Rootwork: “Christmas Mumming” and Campden Tapes

When a friend referred to the Archive and Study Centre as my “life’s work” a year or so ago, it turned a handle in my soul which the same comment by someone else a few months later cranked even further. The old Morris Minor had a precisely shaped hole in the front bumper to take a crank so that you could manually turn the engine over if the battery failed, and for an American in Britain in the early 1980s it was a real kick to get a car started that way. How many times as a student in Los Angeles would THAT have come in handy.

It came in handy at the end of a day at Gloucester City Library, going through the Local History Collection in the basement; where I lovingly traced a 19th century fieldmap of Chipping Campden onto specialist architect’s paper, in colours, with that research feeling of butterflies in the stomach the whole time. Outside it was rainy, grey, and everybody going home at night time; and in a multi-level car park nearby, the car wouldn’t start. One of the many citizens of Britain who specialise in helping strangers who look helpless – and who have been remarkably kind and important to me over the years -, first offered jumper cables; but then took me metaphorically by the hand, and introduced a whole world of technology long abandoned and barely whispered in memory in the States: Had I tried cranking it by hand yet? There’s a hole where? Turn an engine over by hand? Magic added to magic. (Although thinking about it now, the same principle must apply to the old third-hand Honda 350 which enlivened some of my college days, before Dad heard about it, and Mom threatened me with his heart attack if I didn’t get rid of it. The bike and I spent many happy hours together, working the heck out of the kick-starter).

Soul-wise, Jean Paul Sartre says somewhere that a life’s work only comes into being at the moment a person dies. Until then it is a book being written. Being invited by a friend to stand at the foot of one’s own funeral and observe the corpse of one’s life being closed over and assessed is a profoundly intimate experience. When it first happens, one has no words. When it next happens, one is not so stranded, and there are various ripostes and humours to hand. But what is really interesting is the engine that is set in motion in the background.

This post is about some of the first fruits of that turning:

Christmas Mumming in a North Cotswold Town: With Special Reference to Tourism, Urbanisation and Immigration-Related Social Change“, Submitted in accordance with the requirement for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy, Institute of Dialect and Folklife Studies, School of English, The University of Leeds, May 1988, and made available here online for the first time.

My PhD thesis was buried with almost all of its momentum in the thrill of setting out in 1988-89 to create an Archive and Study Centre from nothing but a collection and a dream, quickly pursued by an epoch of survival and growth in the midst of an ocean hurricane. The thesis embodies one heck of a lot of work, but only a handful of people will ever have read it. It was one of the earliest theses presented to the University of Leeds printed via computer and not typed; something I only know, if it’s true,¬† because of the special permission I got to submit it that way. When the Internet came along almost a decade later, the BBC computer I had written the thesis on, and the 5 1/4″ floppy disks which held it (or perhaps they were 8”),¬† were already past-tense technology; and even if it had seemed feasible to struggle it onto the Web as the Web was then, I didn’t have the means to translate the technology. Making it available on the Internet now has only became possible because volunteers in the Campden and District Historical and Archaeological Society have recently scanned its copy of the thesis to pdf, and generously made it available to me; and because of the magic of OCR and the hard-graft of proofing and reformatting (which is still, beyond text and footnotes, in progress. My apologies for any remaining gurnwankles which the OCRing created and the proofing missed).

My first impression, when re-reading Section I “Introduction”, was that it was the work of an earnest young Werther; an immature barrage of theory and abstraction; and I dismissed it. My advice to any reader would have been to skip it, and go straight to the history and discussion which make up the body of the thesis, which are intensely research-grounded, and which I think hold up well. I particularly advise calling up the footnotes and reading text and footnotes side by side, enjoying the enthusiasm in the enquiry and discovery, and the conversation carried forward in the notes, beyond the text (and also in the Appendices; and the Bibliography is a delight as well). It was only in changing my mood, and reading the Introduction well, that I realised it was a serious piece of thinking, written when everything else was done, coming back to the beginning from the Conclusion in Section VI and therefore completing a circle; written under heavy pressures which compressed its expression to the point, almost, of obscurity: But a genuine distillation of seven years of research, hundreds of pages of thoughtfully-written and argued history, and a decade of theatre and theatre history before it. (But skip it if you’ve come for the history).

The Campden Tapes Project.

This speaks for itself. I made over 200 recordings during my work in Chipping Campden. Almost all were recorded before the Copyright Act of 1988 took effect, and certainly before I had the means to ensure that interviewees all received copies of the recording. Many of the people I recorded are now dead, but their children or other relatives may well be alive; and it would be good to begin to get these recordings to them.


If you enjoy these, you may also be interested in:

Or other writings from the Campden period, listed but not available online: See “History, Oral History and Folk Life Studies” . I can particularly recommend “Maypole Dance in the 20th Century: Further Studies of A North Cotswold Town”, Traditional Dance 5/6 (1988), pp. 97-134.

Writing conference papers is an agricultural process

Writing conference papers is an agricultural process.

You see the Call for Papers, and prepare the ground by studying the conference theme, allowing your imagination to raise a number of virtual crops which you study carefully in your mind; and if you feel one is viable and inspiring and useful in the overall development of your farm and the work of others, you write it up and send it in. Will it be accepted? You can’t hold up the rest of your work waiting to find out, but at the same time you have to set aside notional time and mentally re-balance future tasks and projects in case it is. So: it is.

You plough and plant, and realise the ground wasn’t quite as you’d imagined it, but the seed goes in. The weather is unpredictable, and the rest of the farm refuses to stand still and steady; but at first it doesn’t matter, because the conference date is so far away. But then it begins to matter, because the date is suddenly looming. Your plans for fertilising and weeding have gone out the window, along with time to recover from any torrential downpours at terrible times in the growing cycle, or equally relentless bouts of dry weather and scoriating winds. By force of will, late nights, and endless anxieties you find yourself with a field of golden heavy-headed corn that surpasses your wildest imagining: Indeed, so vast has the crop become that by itself it could fill the entire conference several times over, and overspill the 20 minutes allotted without registering.

You break out the combine harvester. The weather changes, and suddenly¬† a farm inspection team arrives, all 250 ewes begin to lamb, and a neighbour arrives with some bad news about the herd. You really need 20 minutes of standing crop to deliver. You cut your first swathe around the field; the grain is excellent, and that’s wonderful from one point of view, but agonising from another as you’ve already cut it down, and also because you still have a massive field in front of you. Excellent point after excellent point is ruthlessly cut down, threshed out and left in the field – no time for tractors and trailers and taking grain back and forth to the barn. Agony after surgical agony. But finally the joy of a 20 minute stand: Finally a paper and presentation you can deliver. Never mind that the answers to many of the questions people ask you in the discussion period afterward lie rotting in the field and blowing about in the wind; that 10 minutes is wonderful: Some of those threshed and winnowed ideas that blew past the combine’s cab come briefly back to life again – disjointed and out of context, but vital and excited at being used.

And then it’s back to the farm.

img_6316

Combine harvester, evening, field of corn, dust cloud and chaff: bringing in the conference paper

(Written in honour of an excellent #ARA2016, 2/9/2016.)