One of the books that first fired my interest in the English
landscape was Jacquetta Hawkes’s A Land,
initially published in 1951, but re-released this year as part of the Collins
Nature Library. I must have read it for the first time when I was in my early
teens and, having grown up on the granite of Jersey, the chalk of Kent, and the
“Old Red Sandstone” of Devon were largely unfamiliar to me. Later, as a student
at Cambridge, I had the privilege of meeting Jacquetta Hawkes – she had quite a
forbidding reputation, but I saw nothing to justify this – she shared
generously of her knowledge and experience.
Hawkes, an archaeologist, set out to use “…the findings of the two sciences of geology
and archaeology for purposes altogether unscientific,” to evoke an image of
the land of Britain “…in which past and
present, nature, man and art appear all in one piece.” Two themes dominate
her book: the geological creation of the land itself over millions of years;
and the growth, over thousands of years, of a human consciousness of it. Henry
Moore and Ben Nicholson (both friends of Hawkes) contributed drawings to
illustrate it. The image of the land that she evokes is built upwards and
outwards from the rocks themselves.
The rocks, of course, were raw materials with which Henry
Moore was intimate, and she writes of a personal epiphany in his studio, when
she saw one of his unfinished reclining figures, with the shaft of a belemnite
fossil exposed in the thigh, and had an overwhelming vision of the “unity” of
past and present, of mind and matter, of man and man’s origins. Although
trained as a scientist, she writes with a poet’s sensitivity. As Robert
MacFarlane notes in his introduction to the new edition, a contemporary review
compared her style to that of Donne’s sermons, having “…something of their imaginative range…their passion of exploration,
their visionary sense of integration.”
If it is good to see an old favourite given new life, it is
better still to see some of its themes taken to a wholly new level in a new and
original work. Such is Robert MacFarlane’s own book, The Old Ways (Hamish Hamilton). The human consciousness of the
landscape is very much to the fore here, as is the unity of past and present.
MacFarlane himself identifies the poet and essayist, Edward
Thomas, as “…the guiding spirit of this
book,” but the influence of John Clare and Bruce Chatwin is also evident
and, where Hawkes references Henry Moore and Ben Nicholson, MacFarlane draws on
Paul Nash, Eric Ravilious and Richard Long. Fundamentally, he is concerned with
the traces that successive generations make on a landscape and the ways in
which those traces contribute to the interpenetration of past and present:
“The snow was densely
printed with the tracks of birds and animals – archives of the hundreds of
journeys made since the snow had stopped…To all these marks I added my own…The
snow was overwhelmingly legible. Each print-trail seemed like a plot that could
be read backwards in time…”
In researching the book, MacFarlane undertook a series of
walks, following in the footsteps of a Mesolithic family (literally – their
footprints are preserved in peat) in the intertidal zone of Essex and
(figuratively) the Medieval pilgrims on the route to Compostela; following the
Icknield Way across the chalk-lands of southern England; tracing the
coffin-paths and drove-roads of Scotland; even accompanying a Palestinian
colleague on a sarha (saunter) around
Ramallah. The book is subtitled “A
Journey on Foot,” but it includes also a number of journeys by sea around
the western coast of Scotland.
This combination made immediate sense to me In Undreamed Shores, I write about a world
(southern England and northern France in c2400 BC) in which all journeys were
made either on foot or by boat. My research included a walk from Christchurch
to Stonehenge (five days of walking, fifty pages of notes, only ten pages in
the book, but I could not have written it without the research), and drew also
on many years of experience of sailing and open water swimming in my youth.
MacFarlane’s rapturous descriptions of fragments of the
landscape make this an unforgettable read but, precisely because they are only
fragments of landscapes which no two people will ever experience in the same
way, they inspire us to get out and explore for ourselves:
“Sand mimicked water,
water mimicked sand, and the air duplicated the textures of both. Hinged cuckoo
calls; razor shells and cockle shells; our own reflections; a profusion of
suns; the glide of transparent over solid.”
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