Waterscape

Walking and Pop-up Open-air Museums

Purton and the River Severn Walking around Purton on the River Severn is almost literally rather than figuratively a pop-up experience. The biggest riverine boat-grave in Britain: old boats and barges rammed into the river bank to try and keep it stable. And there are the boats: rusting, mouldering, skeletal and cadaverous, beached in a liminal half-solid, half squelching aqueous mud-scape. There they lie, some staring out mutely at the rushing river. Others are slip-sliding away to oblivion. After our trip in the Bongo, we drove back along the A38 to find a spot for the night. Where better than Arlingham? We camped at Weston Farm, right next to field after field of orchards, and field after field of medieval ridge and furrow: an open-air pop-up of corrugated pasture, and sea-waves of grassland rolling between and across the hedgerows (in a manner or manor of speaking). After a day’s walking near the river, we sat on the Severn’s banks, as the sun set, with Billy the horse a haunting silhouette against the red-streaked sky. We lay back and listened to the waters, stared up at the swallows, still high in the sky, until our reverie was disturbed by the pounding of feet. “Is the tide coming in or going out?” We said we weren’t sure. He said, “I run across the river near here.” This seemed improbable but who are we to doubt the words of a local: an almost strangely mythopoeic figure, redolent of ‘The Other’ in the walks, accounts and poems of Edward Thomas. Preoccupied by that quicksilver reflection, I forgot to ask him how had he learnt the safe route across this treacherous...
Canal Life

Canal Life

Canal Life by Jon Seagrave.

OK, let’s start with the pretty picture. You can imagine it: pale winter sun and a light mist rising from the still water; the air perfumed with the sweet sulphur of coal-smoke, curling in slow wreaths across the frosted towpath. An early morning cyclist creaks through the stillness, past the endless, jumbled line of colourful boats, roofs piled high with flower-pots and bicycles, firewood and coal-sacks. A black flag hangs limply from a cane. Somewhere an ancient Lister engine coughs into life, a slow, erratic chug, as someone gets ready for a pre-breakfast move. It’s like a tiny town, transient and ever-shifting. No grid electricity. No mains water. Just one long street…

There’s lots of mornings just like that. They help you keep going.

So I lived on the canal. This was something that was bound to happen at some point, what with canals being edge places, and- without getting too Will Self about it- I’m deeply attracted to edge places. They’re somehow ingrained in my psyche; a youth spent exiled on the Outer London suburban margins seems to have stained me indelibly, however much I longed to escape it at the time. Adult me just can’t walk through a nice, juicy transitional interzone without getting all worked up. I’m hot for a liminal hotspot, and few places flaunt this status more brazenly than the canal.

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Drought

Drought

‘For the rain it raineth every day’:

Floods in the Slad Road when it raineth every day,

Springs and streams racing down five valleys

When the rain it raineth every day.

But drought can bring its own problems too:

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Oakridge and The Mason – Dixon Line

Oakridge and The Mason – Dixon Line

It must have been bit like this
When the turnpike trusts improved a road,
Or the inland navigators came to town and village:
Severn Trent out there outside Sapperton Church,
Putting in new pipes,
Such noise and mayhem
And workers whose accents
Were a long way from home.
It brought the children out to watch.
What else is there to do in the country in the 18th century?

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River Prints

River Prints

With many thanks to Lucy Guenot:

1. R is for River
Letterpress print, playing with Severn names

2. Severn seeks the sea
Linocut and letterpress, using a phrase from one of Frank Mansell’s Cotswold Ballads: ‘The roads go down’

3. River Frome 1
Linocut of the Frome in the Nailsworth valley

4. River Frome 2
Linocut of the Frome in Stroud alongside Dr Newton’s way

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