New thatch on a house at East Coker, England, 1962. Photo / Peter Cape
Opinion:
I was talking recently with a local librarian. Being, as they are, a font of all knowledge, I was heartened to learn that apparently I am not alone, finding life frustrating, isolationary, in a holding pattern over the last year.
She'd seen fewer people visiting the library and they seemed quieter and self-contained. I've unwillingly tolerated travel and social plans being altered, sometimes at the last minute, with long-term ideas changed or shelved.
Prospects, for many, seem uncertain and volatile. Recounting my family's journey through the British Isles is somehow therapeutic; a welcome reminder that return to gentler climes is possible. The English countryside, and craft society, holds an air of romance (depending on where one looks) captured in poetry and folksong.
I went busking for the first time in months in Dannevirke today. It was a small step towards thawing the ice of isolation and I made $17.40, and a rubber band. This was perhaps symbolic. A retro move. A return to basics.
Apparently, people are now planting vegetable gardens. Why queue at checkouts when you can pick fresh? With shelter, food and water, Maslow's hierarchy of needs is being rejuvenated.
Those aspects of life were very much part of our tour as my father interviewed craftsmen, officials in the field of social development, politicians, artists and historians. It was 1962. The Cape family (Peter, Barbara, Stephanie, Christopher and nine white mice, in a 1948 Ford Anglia) was on a working tour of the British Isles and the Continent. We had reached Bristol from London as I take up my father's diary account.
August 1, 1962, Wednesday, Arbor Day
Early start and into Bristol by 10am. Found COI [Central Office of Information] hadn't been notified of our visit. (Manchester, Edinburgh, Llanelly and Reading have). Managed a call on Children's Services Director, and arranged calls on a cheese factory for tomorrow (must go to Yeovil for it though).
Had car greased, visited cathedral, which has carved and painted stone reredos in Lady Chapel (photographed) and a wonderfully preserved Norman chapter house. Looked at Bristol crafts centre and bought crystal, then south to camp. Passed Mudford Sock (other unbelievable names have been seen in Cornwall: Come-to-Good, London Apprentice, Week St Mary, Gusto day, Street-On-The-Fosse). Started to rain.
August 2, 1962, Thursday
Rain clears. We discover ancient stone saying: "Here endeth J---- road". Doing some washing (did an enormous swag in Bristol yesterday) and off to the cheese farm seven miles past Yeovil. Shown (when we found the place) all cheddar cheese processes. They make Superfine cheese, and they gave us samples of many cheeses as well as about 1½ lbs to take away. On — or rather back — to East Coker.
Lovely little village, tho can't so far see connect with Four Quartets — perhaps St Claire school a clue – looked like old nunnery. (Poet TS Elliot visited East Coker in 1937. His poem "East Coker" was published in his 1943 book Four Quartets) Talked to thatchers working – 54 thatchers in Dorset.
Lunch on the way to Ilchester where we see sculptured thatch with straw birds on top. Then to Bath (a lovely town, struck me the same way as Chch (Christchurch) did when I first saw it – lovely air and light, bridges – old buildings) by way of cornfields being flown over, Van Gogh-like, by crows. Out of Bath on the Dinsley road. Spent time finding camping place – tried to climb a steep hill – but for car, 1 in 4 won't go. Camped by Belan road.
August 3, 1962, Friday
Another noisy night – when it's not traffic, it's birds. A goodish start, and on to Nymphfield (lovely name) where we vanished into a Neolithic burial chamber under Uley Bury Tumelus. Lovely campsite just next door. Then (with views of the Severn and Wales) to Strand. Shopped, went round Strand three times trying to find way out, and on to Plainswick to find a heraldic painter.
Found, instead, an entire exhibition by Gloucestershire Craft Guild – all earning a substantial part of their income through potting, weaving, glass engraving, woodcarving etc. Had time, because exhibition only being set up, to talk to everyone. Some lovely stuff – painting, glass engravings and natural wool tweeds.
Raining now. On to Prinknash Abbey, where we looked at their pots and had a cup of tea, then to the Widcombe Roman villa - tiles and walls remaining of a villa with a lovely view of a valley. Camped in rain under trees beside cricket pitch.
August 4, 1962, Saturday
Rain stops, but Bank Holiday traffic goes on - all night: two A roads cross here, and dozens of people pause for thermos flasks of tea. Away by 10 and into Gloucester. Lovely day for shopping and exploring. Had trouble cashing traveller's cheque – one place refused because he couldn't see "why he should do the bank's work!" Bloody English "it's not my job" attitude. Saw Gloucester Regimental Museum and folk museum in Bishop Hooper's lodging. Lovely old folk relics. Cathedral lovely outside, but inside Norman and Decorated don't mix.
Off to Cheltenham, a lovely town, then into the Cotswolds to Winchcombe – a village in golden Cotswold stone (ph) then to the W (Winchcomb) pottery: saw Finch and bought a couple of pots. On to Hailes Abbey (Reformed desecration) caretaker gives us eggs, lets us into museum altho it's shut, and lets us camp on the lawn. Cat gets two mice during night.
(Back note: listened to BBC Compline on radio. Strange, at ruins of Hailes Abbey to hear men's voices chanting). Dr Foster came to Gloucester.
My father's diary recounts the British tourist with their thermos flasks of tea. I'm sure while we thought of them as eccentric, they thought of us as odd. When it comes to tea breaks and picnics, differences probably hark back to civilised and colonial roots.
The Brits would stop for tea and they would literally set up shop with table and chairs, teapot and biscuits, tablecloth, napkins and silver service, or its close relative, though they may have left the butler behind.
We colonists on the other hand spread a car rug in the ground and unloaded food, tea and biscuits on to plates at ground level. We never had a butler. It was cause for constant amusement with my parents.
There were risks at ground level, of course. I recall on one occasion sitting at the edge of the rug on long grass I nearly leapt out of my skin when a grass snake slithered over my outstretched hand through the foliage.
Grass snakes are harmless. How was I to know that!? We travelled with a collection of pet mice, housed in a cage at the car's back window.
They were good company for my sister and me. My mother used to say she had to shake me when I got out of the car so the mice would fall out of my clothing and I'm sure Britain's ecology was critically enhanced by our contributions of escapees.
Chris Hipkins agreed to meet him in Wellington after the Prime Minister said 'no'.