A large part of today has passed in that dreadful state of attempting to find something vaguely resembling a familiar routine, after the complete break of a holiday. I have to admit that it has been hard going, with tasks I hoped would re-establish a sense of normality crumbling into disorder. Even a commonplace round of emailing turned into a disorderly phase of blundering about. Thinking back over the past week has, however, served to provide a periodic dose of encouragement.
Our stay in Arkengarthdale will go on providing me with experiences to think about, I’m sure of that. As the northernmost of the Yorkshire Dales it is also the one that conveys the greatest sense of remoteness. When you stand on the top of one of the ridges that separate one dale from the next the sense of space is extraordinary. I am sure that it was possible to see for at least 75 km. in each direction. (That is, when it wasn’t raining. This is, after all, the Pennines!)
I have not returned with a large quantity of reference material, although I do have one sketch that pleases me, and holds the potential for development. Another idea would require the synthesis and rearrangement of several photographs. Above all it is a general feeling of the impact of the landscape that is most clearly present in my mind at the moment. To my surprise I found myself thinking about the landscape as a metaphor for our current situation or restricted sociability and separation from each other.
Even during the industrial phase of the history of the area, when lead-mining flourished before the middle of the nineteenth century, settlement was sparse. There were no industrial towns, such as those which grew up further south, based upon textiles or steel. I discovered that many of the miners were also part-time small-holders, particularly keeping a few sheep. Consequently, the pattern of settlement was one of a thin dispersion of cottages and barns on the valley sides, with relatively small villages in the bottom of the dale.
One sure sign of the smallness of these settlements is the churches. The contrast with Norfolk is interesting, where an agricultural landscape is dotted with huge churches, bearing witness to the density of population and its wealth in the pre-industrial period. In the Dales, on the other hand, the churches are typically quite modest structures, suggesting that the pre-modern population was both sparse and relatively poor.
I can’t get out of my head the sense that this landscape is a powerful metaphor for our current situation during the coronavirus pandemic. We spend much of our time enclosed in our own homes, aware of each other as neighbours, but with little sociability. When we are able to leave, as to work in the mines, this is not primarily in order to enjoy the company of others, and it carries with the the feeling that we are heading into danger. It is not clear to me, as yet, exactly if and how these ideas might crystallise in visual images. I do know, from past experience, however, that like the lead miners, ideas might spend a long time underground before emerging into the light of day.