Out on the mean streets

Anyone else signed up to Country Walking magazine's regular challenge to walk 1000 miles in a year? It's not as daunting as it sounds: 2.75 miles a day and you've got it in the bag. Easy, if you say it quickly enough.

I've made a good start. I've already walked 60 miles since New Year's Day, because I've been out canvassing. There's a local by-election coming up at the start of February, so I've been pounding the streets posting leaflets through letterboxes and knocking on doors to gauge voter intention. I feel doubly smug because of all the miles I've clocked up and the satisfaction of knowing I'm supporting a good cause.

An unexpected consequence has been that I've seen parts of Kettering I've never seen before, despite having lived here for over 30 years. It's not a big town but a bit like New York (and this is where the similarity ends) it is divided into tidy chunks, and there are some sectors I've never visited, especially those on the posh side of the tracks. There's been a lot of building work, too, and in several areas where once there stood a proud shoe factory, there is now an enclave of bijou homes. I was particularly intrigued to see a resurgence in back-to-back terraces being built among swish detached houses. Fascinating stuff.

If you fancy a walk, why not explore an area of your home turf you haven't visited before? You never know what you might find.

Use it or lose it

It’s worth remembering when you sit in a traffic jam, sighing in exasperation, that you are part of the problem, because yours is one of the vehicles clogging up the roads. It’s also worth remembering that if you feel the life has gone out of your high street, you are part of the problem, unless you have never bought anything from a supermarket or an online shop. If you moan about the closing of pubs in your town, but never go to those that are open – well, you get the idea.

I’m lucky enough to live in a town that has plenty on offer should you fancy a night out. We have, amongst other things, a theatre and a playhouse, we have a museum and art gallery that puts on regular events, we have pubs offering live music, we have a symphony orchestra, we have am-dram groups and choirs that love to perform, and we have an arts centre that has a comedy night every month and lots of other comedy, music and drama events in between. These venues struggle to find an audience, yet I hear people say there’s nothing to do here. They are wrong. At best they are ill-informed; at worst they are lazy. Netflix or a walk into town? Hm. 

If your town is dying on its arse, you are part of the problem. If nobody supports those people trying to keep the town going, they will stop trying. And then you really will have something to moan about.

*smug face*

I'm just back from town with a bag of goodies for Christmas. The benefit of having a small family is that a couple of trips usually sees all the presents bought, and I've made a really good start today. The shopping centre was full of women clutching lists, closely followed by men carrying bags. OK, I generalise: I know that the reverse is often true.

And actually, given what my local MP said recently in parliament I should be more careful about gender stereotyping. Oh yes, Philip Hollobone MP (Cons) - don't blame me: I didn't vote for him - told the House that in towns like Kettering it's the men who are the football coaches and the women who wash the kit. Chump!

But back to happier things. It's 1st December, so it's time to break out the advent calendar. This year, via FaceBook, I have a 'Kindness' version - take a look here - which encourages random acts of kindness throughout December, so I thought I'd give it a go. I'm particularly looking forward to next Monday, when I am encouraged to 'Smile at everyone, today, including strangers.' Cue funny looks, methinks.

Don't worry, though, I've got myself a tasty chocolate version, too. I'm not that good!

'Death the Bride'

I've just spent rather too long following a trail started by a visit to the Alfred East Art Gallery in Kettering last weekend.

I had an old schoolfriend staying with me and I set about showing her the sights, which naturally included a trip to said gallery. There was an exhibition of the works of Thomas Cooper Gotch - Gotch is a big name locally - who was born in Kettering on 10 December 1854. He spent many years travelling and working abroad, but he and his wife Caroline Burland Yates, herself an art student, and his daughter were active members of the Newlyn colony in Cornwall. His first paintings were of natural, pastoral settings, but he went on to immerse himself in the romantic style of the Pre-Raphaelites, for which he is best known. His works have been exhibited at the Royal Academy, the Royal College of Art, the Paris Salon - and Kettering. He died in 1931.

Anyway, we were drawn to the work 'Death the Bride', which is part of the Alfred East collection. It is oil on canvas and is about 5ft x 4ft. There was only one other person in the gallery and he, too, was entranced by this picture. I bought a postcard from the gift shop and resolved to find out more. The title of the  painting comes from Shakespeare (naturally). It is from Measure for Measure, Act III, scene I, line 86, where Claudio says:

'If I must die, I will encounter darkness as a bride and hug it in my arms.'

Floral symbolism abounds in Pre-Raphaelite paintings, and poppies were used to represent the notion of death or eternal sleep. Gotch uses poppies here to show death personified as a beautiful, morbid bride ready to embrace the viewer for eternity. I wonder why the poppies in her hair are white: a symbol of purity, perhaps?

So that's how to turn an idle afternoon out into a research exercise!

Local view on global history

Some of my writerly friends might have seen the post by Lynne Hackles on the Creative Frontiers blog 'Give local interest books a whirl'. Worth a look, if you haven't already seen it. Generally, we don't have to dig too deeply to find a local connection with something of global significance - and sometimes these connections come from unexpected places.

At the singing workshop I went to last Saturday, one of the songs we worked on was 'The Abolition of Slavery' with music by Bob Chilcott and words by Charles Bennett, who leads the BA in Creative Writing at the University of Northampton. Charles was there to hear the setting of his words. It was very emotional to sing; I can only imagine how it must have felt for him. The song is from his libretto, Five Days That Changed The World.

Actually, I've met Charles Bennett before (though I didn't go over and tell him this, because I'm sure he won't remember). He did a poetry reading at the Althorp Literary Festival from his book Evenlode, supporting and supported by some examples from John Clare (with whom there are also local connections); I bought a copy of the book and he kindly signed it for me.

Back to the song. Kettering man William Knibb was instrumental in the abolition of slavery in Jamaica, where was a preacher in the 1800s. According to the website of the BMS, on whose behalf he was in Jamaica, his weekly congregation was regularly packed with slaves and he was shocked by  their plight. In 1831, he wrote: 'I have beheld them when suffering under the murderous cart whip; I have seen them when their backs have been a mass of blood; I have beheld them loaded with a chain in the streets…; and never have I heard one murmur – one reproach – against their guilty persecutors.'

Seven years later, as the last remnants of slavery were being abolished in the British Empire, he wrote: 'The hour is at hand; the monster is dying,' and then as midnight struck: 'The monster is dead; the negro [sic] is free.' The following day, a symbolic coffin was buried containing a slave collar, chain and whip.

There is a timeline in the paving stones around the edge of Kettering Market Place, and William Knibb's place in history is commemorated there, and in the town's centre for young adults that bears his name.

William Knibb Source: www.bmsworldmission.org

Unaccustomed as I am...

The monthly spoken word open mic nights have resumed in town. I nearly went to the first one to see what it's all about, with a tiny thought at the back of my mind that I might take my courage in my hands and do a turn. In the end, I didn't make it, but I gather it was a great success: standing-room only! I'm probably not quite ready for that.

My mother has no such qualms about performing. She is quite a regular on the 'circuit' and can be seen reciting monologues and doing poetry readings at various gatherings in north Staffordshire. One such recent engagement was at a harvest supper, where she had been requested to read a little something to the assembled villagers.

She told me. 'It was a nice meal, pleasant company, and they seem pleased with what I'd selected - a mixture of the profound and the humorous. In fact, they were rapt! As well as polite applause between some of the poems, there was some good clapping at the end.'

She was brought back to earth, however, when no sooner had she sat down than a chap (the church warden or some such) leapt to his feet and announced: 'And now we come to the moment we've all been waiting for: we will now draw the raffl1e!'

Ah, fame is a fickle mistress.