In a Dorset Hollow Way (Part Two)

The soft sandstone sides of the Shutes Lane Hollow Way have become a home for rural graffiti, much of which follows familiar formulae but the exceptions are intriguing.  Interestingly there’s virtually no sex or politics to be seen.  Names and initials are present in great numbers as are images of eyes (evil and all-seeing) and hearts, most of which are simple incisions. Many have been scratched in haste while some display an interest in more finished letter forms with serifs and downstrokes.  A few have taken the time to record aphorisms and more enigmatic text elements.  The images of human heads fall broadly into three categories - simple incisions, basic formal modelling and complex modelling with spatial recession.  Examples of non-human heads are usually non-specific while reflecting the visual clichés of the horror genre.  I have been told I missed the single example of an unambiguously female head but many are gender non-specific.  Homer Simpson makes two appearances alongside Stewie from Family Guy but nobody else can easily be recognised.  More than a few share the characteristics of Outsider Art and communicate a genuine sense of human despair with conviction on a sliding scale from expressions of mild despondency to an existential scream of desperation drawn from the inorganic depths.  There are expressionless eyes that appear to stare back at us as if they’ve been witnesses to unimaginable terrors and mouths that exhale the odour of brimstone. Then there are those that promise more than they can deliver - hours of hard labour carving out an emblem of terror and ending up with something faintly comic.  Happiest of all are the unambitious mark makers whose scratchy efforts have a light charm. Finally - a salute to the five-legged elephant.

 

In a Dorset Hollow Way (Part One)

The existence of Hollow Ways (aka Sunken Lanes) has long been a source of fascination to scholars of the countryside.  Ancient trackways where centuries of human and livestock traffic together with floodwaters and natural erosion have embedded their presence deep in the rural topography.  Exposed tree roots and ferns cling to the steep sides of the pathway as it passes through an arboreal overhead canopy that filters the sunlight.  They form most readily in areas where the underlying geology is least resistant such as chalk downland or greensand. The county of Dorset has many examples, of which one of the best known is Shutes Lane on the Symondsbury Estate to the west of Bridport.

The cumulative effect of atmospheric stillness, dappled, contrasting light effects, luxuriant vegetation, a sense of enclosure and the visual drama of the craggy exposed and weathered geology is enough to stir the spirit of the most materialist explorer.  For those of a more Romantic disposition it can be a starting point for all manner of fantastical imaginings and mysterious speculations - the presence of faeries, piskeys and elvish folk can be felt, forever just outside the field of visibility.  An alert student of landscape formation will be intrigued by the tactile record of the passage of time measured in centuries - a record more easily read and understood than elsewhere.  With the relentless expansion of agri-business and agri-chemicals leading to depleted natural habitats and the irretrievable loss of species diversity, exacerbated by extreme weather events, a new sense of urgency has typified recent literature on the countryside and unsurprisingly writers have turned their attention to the survival of England’s Hollow Ways as places largely untouched by the mixed blessings of scientific advancement.

Walking the mudslides of Shutes Lane in winter can be heavy going but a month without rain has baked the surface of the path to the point that passing feet are grinding it into dust.  The sheer scale of it is impressive, massively exceeding others I’ve seen in Somerset and Devon, giving it the appearance of a chasm or canyon. We had the company of three grandchildren under 6 and they walked more than 4 miles without a mutiny.  What held their attention was the multiple hand carvings made in the soft sandstone of surpassing eccentricity which will be the subject of Part Two of this post.

 

Postcard of the Day No. 96 - Kentish Hop Pickers

The Kentish Hop Pickers formed a migrant labour force who travelled south from London to gather the seasonal crop every summer. Special trains run by the London, Chatham and Dover Railway would deliver entire families to the hop fields and the event was a major milestone in the working class Londoner’s calendar. Others would make the journey on the back of a lorry, piled high with bundles of bedding, pots and pans, and associated paraphernalia for survival in the Kent countryside. For many it was their only experience of rural life and a rare exposure to unpolluted air. Newspapers and magazines would record the event in a tone of sentimental familiarity, portraying the hop pickers as cheery ruffians, stout of heart and spirit, and always ready with a Cockney quip. Some typical press coverage can be seen here on the British Library blog. Postcards were produced in great numbers and presented a rare opportunity for the workers to be in front of the camera and see their likenesses mass produced for sale to the public. Pathé News cameras were often on hand to record the great exodus and the heartwarming spectacle of the labouring classes doing their bit for the nation’s beer drinkers.

In the postcards we see the full age range of the workforce from grizzled grandparents to babes in arms. Only a handful of children and young women defy tradition and go bare-headed - every man of working age shelters under a flat cap, a sun hat, or a bowler. The only collars and ties to be seen are worn by the Tallyman and his assistant whose job was checking and weighing the hop baskets. Some groups are posed with great solemnity, their faces frozen and devoid of expression - elsewhere, in less formal groupings, we get a sense of individual character and personality, some look exhausted while others look relaxed and cheerful. Most surviving participants, by now well past middle age, look back with fondness, recalling an exhilarating sense of exchanging the routines of city life for weeks of adventure in the great outdoors. These are the voices of those who took part as children - the views of those who laboured in the fields may well have been different.