Red valerian and red sandstone

I was born, and brought up, in Paignton, one of the three towns that make up Torbay, and, despite leaving in 1968, I have a strong attachment to my roots in South Devon. Unfortunately, I get few opportunities to visit but, very close to where I live currently, in Berkhamsted, there is a patch of flowers (see below) that instantly brings back memories from over fifty years ago. 

Red valerian is a very common plant in the south west, being a widely-dispersed introduction from its native Mediterranean region – appropriate, given that Torbay prides itself on bring the English Riviera. It probably arrived as a garden plant and is described by Clapham Tutin and Warburg [1] as being ”abundantly naturalised on old walls, cliffs, etc. particularly in the south and west.” It certainly has the ability to thrive where conditions look unsuitable for plant life and its establishment can be a threat to the fabric of old buildings [2].

My recollection of red valerian is the strong colour combinations that its pink flowers and green leaves make with the red sandstone that is the underlying rock of the central part of Torbay and which was used extensively for building construction. Technically described as a sandstone breccia conglomerate, this rock, exposed at Roundham Head, for example (see below), has been used in building houses and walls in Paignton since mediaeval times [3]. I lived in Polsham Park (the cul-de-sac road), part of the Polsham Park Estate designed by W.G.Goudrey and George Soudron Bridgman, and constructed in the last decade of the Nineteenth Century [3]. This was 50 years after the building boom in Torquay, where many villas were in an Italianate style, to reflect houses of the Mediterranean Riviera. 

The buildings of the Polsham Park Estate were dressed in brick – ours were cream in colour – but the sandstone was unforuately suject to weathering, as anyone looking at Roundham Head, and other coastal promontories, readily appreciates. As our house had a verandah, one of the jobs that I helped with was the sweeping up of the red dust that accumulated on the tiles (red, of course) that were used as flooring. Nowadays, the appearance of many of the houses has been altered by the extensive use of PVC replacement windows, and roofing other than slate, the Conservation Report [3] stating that “almost overwhelmingly the workmanship is inferior in design and materials: artificial slate and PVC glazing are almost universal replacements.” Two recent images of houses on the Estate are shown below:

When I lived in this area of Paignton, it was little changed from its original condition, but that wasn’t important to me. What I enjoyed, was being able to run along Polsham Park (the road) to Victoria Park (the entrance to which is shown below) where I could play on the swings, slide and roundabouts, run around on the “pitches”, or go at top speed along the path by the railway line to exit within easy walking distance of the railway station, there to indulge in my favourite pastime of trainspotting. Much of the park was completed in 1894, with the boating pond (see below in a separate image), where I sailed my elderly, re-painted yacht, completed in 1895 [3]. The “pitches” next to the main road to the west were previously the Victoria Nurseries and were added to the Park in the first half of the twentieth Century.

None of this was known to me either, and which child would be interested in such things? Now that I am much older, and enjoy nostalgia, it is all fascinating to discover the history of what was so familiar in the late 1950s and early 1960s. Certainly, the combination of red valerian and red sandstone remain powerful triggers for memories of the joys of childhood and an appreciation of the “respectable” part of the town that was once my home.

[1] A.R.Clapham, T.G.Tutin and E.F.Warburg (1959) Excursion Flora of the British Isles. Cambridge, Cambridge University Press.

[2] R. Motti, G. Bonanomi and A. Stinca (2021) Biodeteriogens at a southern Italian Heritage site: Analysis and management of vascular flora on the walls of Villa Rufalo. International Biodeterioration & Biodegradation 162 https://doi.org/10.1016/j.ibiod.2021.105252

[3] https://www.torbay.gov.uk/media/7583/polsham-caa.pdf

 

A walk in the countryside is not always a positive experience

In his Introduction to the Oxford World’s Classics edition of Rousseau’s Reveries of the Solitary Walker [1], Russell Goulbourne writes:

For Rousseau, ..musings and movement go hand in hand. Walking is.. ..thought-inspiring: ‘Seated at my table, with my pen in my hand and my paper in front of me, I have never been able to achieve anything. It is when I am out walking among the rocks and the woods, it is at night, sleepless in my bed, that I write in my head’. This link between musings and movement.. ..is fundamental to the Reveries.. ..since Rousseau based his text on notes he had scribbled down on twenty-seven playing cards while out walking..

A similar approach to the creative impulse provided by solitary walking in the countryside was described by Edward Elgar, who also enjoyed riding a bicycle over the lanes and tracks of Worcestershire and, especially, the Malvern Hills (see above). In a letter from Malvern on 11th July 1900 to A.J.Jaeger (“Nimrod” of the Enigma Variations), Elgar writes, describing a musical phrase [2]:

This is what I hear all day – the trees are singing my music – or have I sung theirs? It’s too lovely here.

Unfortunately, I don’t have the genius of Rousseau or Elgar, but I understand their sentiments. For me, walking through the countryside has always been my favourite exercise (I never learned to ride a bicycle) and provides a source of freedom from day-to-day problems. It is more that that, though, in that it enables me to appreciate the natural world and to observe closely all the changes that occur through the year. Like Rousseau and Elgar, my walks are also a time when ideas come to the fore – perhaps for a different way of looking at something, or for generating ideas for a new talk, or blog post.

Early morning walks in summer are especially uplifting and I have recently discovered that short video clips act as aides-memoires. Being a technophobe, I have only recently started using the video recorder on my mobile telephone and the clip below shows a section of country lane that opens to reveal a pretty cottage with well-kept gardens on either side of the road. This has always seemed odd to me, as I am not a gardener and I prefer the wonderful complexity of natural world as it is – there’s no doubting that it is attractive, though.

Further in the dawn walk, I headed through a field and took a path into a wood. The transition appealed to me, so I took a video as I walked from the one to the other and the clip can be viewed below, complete with soundtrack:

My experience was very similar to that of Geoff Nicholson [3]:

Even as I was falling I thought, Oh crap, I’m not going all the way to the ground, am I? I’ll stop myself somehow. I’ll keep my footing. I’ll regain my balance. And then I knew I was mistaken about that. I was going all the way. I’d passed the tipping point. Oh crap indeed.

Then there was the impact, a much greater, more generalised blow than I’d been anticipating. I was on the ground, winded, hurting all over, feeling like a fool, trying to breathe deeply and regularly, and thinking.. ..’Oh man this really, really hurts, this is a bad one’.

Nicholson broke his arm, but I was luckier as I only had cuts on various parts of my face and arms and a badly swollen hand. Once I had recovered a little, I gingerly pushed myself up and then sat for a while on a tree stump before walking the 2 km to my home. A visit to the hospital later in the day revealed a dislocated, and broken, little finger that required surgery under general anaesthetic and, as I write, my hand and lower arm are in plaster and I await the verdict of the medical team as to the extent of healing.

I was a fool to concentrate on making the videoclip and not looking where I was putting my feet. A lesson learned, certainly, but I so look forward to going out on more solitary walks in the countryside. Despite recent evidence, thy are good for me…

[1] Russell Goulbourne (2011) Introduction. Reveries of the Solitary Walker by Jean-Jacques Rousseau. Oxford, Oxford University Press.

[2] Percy M. Young (1956) Letters of Edward Elgar and Other Writings. London, Geoffrey Bles.

[3] Geoff Nicholson (2010) The Lost Art of Walking. Chelmsford, Harbour.

 

 

 

My thanks to Anna Easton for her advice on the use of videoclips.