‘No sun-no moon! No morn- no noon – No dawn- no dusk – no proper time of day. No warmth, no cheerfulness, no helpful ease, No comfortable feel in any member – No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees, No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds! – November!’ Thomas Ho read more
Names on a Map So what is in a name? A rose is a rose is a rose? A spring is a spring by any other name? What poetry is there in the vowels and consonants That litter our landscape with their litany? What secrets of etymology and topography are revealed When we tramp th read more
Worklight Theatre in Stroud
Torches and performers set the stage alight as Worklight Theatre presented a narrative and analysis of the Summer of Discord, 2011. A speedy hour whizzed past as we witnessed the spectacle of that confusing time: just 2 years ago and it already seems like another age.
Yet the play reminded us how ‘the political rhetoric’ surrounding those riots has a history stretching back through the 20th century and to the Industrial Revolution. Talking of which, here’s an open offer to Worklight Theatre and Spaniel in the Works Theatre Company: let me know if you would like to get heads around the decade of Chartism in the Stroud Valleys, or the periods of weavers’ riots or food riots. That might be something too.
Fringe Review2012: ‘Theatre so spell-binding yet brutally honest and brave that it actually gave me goose bumps’
Broadway Baby 2012: ‘Professionally stunning…’
All of us in our group who went, from teenagers to citizens of seniority, would totally recommend seeing this whilst in our area:
26th, 27th, 28th, September, Cheltenham, Everyman
You get home from Southwold after a 5 hour drive and you’re slightly tired, even though you don’t drive. The fields resemble a Kansas harvest breadbasket, Keats whispers in the wind: ‘Where are the songs of Spring?’ and Seamus Heaney is dead, school’s back on Monday, war clouds are gathering. The holidays are well and truly over.
But a walk up the Albert on Stroud Fringe Saturday night restores your faith in humanity and the infinite possibilities of friendship. Not just old friends from ‘No Pasaran!’ like Becky and Dell, but also a new welcome from Folk in a Box. Out the back of the pub was a a group of bohos and hipsters even more boho and hipster than the usual for even the Albert. Behind them was a box.
I entered the sepulchral gloom within the portmanteau and sat opposite an invisible minstrel. What might happen? What could happen? Friend or foe? Confusion is the usual handmaiden of darkness – what if humiliation is the consequence? Robbery?
Instead, the troubadour strummed a guitar and sang me a song straight from the heart. Two strangers lost in darkness, yet establishing a union through the medium of music, a harmony where none existed before. ‘Folk in a Box’: singing inside a box, yet making waves through seven handshakes wherever they go.
When Giffords Circus pitches up on your green, Conventional wisdom is mesmerised: Enter the Big Top’s strange circumference And Euclid’s straight-line space-time dissembles Before your very eyes, Ladies and Gentlemen! All is magick, spectral, alchemical, Performers and read more
It was just another sultry Tuesday At the Clothiers Arms on the Bath Road, Beer and fags and crisps and mobile ‘phones, When a flash contingent of walkers popped up, All arrayed in Stroud Scarlet uniform: T-shirts, frocks, dresses, jackets, tunics, leggings, Seventy -fi read more
Meet at 11 o’clock outside the Prince Albert, Rodborough Hill. Up through Bisley Road to reach Stancombe and then on to Climperwell. Lunch at Brimpsfield in the churchyard by the medieval motte. Then on to Caudle Green. Back through Slad. Possibility of a stop at read more
Before I give details about the next walk, I do recommend a visit to ‘Water – The Miniature Museum of Memories’ at Stroud Museum (throughout May) and also ‘Walking the Land: River’, discussion 10-noon at Stroud Brewery, Thrupp, Saturday 18th May. RADICAL STROUD WA read more
Who Needs Google Earth?
I know that debate rages, dear readers, within you and without you, as to the respective merits of Flann O’Brien’s “The Third Policeman” and his wonderful “At Swim Two Birds”. Personally, I probably enjoy re-reading the latter even more than the former; be that as it may, it is the Policeman that we need to guide us on our next walk: Mothering Sunday, March 10th. Meet outside the Prince Albert at 11.15 or outside the Crown and Sceptre at 12.30 for a walk around the Heavens and the Edgelands of Stroud – three hours at the most, then into Number 23 in Nelson Street for a chinwag in the bistro.
But here is your preparatory reading:
Chapter 3 in Flann O’Brien’s “The Third Policeman” has a diverting section on walking, emanating from the pen of the imaginary mad-savant, de Selby. O’Brien’s eccentric, but, alas, fictional genius, saw roads as “the most ancient of human monuments, surpassing by many tens of centuries” the most ancient of stone edifices created by humanity. De Selby talked of “the tread of time” and how “a good road will have character and a certain air of destiny, an indefinable intimation that it is going somewhere, be it east or west, and not coming back from there.” The unconstrained thoughts of de Selby led him to the conclusion that “If you go with such a road…it will give you pleasant travelling, fine sights at every corner and a gentle ease of peregrination that will persuade you that you are walking forever on falling ground.” I am sure you can see the converse: “…if you go east on a road that is on its way west, you will marvel at the unfailing bleakness of every prospect and the great number of sore-footed inclines…”
De Selby also wrote of urban walking, of “a complicated city with nets of crooked streets and five hundred other roads leaving it for unknown destinations.” Needless to say, “a friendly road” “will always be discernible for its own self and will lead you safely out of the tangled town.” Thus, I think we can say that we do not need Google Earth or even an OS map to guide us both into Stroud and out towards the Heavens or Rodborough Fields or the Slad Valley. Instead, we might carry a copy of Colin Ward’s “Talking Green”, stopping to look at paragraph two on age 44: “Cherished corners of the landscape can be changed beyond recognition in a few hours. Trees, streams, footpaths, buildings, symbols of permanence which transcend ownership, may suddenly disappear.”
Just as the price of liberty might be eternal vigilance, so might be the price of the right road.