At the moment, my books are not available in the UK. They are shortly to be republished by Endeavour Press, but until that happy day you can only buy them in North America, through Simon & Schuster.
I blog about once a week and, given that I'm not selling any books in my own country, I see this as largely a public service. The public certainly seem to appreciate it, because I know lots of you read it. What I didn't realise, until I did my sums today, is that about a third of my blog readers are from the USA. So this is just to say that if you would like to click on THIS LINK and buy one of the books, I really would be most awfully grateful. Think of it as a contribution to my blog writing efforts – though if you read the book, you might find that you really enjoy it.
Monday marked the 375th anniversary of the battle
we now call the Battle of Edgehill, but what was known all those centuries ago
as the Battle of Kineton. It was the first great battle of the English Civil
War, an inconclusive affair which, nonetheless, left thousands dead and
wounded. Estimates of the number killed vary wildly, but a casualty figure of
2,500 casualties (dead, wounded or captured) is often quoted.
There is still a small village at Kineton, but where much of
the fighting took place is now Ministry of Defence land and closed to the
public. Once a year the Kineton Officers' Mess hosts a dinner in commemoration
of the battle and invites representatives of the sealed Knot, a Civil War
re-enactment organisation. There is a talk by somebody who knows about the
battle (this year it was Mr F Baldwin) and a small display of Civil War drill. I
was lucky enough to be a guest this year, and, besides enjoying an extremely
good meal, I now know much more about the battle than I did a fortnight ago.
Edgehill was a battle fought by accident. The Royalist army,
led by Charles I came across scouts from the Parliamentarians, under the Earl
of Essex, quite unexpectedly on a Sunday morning when the Parliamentarian
forces were planning to observe the Sabbath. Essex himself was at church at
Kineton.
Charles probably drew up his plans for the battle on the
hill, more or less where you can see what looks like a castle tower in the
photo below. It's actually a pub called the Castle, which wasn't there at the
time.
Although a modern commander would enjoy the advantages of
such high ground, 17th-century warfare was different. There were definite
advantages to being at the top of a slight slope, but battles had to be fought
on more or less flat land. Pikemen were key to battlefield strategy. An
indication of the length of the pikes is given in the picture below and you can
imagine the difficulty of manoeuvring over rough country, even without a hill.
In order for pikes be used effectively, the infantry had to move as a solid
block – an isolated pikeman would be a dead pikeman. Battles were therefore
fought on ground that was more or less flat, preferably without too many fields
and hedges to get in the way.
Both Charles and Essex wanted a battle that day. Although
they had not been planning to meet, both saw the opportunity to deal a
resounding blow against the enemy and stop the Civil War almost before it had
started. It's likely that many of the troops believed that the whole thing was
going to be over in a matter of months and they, too, wanted the chance to
resolve the issue quickly.
Fortunately for the commanders, the land between Kineton and Radway was flat and relatively open, with streams and hedges marking off
the sides of the field which made it harder for the forces to be flanked. The
picture below shows what Charles I would see below him nowadays, although
things have changed a lot with the area now being heavily cultivated and broken
up into fields.
Charles' view was probably less misty. In 1642 the day was cold with light rain, but visibility was good, as opposed to the warm overcast weather in 2017.
Both armies drew up with cavalry on their flanks. The white
farmhouse in the centre of the picture below marks the left of the Royalist
line.
The right flank probably extended to beyond the brown field
in the centre of this photograph.
This gives some idea of the size of the battlefield. The two
armies totalled almost 30,000 men, although many of the Parliamentarians did
not actually reach the field in time to fight – including, notably, one Oliver
Cromwell.
The Royalists achieved early victories with successful
cavalry charges on both wings, but as is often the case with cavalry, horses
and riders became overexcited and galloped all the way to Kineton – lost in the
mists in the photographs. Some of the Parliamentary horse rallied and returned
to the field where they were able to give crucial support to the infantry while
the Royalist infantry remained without cavalry support.
The result can be seen as a draw. The cavalry battle was won
by the Royalists but the Parliamentarians probably got the better of the
infantry fighting. However, the level of carnage left both sides withdrawing to
lick their wounds and the next day the armies faced each other but neither
moved forward to fight. After that the Parliamentarians yielded the field,
making it technically a Royalist victory. Charles, however, failed to take
advantage of his temporary control of the roads to London and remained in the
area – seizing Banbury, of all places. (It's hardly a major strategic town –
barely more than a village really.) The failure of the Royalists to take the
opportunity to march directly on London may have undermined their chances of
winning the war. By the time Charles did turn his attention to London,
Parliament was ready for him and his inability to take the capital, with its
arms manufacturers and its significant financial resources, crippled the rest
of his campaign.
The English Civil War was horrendous. Four per cent of the
entire population of England died during the war – probably nearer to 10% of
the young men essential to an economy that was still largely agricultural. The casualty rate in Ireland was substantially higher: the exact level is still the subject of controversy. Yet
nowadays, the English tend to romanticise it and the dinner night did provide a
wonderful spectacle of men in very impressive uniforms. (There were women, too,
but we’ll pretend they were all men for the purposes of historical accuracy.)
Are these Cavaliers or Roundheads? I've really no idea, as each regiment was uniformed differently (if the soldiers had uniforms at all) and they could tell which side they were on only by the sashes they tied round themselves ahead of the fight and most of this lot aren't wearing any sashes. The Royalists wore read and the Parliamentarians orange, which on a rainy day with dye technology fairly primitive meant that the differences weren't as clear as one might hope. The situation was further confused at Edgehill when some Parliamentarian cavalry defected en masse to the Royalists in mid battle, but forgot to change their sashes. Many of them were killed by their new allies.
Civil wars are always messy. The English Civil War was very messy indeed.
A Word from our Sponsor
After several years of weekly blogging, I feel that writing blogs has rather taken over from writing books. At one time I thought that people who read the blogs might go on to read the books. Some of you have and I really appreciate your support. The statistics on blog readership compared to sales suggest, though, that blogging is really an activity in its own right rather than a way to promote books.
As with so many things in life, I feel that it's a good idea to change things around from time to time, so I'm really going to try to make more of an effort with my newsletter which currently has a subscriber list measured in only double figures. The newsletter can be chattier and doesn't have to be produced every week and will, hopefully, be more of a two-way communication. I find that, even with such a small number of readers, the newsletter seems to generate more responses than the blog does. Can I please suggest that you sign up for it? You can do that from https://tomwilliamsauthor.co.uk/newsletter. I know that sometimes there can be technical problems with signup forms. I only know about these people tell me – do get in touch at tom@tomwilliamsauthor.co.uk if you have problems signing up.
And, of course, it would be great if you bought the books as well. Christmas is on its way and the paperbacks (all my books are available in paperback) make excellent gifts.
A few weeks ago I
blogged about Marble Hill House and English Heritage’s plans for the
property. I'm coming back to this because I think that the way that
we fit historical buildings and landscapes into our modern world is important.
This post provides a bit of an update and some more
detail on the issues that "heritage" can raise.
The essence of English Heritage’s plan is to carry out improvement works in the park and to develop significant parts of the park back toward more what they might have looked like
in the 18th century. They have done detailed archaeological work and the plans
are not fanciful, but based on the best possible evidence that they can gather.
For those (and there are many of them) who believe that heritage is about
restoring our historic past, the proposals are an exciting opportunity to
restore grounds which were significant in the development of the English
garden. For many local residents, this is a bunch of historians messing with a
much loved park in order to rebuild something that may or may not have been
there two and a half centuries ago.
Marble Hill Park
I leaned rather toward the second point of view and drafted
a post attacking English Heritage and their plans for widespread tree felling.
The words “Jane Austen theme park” may have appeared. Fortunately, I sent the
draft to English Heritage for comment and John Watkins, their Head of Landscape
and Gardens came to talk me through the plans and explain where I had got them
wrong.
I learned a lot about the history of the park and quite a
bit about the trees, but mainly I learned how the planning system is hardly the
best way forward in moving projects like this to a satisfactory conclusion.
Woodman spare that tree
Marble Hill House is set within a small area of woodland
(described as “wild wood”). The vegetation is mainly self-seeded. There is a
lot of holly, ranging from small bushes to large trees. There is a thick canopy
and little light reaches the ground, which is largely covered with ivy. A few
animals – mainly squirrels and foxes – live there, but the density of the trees
and the amount of ivy means that it is not an especially helpful habitat in
terms of biodiversity. There are strong arguments that from the point of view
of maintaining the grounds and improving the health of the trees generally,
some clearing and coppicing would-be a positive step.
The house
from the north
So far, so uncontroversial. Unfortunately, Richmond Council,
in the interests of ensuring that no trees were unnecessarily removed, asked
for a survey that counted every individual tree or shrub in the wood and a note
of each one that was to go. The result was headlines like this one on Twitter.
A petition
has been set up and, at the time of writing over 2,800 people have already signed
it.
It’s a petition I would once have been happy to subscribe to,
but two hours of looking at the site with Mr Watkins has made me see it in a
somewhat different light.
Firstly, the majority of the 300+ "trees" are
small, damaged, or near the end of their life. Anybody interested in the health
of the woodland must appreciate that the current density of trees and
uncontrolled undergrowth is not a healthy eco-system. The woodland floor gets
little sunlight and is covered in ivy. It does not support wildlife. Some of
beautiful trees in the area are difficult to see because of the scrub
surrounding them and all of the trees suffer because they do not they do not
get the light or nutrients they need to grow. Removal of many of these
"trees" would not worry anybody who has been in and looked at them up
close.
There are trees in the area which should be preserved. It's possible to argue about the merits of individual trees. For example, we looked at a yew that is scheduled for removal because of damage to the trunk which, it is argued, means it is not a healthy tree. However, looking at it with Mr Watkins he agreed that there is certainly room for disagreement on the point. There are several trees where it's not really possible to make a final decision on removal or retention at this stage, but the planning process means that all the trees that might be removed have to be listed. It would clearly be better if the planning consent was in two stages – one for the smaller shrubs that are definitely coming out and then a careful consideration separately of the larger trees that may or may not be removed later. Unfortunately, this doesn't seem to be the way that planning applications work.
This oak show significant storm damage but is structurally sound and will be retained
More seriously, the details of the trees that are to be
removed have been released ahead of the details of the trees that are to be
planted. My concern that the current blocks of woodland will be replaced with a
much more open view containing a few neatly laid out trees such as may have
been planted in the 18th century turns out to have been mistaken. Yes, some
trees will be removed and there will be a small number of trees planted in neat
rows very unlike what is that at present. However, the northern margins of
these blocks will be built up with additional planting to maintain the same
sort of appearance from the north, whilst opening the area up to visitors. At
present, the whole area is fenced off as the vegetation is thick and the
ground-cover not conducive to walking.
Butcher's broom in the woodland. So called because it was traditionally used by butchers to clean their blocks
Some people will still be unhappy with the planned changes,
but many people will be reassured if they only knew what they were. In any
case, whether you like the proposed changes or not, it would surely be helpful
if they were clearly explained ahead of any planning decision. The idea that
the planning consents could be given in stages is surely worth looking at.
Butcher's broom again. This is a female plant (with berries)
Restoring the original gardens
Some of the problem with the discussions of what is planned
for Marble Hill is that there are two distinct aspects to the work. Part of it
is essentially about woodland management but this is being done in the context
of attempts to restore the original 18th-century garden plan. As I explained in
my previous post about Marble Hill, the gardens are important in tracing the
development of landscape gardening in England. Henrietta Howard’s plans seem to
combine the strict formality of gardens from the 17th century and before with
the more informal approach to landscape that was, arguably, to find its finest
expression in the works of Capability Brown.
English Heritage will argue that the restoration of parts of
the 18th-century gardens in the apparently incongruous environment of a modern
municipal park is actually very close to the original concept which saw
different kinds of land-use sitting alongside each other. Whether the hidden
pathways and wooded areas of an 18th-century garden actually make aesthetic or
practical sense next to a 21st-century rugby pitch is a serious question and
one which I think deserves to be seriously addressed. It does go to the whole
question of how we protect England’s historical heritage within the context of
the modern world. I'm not sure that the planning process is the best place to
be having this discussion.
Self-seeded elm in the woodland. English Heritage at looking at possibly reintroducing elms to the park
I was very sceptical about the whole idea, but I must admit
that John Watkins makes a convincing argument. When you explore these blocks of
wild woodland in detail, sometimes stepping over the fence into areas that are
not generally open to the public, a surprising amount of the 18th-century plan
is still visible. Unfortunately, you really do have to be there together with
an expert. The sheer quantity of vegetation means that photographs, whether
taken at ground level or from the air, basically show lots of leaves. It's only
when you stand with a guide you can see the gaps in the trees where open rides
would have led through the woodland area all that time ago. One of the blocks
has a more open area hidden at the centre. There is lots of ground-cover but no
larger trees. The 18th-century plan shows that there was a secret flower garden
at this point and English Heritage intend to restore it. A surprising amount of
Lady Henrietta Howard's landscaping is still preserved, although it is visible
only to a landscape archaeologist.
Living with heritage
It seems that everybody locally has a view on whether or not
their favourite tree should be chopped down. (In at least one case, sadly, it
must be, because the roots are beginning to attack the foundations of the
house.) They all care about whether the whole of the park should still be open
to dog walkers – a substantial element of the park using community. They care
about the playing fields and the children's playground and the future of the
local cafe. All these issues are being aired, but there doesn't seem to be any
forum for a serious discussion of the heritage issues.
English Heritage are trying hard to engage with the public,
as evidenced by the amount of time that they have been prepared to give to me,
but this appears a dialogue of the deaf. English Heritage are only now learning
just how deeply people feel about a park which many of them have been using on
an almost daily basis since they were children. (The number of people who stood
up at a public meeting and presaged their remarks with the statement that they
had been walking their dogs there for over 40 years was eye opening.) Local
people, on the other hand, know little, if anything, about the historical
importance of the grounds and see only vandals who want to attack treasured
woodland. How this mutual incomprehension is ever going to resolve itself into a
plan generally acceptable to everybody is not clear. I would love to think that
this blog might be a starting point. If anybody does want a conversation, you
could begin by posting in the ‘Comments’ below.
Valuing heritage
Any discussion of English Heritage's plans for Marble Hill –
and, indeed, for many other sites – can't ignore the financial constraints that
English Heritage works under. In this country we claim to be very proud of our
heritage and it brings in a lot of money from tourists as well as giving much
pleasure to the many people who visit heritage sites every year. Yet English
Heritage has moved from being a government-funded organisation supported by
taxation to being a charity which will soon be expected to raise the money that
it needs to maintain England's heritage by charitable contributions.
Realistically, people are not going to put enough money into
collection boxes for them to keep places like Marble Hill properly maintained. (If you do want to support English Heritage financially, you can join HERE.) The result is that many sites are now expected to generate income to cover
their costs. Hence the plans for an on-site cafe, which have raised many
complaints locally. Despite concerns that trees will be felled and the nature
of the site will be changed, the cafe will not have any significant effect on
woodland or on the park’s landscape. This is not to say that it's necessarily a
good thing, but it does seem to be a necessary thing unless we are to accept
that the park should not be properly maintained.
If the cafe doesn't raise the sort of money that English
Heritage are hoping for then the plans could leave us with an elaborate
exercise in landscaping that will soon become overgrown, dirty, and (given the
number of hidden spaces in the woodland) potentially squalid and dangerous. Alternatively, English Heritage will have to make up the shortfall from its other income, leaving other properties short of resources.
Of course, if this really is our English Heritage, one
solution would be for the government to fund improvements to the landscaping
from taxation, but while politicians can find money for their pet vanity
projects, heritage funding is a victim of austerity and likely to remain so.
English Heritage’s plans are therefore defined almost as much by the financial
realities as by any ideal view of how the park should be presented.
Acknowledgements
Whilst I'm not sure that I share English Heritage’s vision
for Marble Hill, I do acknowledge that they are doing their best to meet what
they see as their remit. English Heritage put significant resources into what
is essentially a municipal park that they never asked to take responsibility
for but which they were landed with as a result of the political changes
discussed in my previous post. The park is, as I hope my photographs show, an
amazingly beautiful place, free for anybody to enter and enjoy. Just because I
may not agree with their future plans, doesn't mean that I don't appreciate the
efforts that they are making.
I'm particularly grateful to Kate Pitt and John Watkins of
English Heritage for giving me so much of their time and answering some very
ignorant questions, and to the on-site archaeological team for explaining to
amateurs like myself how they know so much about what the gardens would have
originally looked like.
“I met her in a tango bar …” It’s the stuff of stories,
plays and films, these tango bars where dancers pivot between the tables and
dangerous liaisons form in the clouds of cigarette smoke. Sadly (or maybe not)
the tango bar is almost entirely a product of fiction. Yes, there may be a bar
at a tango club, but when the dancers are dancing they tend to take over the
place, and, after the first couple of collisions, dancing round the tables is
less fun than it sounds. But the idea still has a romantic appeal. What if you
retreated from the rain and found yourself in a bar where people were just
getting up and dancing. Can you imagine it?
Somewhere around ten o’clock, Alfredo Martin Espindola starts singing sad country tango songs to his
guitar and the dancers pause and then translate his singing into movement and
the people come and go and the bar staff serve, quietly but efficiently, and
Spaniards explain the lyrics and, outside, it starts to rain. It’s a tango bar.
It’s definitely worth a visit.
For me, the
atmosphere was quite a change from the rather intense milongas that I’m used to.
There was rather more talking and rather less dancing. The place is open until
11.00, so there’s no rush. Have a chat. Have a drink. Take a turn or two around
the floor.
As far as dancing
goes, the place works well. Tables are pushed back, so you have room to dance.
The floor was usually busy, but not over-crowded. (The photo was taken at the end
of the evening as it got quieter.) The sound system is good and there wasn’t
too much background noise from the bar. In fact, if anything, the place was on
the quiet side, without the buzz you often get at a milonga. It was definitely
a chilled Tuesday evening rather than a lively weekend feel. Inevitably, but
with some justification, women complained of a shortage of men.
The floor is some
sort of lino-type tiling, easy enough to move on, but you have to take care where
the tiles are not perfectly level, so you can trip on the joins. The dancers
all knew what they were doing and the line of dance moved easily round the
floor.
Red Room Tango is never going to be the highlight of the
week, but for an after-work venue on a Tuesday, it hits the spot really well.
And if you fancy watching some dancers while you enjoy an early-evening beer,
it’s somewhere you should definitely consider. It’s a tango bar (but without the
cigarette smoke). What’s not to like?
I don't think I've ever reviewed a horror novel before. It's a completely random change from the historicals that feature here fairly regularly, but it's by a lovely author from New Zealand who spent her summer digging up Roman remains on Hadrian's Wall so there is a sort of historical connection. And it lets me say 'archetype', which is my word of the month.
Here we go.
Painted by Kirsten McKenzie
If you are going to see just one horror movie, I recommend
Joss Whedon's The Cabin in the Woods.
It’s a horror movie that deconstructs horror movies and then sends the whole
genre up while remaining a horror movie and with, arguably, the most horrific ending
of all horror movies ever. It’s both terrifying and hilarious.
I mention this now because Whedon’s explanation of what
makes a horror film fits so wonderfully to Kirsten McKenzie’s venture into the
genre: Painted.
According to Whedon, the archetypal horror story takes a
group of people to an isolated location. On the way they will meet the
Harbinger, who will try to warn them away. McKenzie’s Harbinger is a local
farmer, who warns her heroine to flee the isolated old house.
“If … you knew what was good for
you, you’d not stay here. Place isn't right. Never has been.”
There will be five people in the house: the scholar, the
jock, the idiot, the whore and the virgin. McKenzie’s five characters fit these
archetypes without too much of a stretch. One by one, they will die. In
Whedon’s view, the virgin is always the last to be threatened and her death is
optional.
McKenzie’s characters die one by one as their souls become
trapped in the portraits painted by a ghost of one of the previous owners of
the house. Additional creepiness is introduced by assorted other ghosts,
spectral dogs howling in the darkness outside, and the crying of dead children
trapped on an island in an iced-over pond. Did I forget to mention that the
house has been cut off by a blizzard? It’s fair to say that every horror-story
trope features. This is not a criticism at all: Joss Whedon throws all the
standard horrors into The Cabin in the
Woods and that’s what makes it so good. Horror needs to be full-on if it is
to work and, though McKenzie holds back on the gore, Painted doesn’t let anything pass that it can get away with.
If I have any complaints about the number of extra twists
packed in, it is that sometimes they become a little over-complicated. Some,
dare I say it, don't entirely make sense or are just a little too tortuous for
me to be able to follow late at night (and what better time to read a book like
this?). Still, it is a ghost story, so a strictly logical plot isn’t an
absolute requirement.
There is a more complex story in the relationship of the
characters than at first appears. I'm not going to give it away, because the
shock is a good one. If you're like me, it won't come as a complete surprise
but you will have a growing sense of unease about one of the people trapped in the
house and when everything finally becomes all too clear you will feel a
definite frisson.
The five are there to value artworks and antiques ahead of
disposal following the death of the house's owner. McKenzie works in the
antiques business and the minutiae of the characters’ cataloguing efforts is
convincing and surprisingly gripping, especially as they are regularly
interfered with by supernatural forces.
[Possible spoiler in
this paragraph.] McKenzie does break away from Whedon’s model when it comes
to the ending. The advantage of this is that it provides something new and edgy
and, in its way, far more horrific than the conclusion that Joss Whedon (and
most readers) would have expected. Respect to her for daring to be different,
but I'm not sure that it works. Whedon's point is that horror stories have been
handed down through millennia, always following the same basic plot and are
hence simultaneously terrifying and reassuring. Making them terrifying and then
a bit more terrifying is, arguably, a step too far.
McKenzie has blogged about how she now writes very quickly
and this produces a pacey style entirely suited to a gripping story. It's an
easy read and will hold anybody who likes this sort of thing. And if you don't
like this sort of thing, why on earth are you reading it? The cover surely told
you what to expect.
