and challenges. Mrs P took photos of nearly 20 new windmills last year. It seems like a lot, but there are still hundreds more to track down, scattered up and down the country. That should keep us busy for a few more years!

A remarkable Scottish woman and an unexpected Japanese garden

Posted on January 3, 2024 by Platypus Man

The visitor to Scotland is guaranteed lots of treats, including rugged mountains and romantic castles, glittering lochs and golden beaches. And maybe even a glimpse of a majestic red deer showing off an impressive rack of antlers. But a Japanese garden that’s more than a century old? Really?

The Japanese Garden at Cowden Castle was the brainchild of pioneering Scottish traveller and explorer Isabella Christie (1861-1949), better known to family and friends as ‘Ella’. Daughter of a Scottish industrialist and landowner, from an early age Christie made annual trips to Europe with her parents. When her mother died she continued to travel with her father and also alone or with a friend, visiting Syria, Egypt and Palestine.

Christie’s wanderlust, as well as her bank balance, received a boost following the death of her father in 1902. From 1904 to 1905 she travelled east to India, and then on to Kashmir, Tibet, Ceylon, Malaya and Borneo. Two years later she visited China, Korea and Japan. In 1910 and again in 1912 she took herself off to the Russian Empire, travelling part of the Silk Road and visiting Ashkhabad, Bukhara, Samarkand, Tashkent and Khiva. At a time when most of her contemporaries found their horizons severely restricted by prevailing attitudes towards women, Ella Christie broke the mould.

As an intrepid and inquisitive traveller Christie* must have been exposed to a huge variety of new ideas, but it was Japanese gardens that particularly captured her imagination. So, following her return from the orient in 1908, she decided to recreate a taste of Japan in her own backyard.

Christie’s home was at Cowden Castle just outside the small town of Dollar, lying 36 miles north west of Edinburgh and 37 miles north east of Glasgow. She decided to set aside 7 acres (3 hectares) of the castle’s grounds to create her own Japanese garden. To plan and design it she enlisted the skills of Taki Handa (1871-1956), a Japanese garden designer who was studying in England at the time. This seemingly routine appointment was in fact revolutionary, with the Japanese Garden at Cowden becoming the first and only garden of its size and scope to be designed by a woman.

The work involved in creating the garden at Cowden included damming a stream on the castle estate to create an artificial loch [lake], importing plants, shrubs, trees and a traditional stone lantern from Japan, and building a tea house. It was clearly a job well done, as in the mid-1920s Professor Jijo Suzuki, Head of the Soami School of Imperial Garden Design at Nagoya, declared Cowden to be the best Japanese garden in the western world.

In its heyday the Cowden Japanese Garden enjoyed a steady stream of visitors, but after Christie’s death in 1949 things began to go downhill. The garden opened to the public for the last time in 1955, and in 1963 it was badly vandalised by local teenagers when tea houses and bridges were burnt to the ground, and stone lanterns were thrown into the water.

The garden languished – largely untended and apparently unloved – for nearly half a century until, in 2008, it passed to Sara Stewart, Christie’s great, great niece. Determined to restore the garden to its former glory, Stewart created a charitable trust for this purpose and led a fundraising campaign to raise £1m (USD 1.27m) to pay for it.

Restoration began in 2014, guided by the renowned Japanese architect and garden designer Professor Masao Fukuhara. Although the project was not completed until 2022, Cowden Japanese Garden re-opened to the public in 2017 as a “work in progress”.

We visited the garden a few months ago and were pleased to see that Ella Christie’s achievement has been successfully revived. The garden is clearly not in the same league as those of – say – Kyoto and Tokyo, but as a taster of an approach to garden design that most Brits will find unfamiliar it’s definitely worth a visit.

Ella Christie* called her garden Shāh-raku-en, meaning a place of pleasure or delight, and that name is well merited. Its restoration serves as a fitting memorial to a formidable and truly remarkable woman.

___ ___ ___ ___ ___

Footnote – more about Ella Christie

***IMAGE CREDIT: Anon. none given by Nat’l Library of Scotland – dated 1909, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons***

* Ella Christie was –

fluent in four languages
the first western woman to meet the Dalai Lama
the first western woman to travel from Samarkand to Khiva
one of the first cohort of women to be elected Fellows of The Royal Geographical Society
a published author, who in 1925 wrote “Through Khiva to golden Samarkand; the remarkable story of a woman’s adventurous journey alone through the deserts of Central Asia to the heart of Turkestan“

Burton Constable Hall celebrates Christmas

Posted on December 20, 2023 by Platypus Man

Many of the UK’s grand stately homes rely on entrance fees to pay for their upkeep. And their owners have long recognised that a few random yuletide decorations, plus the occasional fir tree draped in flashing lights, are a sure-fire way to boost winter visitor numbers and income. After all, we Brits are creatures of habit – we’ve seen all of this a hundred times before but, what the hell, it’s the season of goodwill so we’ll gladly pay to see it again somewhere else. And so it was that this year Mrs P and I ended up at Burton Constable Hall.

Located in a sparsely populated corner of East Yorkshire, Burton Constable Hall dates from the mid-16th century. A couple of hundred years later it had become unfashionable, and so was substantially redesigned and rebuilt in the 1760s by owner William Constable (1721-1791) to give us the building we see today.

The exterior of the Hall is impressive, but not nearly as spectacular as its interior. Some of the stately homes we have visited over the years at Christmas have gone so overboard with their seasonal decorations that the rooms themselves have almost become invisible. You could be anywhere, with the merits of the buildings becoming lost beneath a mound of gaudy yuletide bling.

Fortunately this was not the case at Burton Constable, where the grand rooms remained the stars of the show. The Christmas trees – often tucked away unobtrusively in corners – and other decorations we encountered were well executed without being excessive, discreet seasonal additions that in no way detracted from the Hall’s Georgian elegance.

Having said that, we look forward to returning at another time of year, when Christmas is but a distant memory, to focus exclusively on Burton Constable’s history, architecture and design. This is an exceptional building, regardless of the season of the year, and deserves to be better known than appears to be the case.

And with that, it’s time for me to sign off for 2023 by thanking anyone out there who ever reads or comments on this blog. Your continuing interest has helped keep my spirits up throughout another challenging year. It’s my absolute pleasure to wish you a Merry Christmas, and Happy & Healthy New Year. See you in 2024, guys!

A jewel in the crown of the UK’s heritage railways

Posted on December 13, 2023 by Platypus Man

The Bluebell Railway is without doubt a gleaming jewel in the crown of the UK’s heritage railways. Its locomotives puffing serenely through 11 miles (18 km) of rolling countryside in the county of Sussex, the Bluebell is thought by many to be England’s best steam railway experience. So, when we were in the area earlier this year, we decided to check it out for ourselves.

Railway nostalgia is big business in the UK. There are, astonishingly, well over 200 “minor and heritage railways” operating across the country as a whole. According to the government’s Office of Rail and Road (ORR):

“Minor and heritage railways are ‘lines of local interest’, museum railways or tourist railways that preserve, recreate or simulate railways of the past, or demonstrate or operate historical or special types of motive power or rolling stock….Much of the rolling stock and other equipment used on these systems is original and is of historic value in its own right. Many systems deliberately aim to replicate both the look and operating practices of historic former railways companies.
Source: ORR website, retrieved 7 December 2023

The Bluebell Railway, which is named for the profusion of bluebells that flower in the area each spring, fits the ORR’s definition perfectly. It is Britain’s oldest preserved standard-gauge railway, and is run by the Bluebell Railway Preservation Society. The Society ran its first train in August 1960, less than three years after British Railways closed the line to “regular” rail traffic. A ride from one end of the line to the other takes around 40 minutes, but most passengers break their journeys to explore what each of the stations along the route have to offer.

The star attractions are, of course, the vintage steam locomotives. They seem to have personality, not something I would ever say about 21st century railway technology. And don’t you just love the sooty smell of a locomotive in full steam, a smell from another era that seems out of place in our sanitised modern age. The Bluebell Railway Preservation Society has more than 30 steam locos under its care, making this the second largest collection in the country after the National Railway Museum at York. We were pleased to see – and smell! – several in action during the course of our visit.

In addition to the wonderful locos there are nearly 150 carriages and wagons, most of them dating back to the first half of the twentieth century. As well as riding some of the rolling stock as it trundles along the Bluebell’s tracks, it’s also possible for visitors to get up close and personal with more examples in the huge loco sheds and carriage workshop.

But it’s not just the rolling stock that offers glimpses of a lost world. The stations have been restored to show how they would have looked at different stages in the line’s history: Sheffield Park Station reflects the 1880s, Horsted Keynes Station the mid-1920s and Kingscote Station the 1950s. As a result, the Bluebell Railway and its stations have been used as locations for scenes in movies including Muppets Most Wanted, and period TV dramas like Downton Abbey.

**A souvenir of the** ***Downton Abbey period tv drama!***

In common with every other heritage railway, the Bluebell is dependent on volunteers. There are some paid staff, but most of the people keeping the show on the road do it for free, and presumably for fun.

The cynic in me says that the anachronistic steam locomotives are little more than “big boys’ toys,” while the guys (and it is, I think, mostly men) who dress up as train drivers, guards, signal operators and buffet car assistants are a bit like Peter Pan, kids who never quite managed to grow up!

But where’s the harm in that? The Bluebell has clear educational value, it boosts the local economy by attracting tourists and keeping them entertained, and enables ordinary people to play an active role in a wider community venture. Everyone’s a winner on the iconic Bluebell Railway.

Peter Pan, Castle Howard and Christmas

Posted on December 6, 2023 by Platypus Man

By late November Christmas is already impossible to avoid. Television channels are boasting endlessly about their holiday schedules. Shops are groaning under the weight of seasonal goodies. A yuletide wreath, laden with holly and ivy, is proudly displayed on a neighbour’s front door. And in stately homes up and down the land the Christmas lights and decorations are going up, sending their electricity bills through the roof. But no worries – we, the paying public, will cover the cost!

Castle Howard is a grand stately home in North Yorkshire. Dating from the 18th century, it’s said to be one of England’s finest historic houses, set in a parkland dotted with lakes, fountains, temples and statues. Twelve months ago we were fascinated by a television programme revealing the extraordinary lengths to which its owners go to attract hordes of additional visitors during the Christmas season, so this year we vowed to check it our for ourselves.

Every year Castle Howard selects a new theme for its Christmas celebrations, and in 2023 it is Peter Pan’s turn to put on a show. Here’s what the visitor guide has to say about it:

This year we fly to Christmas in Neverland, entering the world of J M Barrie’s boy who never grew up. It’s a world of sparkles and shadows, of pirates and mermaids, of shaggy dogs and Darlings, where dreams and reality fade imperceptibly from one to the other. Where better to find the story of daydreams made real than in the fantastical surroundings of Castle Howard?
Source: Printed guide for visitors to “Christmas in Neverland” at Castle Howard

Wow, they don’t lack ambition, do they? And modesty’s clearly not their strong point either! But is all this hype justified by the reality of Castle Howard’s extravaganza? Read on and find out.

Sadly, things don’t start well. We’ve already bought timed tickets over the internet, which should allow us to walk straight in at our allotted hour. But when we arrive queues are snaking out of the entrance into the courtyard, and it’s 30 minutes or more before we can get out of the cold and begin our tour.

My cynical outlook on life quickly leads me to conclude the underlying problem is greed, too many tickets sold in a feverish attempt to make as much money as possible. As it happens, a friendly member of staff suggests the problem is a coach full of visitors that has arrived late and thrown the rest of the day’s schedule into disarray. Hmm, OK, sounds plausible…maybe.

But anyway, all things must pass, and in due course we get into Castle Howard and begin our exploration of Neverland. And now I have a confession to make…Peter Pan’s never appealed to me! Don’t know why, but the concept of a perpetual child, his fairy companion and random pirates, Lost Boys and crocodiles leaves me cold.

***On the deck of the Jolly Roger, Captain Hook’s pirate ship***

So although a series of more than a dozen extravagantly dressed rooms and other spaces are designed to take the visitor chronologically through the Peter Pan story, it doesn’t really work for me as I’ve never read the book or seen the film. I must therefore judge what we see at Castle Howard simply as a visual spectacle, regardless of the links to J M Barrie’s tall tale.

As it happens, the spectacle is, well…spectacular. Although I don’t know the story I can appreciate the tableaux depicting it, including a bath-time scene, the deck of a pirate ship, a mermaid’s bedchamber and a dining table set out with a lavish Christmas feast.

With a nod in the direction of the Disney movie, there are also some action scenes created through the projection of moving shadows on to brightly lit walls and ceilings. These include the fairy Tinker Bell flitting hither and thither, and Peter Pan and the evil pirate Captain Hook fighting with cutlasses. It’s all very entertaining, enthralling visitors both young and old. At one point an enormous shadow crocodile appears out of nowhere and snaps his jaws at the horrible Hook. Go on my son, do your worst!

***The cutlass fight between Captain Hook and Peter Pan, cleverly depicted in moving shadows***

Clearly, no expense has been spared to create a festive atmosphere in Castle Howard’s Neverland. Coloured lights and lavish decorations abound, just what we need to get us in the mood for Christmas. And that’s what it’s all about, isn’t it. The world’s in a bad way right now, and an afternoon’s innocent escapism offers a welcome break from the relentless torrent of bad news that threatens to drown us all.

***Table laid for the Lost Boys’ feast***

Well done, Castle Howard, for this brave attempt to raise the spirits of your visitors. Even the queues didn’t spoil our day there – it’s the season of goodwill, after all, so I’ve forgiven you! But we must make a return trip at another time of year, so we can fully appreciate the house itself without being distracted by all that gaudy Christmas bling.

Mural reveals village’s hidden history

Posted on November 29, 2023 by Platypus Man

Murals are springing up all over my home county of Derbyshire. A little while ago I wrote about a magnificent painting of a kingfisher that had suddenly appeared on the side of a house in our local town. And just a couple of weeks later we came across another unexpected mural, this one featuring a railway locomotive in full steam.

To be fair, the steam train mural has been there since 2021, but it’s in a part of the county we rarely visit. Driving through the village, Westhouses appears totally unremarkable, and my initial reaction was to question why anyone would choose to cover one wall of its abandoned social club with a painting of a long extinct mode of transport. All of which proves how little I knew about the history of that corner of Derbyshire!

It turns out that Westhouses owes its very existence to railways. The village is named after West House Farm, but there was little if any other habitation in the area until the middle of the nineteenth century when the Midland Railway company drove a line through it to serve numerous local collieries and ironstone pits. The company needed to put in place a range of support facilities, and so in the 1870s it set about the creation of a new village, including workers’ houses, a school and a church, as well as a big engine shed to stable and maintain its locomotives.

Once upon a time railways were the lifeblood of Westhouses, but not now. Both the engine shed and railway station closed decades ago, and it seems improbable that any local people are now employed in the railway industry. However, residents remain proud of their connection with that industry, and when organisers of a community arts project searched for topics to engage local interest it’s no surprise that a steam locomotive was amongst those chosen.

The mural was painted by two artists from Leicester-based spray art collective Graffwerk. It took them five days of spraying to finish the job, and local train enthusiasts – many of whom had family connections with the Stanier 8F steam locomotive that is pictured – were on hand to make sure they got all the details absolutely right!

Trawling through social media posts dating from immediately after the project was completed in 2021, it’s clear that local residents were blown away to have such a wonderful piece of art in their village. Murals that are well chosen and brilliantly executed clearly have enormous power to bring whole communities closer together.

They are also a reminder to casual visitors such as me that seemingly ordinary places may have hidden histories that are well worth celebrating. Before seeing that mural I would never have given Westhouses a second glance, but having stumbled across it I was curious to know how and why it came to be there. So, thanks to the mural – and then the internet! – I did some research, and discovered the extent of my earlier ignorance. It’s clear there’s much more to Westhouses than I would ever have guessed, thanks to its proud railway heritage.

Powerful messages at the National Memorial Arboretum

Posted on November 22, 2023 by Platypus Man

My last post reflected on just a few of more than 400 memorials dotted around UK’s National Memorial Arboretum, memorials commemorating individual units of the armed forces, specific wartime incidents and sundry other causes and organisations. Today, I want to focus on two further memorials to be found at the Arboretum, particularly powerful pieces designed to make us all think hard about the nature and consequences of warfare.

Commemorating 306 British Army and Commonwealth servicemen executed during the First World War, “Shot at Dawn” is perhaps the most surprising of all the memorials. At first glance a sculpture in memory of men executed for – amongst other things – desertion and cowardice maybe sits uncomfortably alongside memorials to soldiers who died bravely while fighting for their country. But, of course, these days we know much more about the workings of the human mind than they did when senior officers were making life-and-death decisions at court martials over a century ago.

Based on our understanding today, there is good reason to believe that the behaviours leading to many of these executions were a result of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) or Combat Stress Reaction (CSR). If this is so, many of those shot at dawn were not bad men. Rather, they were guys who had been psychologically traumatised by the horrors of war.

The memorial statue portrays a young British soldier blindfolded and tied to a stake, hands bound behind his back, awaiting execution by firing squad. A small disc, hanging from a chain around his neck, marks the point at which his executioners have been ordered to aim. Arranged in a semi-circle behind the condemned man are stakes, each bearing the name of a man executed in this manner during the First World War.

Artist Andy DeComyn based his statue on a likeness of 17 year old Private Herbert Burden, who lied about his age to get into the army and was later executed for desertion. It is a poignant piece of work, a reminder that simple words like “coward” or “deserter” do not necessarily do justice to the realities of life – and death – on the battlefield.

As such, it also brings to mind Michael Morpurgo’s “Private Peaceful”, an insightful novel for young adults – later made into a stage play, concert and film – that featured at its heart a battlefield execution. In my view, Private Peaceful and Shot at Dawn should both be compulsory viewing for those who seek to portray warfare as a glorious or noble activity.

Poignant in a different way is “Every Which Way“, a memorial to the evacuation of children from cities to the relative safety of rural Britain during the Second World War. The memorial remembers the evacuation of millions of children separated from their families during the conflict. It also pays tribute to the adults who made this huge logistical operation a success, including train and coach drivers, teachers, nurses, billeting offices, and the foster parents who gave the evacuees temporary new homes.

The artist responsible for “Every Which Way” was Maurice Blik, who was commissioned by the British Evacuees Association (BEA). It is an outstanding, emotionally charged piece of work.

Here’s what Blik had to say about his sculpture when it was inaugurated in 2017:

The title of the memorial was inspired by one of the members of the BEA who on seeing my initial scale model of the sculpture, exclaimed ‘That’s it exactly – we were going every which way’…With the design I hope to convey some of the confusion and anxiety felt by the child evacuees. This is not a straight forward line of children about to set off on a journey; … items of clothing are back to front and luggage is split open to symbolise families being torn apart.”
Source: Maurice Blik, writing in his booklet about the memorial and quoted in the Volunteer London Blog

I leave you with this thought: Blik’s sculpture is a powerful, brilliantly executed reminder that innocent people, including children, inevitably get hurt in wars. We shouldn’t need reminding, but the daily reports of suffering, destruction and death in Ukraine and the Middle East suggest otherwise. Have we, as a species, learned nothing? In 1969, John Lennon urged us all to Give Peace a Chance, and today his words seem more relevant than ever.

***Photo Credit: by Miha Rekar on Unsplash***

Reflections on the UK’s National Memorial Arboretum

Posted on November 8, 2023 by Platypus Man

Next Sunday, 12 November, is Remembrance Sunday, when the UK reflects on the sacrifices made by men and women who have died in the service of their country. Services and ceremonies of remembrance will take place at locations up and down the country, including the National Memorial Arboretum in the county of Staffordshire.

The Arboretum opened in 2001, and exists to ensure that –

“the unique contribution of those who have served and sacrificed is never forgotten
the baton of Remembrance is passed on through the generations
there is a year-round space to celebrate lives lived and commemorate lives lost.”

I am, at heart, a child of the sixties, brought up in the era of the peace movement to the sound of Edwin Star reminding us that “War can’t give life, it can only take it away,” and John Lennon pleading with us all to “Give peace a chance“. I accept that warfare might sometimes be necessary as a last resort, the lesser of two terrible evils, but any attempt to promote or glorify it is, and will always be, anathema to me.

I therefore visited the National Memorial Arboretum earlier this year with a degree of trepidation, fearing it would be little more than a shallow, macho glorification of armed conflict, a misguided homage to the notion that “might is right”. As it happens, I had nothing to fear: taken as a whole, the memorials are broader in scope, more sensitive and more thought provoking than I had imagined. Indeed, some have little or no direct link to the military services.

More than 25,000 trees have been planted on the site, which was reclaimed from old gravel workings and measures around 150 acres (60 hectares). It currently hosts around 400 memorials to individual units of the armed forces, to specific incidents and to sundry other causes and organisations. Memorials come in all shapes and sizes, and in various materials including steel and bronze, as well as glass and stone.

The centrepiece is the Armed Forces Memorial, an imposing Portland marble installation upon which are engraved the names of around 16,000 servicemen and women who have died in the line of duty or been killed by terrorists since 1945. Inspired by monuments of prehistoric Britain, a 43 metres diameter stone structure sits atop an earth mound 6 metres high. Depressingly, there is space on the walls for another 15,000 names to be added.

The Polar Bear Memorial was the first memorial erected at the site, and was dedicated in 1998, three years before the official opening of the Arboretum. It’s a tribute to the 49th West Riding Infantry Division, who adopted their distinctive polar bear cap badge after service in Norway and Iceland in World War 2. Around its base are the badges of the regiments in the Division, and the towns liberated or defended by them. Inside the bear is a capsule carrying details of those who died, together with personal mementoes. Versions of the Polar Bear statue have been erected at towns liberated by them in World War 2.

Another thought-provoking memorial is that to the crews of submarines. The Submariner’s Memorial was designed by sculptor Paul Day. Its representation of a conning tower, through which a sailor gazes up longingly towards the sky, eerily conveys the sense of confinement that submarine crews must have felt every day.

Some memorials, including the Clapton Orient memorial, hint at a fascinating story. Why, the casual visitor might wonder, do a soccer ball and a pair of soccer boots flank an obelisk commemorating members of the 17th Battalion Middlesex Regiment? The inscription gives the answer, telling us that “Clapton Orient were the first football league club to enlist en masse to serve king and country during the Great War.”

The club’s players enlisted in December 1914, serving in what became known as the Footballers’ Battalion. The inscription goes on to tell us that “Many [of the footballers] sustained wounds, and three of the club’s players made the ultimate sacrifice during the Battle of the Somme.” The memorial is based on an original, paid for and unveiled by Orient fans in 2011 at Flers, in the heart of the Somme battlefield.

***Memorial to the Royal Army Medical Corps***

It is not just members of fighting units who are honoured at the National Memorial Arboretum. One of the most striking sculptural works on display is a bronze memorial commemorating the Royal Army Medical Corps (RAMC). Sculpted by Alan Beattie Herriot, it features a member of the RAMC carrying a wounded soldier over his shoulder. Since the foundation of the Corps in 1898, 29 medics have been awarded the Victoria Cross (VC), the highest and most prestigious decoration for military personnel in the British honours system.

***Memorial recalling the Christmas Day truce, 1914***

Another soccer-related memorial recalls the Christmas Day Truce in 2014, when British and German soldiers met in no man’s land to exchange gifts, take photographs and play impromptu games of football. For one day only these men decided to give peace a chance, and although hostilities resumed soon after, their action remains one of the most famous and inspiring encounters of the First World War. The memorial is based on a design by 10 year old Spencer Turner for the Football Association’s “Football Remembers” competition, and depicts a British and a German soldier shaking hands. Simple, but symbolic and very moving.

***The Aguila Memorial to 21 Wrens lost at sea in 1941***

It was not only men who gave their lives in the service of their country. The Aguila Memorial, carved from wood on a stone base, commemorates 21 members of the the Women’s Royal Naval Service (aka the WRNS / the Wrens) who were lost at sea in August 1941 when their ship the Aguila was torpedoed by a U-Boat. The Aguila was en route to Gibraltar where 12 of the Wrens were due to take up duties as cypher officers, and the other nine as wireless operators.

***“Free Spirit”, in memory of more than 1,000,000 horses and mules used by the British Army during WW1***

“Free Spirit” takes a very different look at the victims of warfare. Animals can be in the firing line too, and this bronze statue of a horse designed by Georgie Welch commemorates more than 1,000,000 horses and mules used by the British Army during the First World War. Most did not survive the ordeal.

One of the notable features of the National Memorial Arboretum is that it recognises wars are fought and won on the home front, as well as on the battlefield. One memorial, for example, commemorates the Bevin Boys. These were young British men conscripted to work in coal mines between December 1943 and March 1948, to increase the rate of coal production, which had declined through the early years of the Second World War.

Another memorial marks the contribution of the Women’s Land Army and Timber Corps, and rightly so: over the course of the two World Wars over 240,000 “Land Girls” and “Lumber Jills” produced desperately needed food and timber for the war effort.

The National Memorial Arboretum is full of surprises, and gives the visitor lots to think about. Two of the most striking memorials commemorate soldiers who were executed on the battlefield during the First World War, and children evacuated from their city homes into the countryside to protect them from bombing during the Second World War. This post is already far too long, so I will write about these two very different, and very special, memorials next time.

*** *** *** *** ***

Musical postscript

Writing this post has inevitably led me to a period of sombre reflection. At such times I tend to find that music – particularly within the broad tradition of English folk music – is better able to capture the emotions engendered by the realities and consequences of armed conflict than mere words written on a page. With that in mind, I offer you links to two songs that mean a lot to me. I hope they speak to you too. Listen, and quietly weep.

“And the band played Waltzing Matilda” was penned by Eric Bogle, a Scottish-born Australian singer-songwriter. It describes the grim realities and consequences of war, and the short-sightedness of those who seek to glorify it. Here is Bogle singing his anti-war masterpiece:

As a noted apologist for the British Empire, Rudyard Kipling, the English poet, short story writer, journalist and novelist, is not the obvious composer of an anti-war song. Perhaps he didn’t regard “Soldier, soldier” as an anti-war song at all? I do, for it is a stark reminder not only of the brutal consequences of war for the combatants, but of the pain and suffering of those watching from afar as events unfold on the battlefield. Here Kipling’s words are sung by English folk singers Anni Fentiman and Brian Peters, to an arrangement by Peter Bellamy

Wedding Cake – a temple of love in the English countryside

Posted on November 1, 2023 by Platypus Man

Portuguese artist extraordinaire Joana Vasconcelos has been at it again. I’ve written previously about her wonderful sculptural pieces, so when we read about the 12m high, three-tiered Wedding Cake installation she’s created at Waddesdon Manor in the English county of Buckinghamshire we were determined to check it out. We weren’t disappointed.

Vasconcelos describes Wedding Cake as “a temple of love”. The art, design and architecture website Wallpaper puts it this way:

Part sculpture, and part architectural garden folly, Wedding Cake is an extraordinary, gigantic, fully immersive sculpture that fuses pâtisserie, design and architecture.
Source: Wallpaper website, retrieved 23 October 2023

Wedding Cake is without doubt the Lisbon-based artist’s most ambitious work to date, baking in the oven of her imagination for more than five years. Clad in over 25,000 gleaming, icing-like ceramic tiles, the installation also boasts a vast array of ornaments in various forms, including mermaids, angels, candles and globes. Water spurts playfully from the mouths of dolphins, alongside ceramic cupids disporting themselves mischievously all around the circumference of this absurdly captivating creation.

The exterior is breathtakingly eye-catching, but there’s more. Stepping through intricate iron scrollwork doors, the visitor enters a colourful pavilion, a wedding chapel in which eight sky-blue columns bedecked in yellow stars support a domed ceiling designed to create the illusion of looking up at the sky. Its walls also feature sculptures of Saint Anthony, the patron saint of marriages and good luck, who was born in Lisbon.

**Inside the** ***pavilion, statues of St. James, patron saint of weddings and good luck, carrying a child in his arms***

As if one floor were not enough, ornate spiral staircases lead up to the second and third “tiers” of the cake, which offer new perspectives on Wedding Cake and the woodland grove in which it sits.

Here’s what Vasconcelos has to say about Wedding Cake –

“Many wedding cakes have pillars, columns, and tiers. In a way, my sculpture is about the relationship between these two worlds—pastry and architecture—that are not normally connected.”
Source: Quoted in the Vogue website, retrieved 24 October, 2023

Vasconcelos is clearly a creative eccentric. Fair to say, I’ve never seen anything quite like Wedding Cake before, nor do I expect to again. It’s definitely a one-off, a wacky, pastel-coloured masterpiece that is both preposterous and strangely compelling. Disappointingly, the reactions of fellow visitors were mixed. While some, like Mrs P and I, were blown away by the audacity of her creation, others weren’t convinced. “It’s too pink” said one woman, shaking her head vigorously and defying anyone to disagree with her.

Too pink? Duh! Can anything be too pink? I don’t think so. Just ask Barbie!.

Meanwhile, another visitor was moaning that Wedding Cake wasn’t at all what she’d expected. “Didn’t you do a bit of research and look at some photos of it before you decided to come along?” I asked sweetly.

“Yes, of course” she replied, regarding me as if I’d just crawled out from under a stone.

“And doesn’t what’s in front of you look just like what you saw in those photos?” I continued, the picture of innocence.

“Yes, but it’s not what I expected.” Oh dear, sometimes I despair, I really do! One of the purposes of art is to stimulate the imagination and encourage conversation, but there are some conversations I’d simply rather not have.

But hey, everyone – however weird! – is entitled to an opinion. And my opinion is that Wedding Cake confirms Joana Vasconcelos to be an artist of rare ambition and talent. I look forward to seeing more of her work in the future.

Now I'm 64

Reflections on life, the universe and everything.

Author: Platypus Man