Adam Nicolson writes lyrically in today’s Telegraph about Stonehenge and its problems. His solution is a radical one: to drive a 2.8 mile tunnel under the whole site, at a cost of £1,070 million. My solution is even more radical, at once populist and elitist. It is to pull down the horrible visitor centre, remove the car-park and make access as difficult as possible except on foot. Then I would look after the monument but stop promoting it as something for people to go and look at. In the immortal words of Adrian Mole, ‘Went to see Rob Roy’s grave. Saw it. Came back.’ What is the point? I think it perfectly reasonable that people should be able to see it from the road, thinking either, ‘OMG, WTF is that?’ or ‘Stonehenge already, I’m in good time’. Because we have lives, too, just as those now buried round about once did.
Remember ‘Seahenge’? I would have taken photographs of it from all angles, measured it so that a reproduction could be made and then let the sea take it back. Likewise, the Mary Rose would have stayed in her watery grave and all other wrecks, whether ships or planes and especially if they contained bodies, would rest on the sea bed suffering a sea-change. All mummies, bogmen, peatmen, icemen would stay in the quiet earth, not be exhumed and examined and exhibited to satisfy the morbid curiosity of the masses and the vanity of the professionals who extrapolate such fantastic theories from their discovery.
When you walk in the City of London you have 2,000 years of history under your feet but you don’t have to see it.
W H Auden wrote these wonderful lines:
‘Altogether elsewhere, vast
Herds of reindeer move across
Miles and miles of golden moss,
Silently and very fast.’
The past is ‘altogether elsewhere’ as much as a place may be. It is enough to know that it is there.
Remember ‘Seahenge’? I would have taken photographs of it from all angles, measured it so that a reproduction could be made and then let the sea take it back. Likewise, the Mary Rose would have stayed in her watery grave and all other wrecks, whether ships or planes and especially if they contained bodies, would rest on the sea bed suffering a sea-change. All mummies, bogmen, peatmen, icemen would stay in the quiet earth, not be exhumed and examined and exhibited to satisfy the morbid curiosity of the masses and the vanity of the professionals who extrapolate such fantastic theories from their discovery.
When you walk in the City of London you have 2,000 years of history under your feet but you don’t have to see it.
W H Auden wrote these wonderful lines:
‘Altogether elsewhere, vast
Herds of reindeer move across
Miles and miles of golden moss,
Silently and very fast.’
The past is ‘altogether elsewhere’ as much as a place may be. It is enough to know that it is there.
no subject
Date: 2006-06-17 04:30 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-17 07:06 pm (UTC)Yes, and to touch. But you are seeing through layers of knowledge and experience, both your own and other people's. I will never forget visiting Fountains Abbey on a foggy day. I 'knew' all about the Reformation but had never before had such a feeling of the 'bare ruined choirs'. The problem with this sort of feeling for the past is that it is best experienced alone. In our part of the world, go up to Badbury Rings or Maiden Castle and imagine the Romans are coming to get you. Up north, stand on the wall and imagine you're a legionary and the Picts are coming to get you. I wouldn't be sure how much of this was me and how much Kipling. I would still prefer to leave things be and let people get what they can from them. Naturally, I exclude books and artefacts but the landscape will inevitably change, in layers, as in London.
no subject
Date: 2006-06-17 08:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-17 08:50 pm (UTC)I so agree, and with what you say about gravestones and so on. A sudden glimpse into the past that comes from nowhere. I had this once visiting a local house which was open for Dorset Heritage Week. The terribly nice owner showed a small group of us around in person and she suddenly produced a little apron, eighteenth century, in the most vivid colours. For me, the pinny conjured up a whole domestic life.
The trouble with commentaries is that they vary so much in quality. If I were to visit war graves in France, for instance, I would not need to be told what I should think about it. This is why I can't bear the journalist Fergal Keane: instead of reporting, he tells you how you should feel.
no subject
Date: 2006-06-17 09:33 pm (UTC)I had a pinny moment when my mother, researching our family tree, produced an 18th C signature from an ancestor who was the maid of honour at a wedding on a parish record.
no subject
Date: 2006-06-17 09:44 pm (UTC)And I didn't think about the Reformation at Tintern Abbey; it was a cardinal (pun) point of the history course at my school that the Reformation never happened.
no subject
Date: 2006-06-18 05:23 am (UTC)What? Was it an RC school, or did you just not 'do' the sixteenth century?
no subject
Date: 2006-06-18 07:55 am (UTC)* and by any objective standard, actually was a traitor. Can you imagine the Wiliam Joyce Memorial School, or Kim Philby College? No, but Cardinal Langley, who performed very similar activities, was only a step or two below beatification. Go figure.
no subject
Date: 2006-06-19 02:56 pm (UTC)I'm now imagining this very hard indeed.