Tag Archives: Landscape Heritage

‘Divine Chalk’ by Annabelle

I am continually in awe of chalk rivers. Their clarity, purity, and seeming abundance of water and life. As this is my first blog for Terra Firma, I thought I’d write about something elemental, something I’ve really appreciated since moving to Hampshire.

Divine Chalk Landscape - The River Itchen

The River Itchen

There are only about two hundred chalk rivers in the world, and I am fortunate to live within short walking distance of one of them: the Itchen. In fact, the bit I have access to is the point at which it makes a dramatic turn from the east to head south towards Southampton Water. It is speculated that this very bend was followed on one of King Edward I’s (1239-1307) journeys to Alresford from Winchester as his preferred route via Kings Worthy. Though I note with sadness how different this riverscape is today with a dual carriageway but metres from its banks, and how different the place sounds and feels because of it… I digress, however…  

Divine Chalk landscape - The bend

The bend

 

Divine Chalk landscape - Two type of flow

Two very different types of ‘flow’

So what’s with the chalk? This is not an essay on the formation of chalk rivers but rather an enthusiastic look at the history of one of their fundamental elements. I’m sure some of you reading this know it already, but the story of chalk – I’m talking deep time here – is incredible. Bear with me!

The river beds of these fantastically clear waters with a unique ecosystem still present today are result of earth movements, glacial epochs, great climactic shifts and the rising and falling of sea levels over millions of years. These geological and climactic events created a great belt of chalk downland – a bed of fossilised marine creature deposits over said millennia – once linked to the continent, a kind of enormous chalk highway sweeping across what we now call ‘Britain’, ‘Kent’, ‘Dover’ and its white cliffs, ‘Calais’, and so on. And it really was a highway. Animals and humans have followed its super rich path for grazing, for flint and tool-making, hunting and gathering since time immemorial.

Divine Chalk landscape - Those white cliffs

Those white cliffs

Then water made us into an island over time as glaciers melted, while our travels to and from the continent continued – one of the first human journeys by boat between these isles and the continent dates back to the Bronze Age (an example of one of those boats may be seen at Dover). The start of a naval tradition? It would seem so.  But these journeys began on foot, on the great chalk route, a solid south-facing escarpment of often dry yet fertile land. Humans were able to survive, explore and invent in great part thanks to it. These journeys following the chalk continue on through our miniscule window of time, taking different forms, from the exchange of goods to spiritual pilgrimages…  

Divine Chalk landscape - roadside marker

One of many markers for pilgrims and walkers

And so we return to our chalk riverbanks as they are today, treading recreational paths – and sometimes in pilgrimage still – in often unconscious admiration of the work that it took this living planet millions of years to create and where life may thrive if only we will let it.

Divine Chalk landscape - wild trout

Spot the wild brown trout

‘Hamani’ by Keith

 

Flowering cherry trees

Spring has arrived at last and there are finally signs of seasonal change in the landscape. However, despite a few passing remarks by newsreaders, weathermen and neighbours, the arrival of spring in the UK is not heralded with much fuss. The changing seasons are one of the joys of living in a temperate climate as they add a richness and rhythm to the year and there are always subtle changes to be spotted in nature. Noticing the first snowdrop or daffodil in the garden is always a sure sign that winter is, at last, nearly over.

In Japan, another temperate country, this time of year is marked with altogether much more sense of occasion. The season of hanami or ‘flower viewing’ (almost always referring to cherry blossom) is a national event and is eagerly anticipated. The progress of the sakura zensen or ‘cherry blossom front’ as it moves northwards across the archipelago is tracked by the Japanese Meteorological Agency and the public follow nightly forecasts allowing them to predict its arrival in their region.

Cherry blossom timetable

The progress of the opening blossoms is plotted on this hotel lobby chart to enable visitors to find the best spots

 

 The reason for all this anticipation is the centuries-old tradition of holding outdoor parties beneath trees laden with cherry blossom. Areas in parks are cordoned off and groups of friends and families claim the best spots by laying down groundsheets. Wrapped in coats and blankets (but with shoes politely removed) food and drink is served, no matter how cold and damp it may be. Paper lanterns are strung up in some parks to enable the parties to continue into the night whilst less hardy visitors flood parks, gardens and cemeteries to photograph and be photographed with the blossom.

Flowering cherry trees in Japan

Hamani parties beneath the trees in Tokyo
People eager to be photographed with the blossom in Kyoto

 

The practice of hanami dates back over a thousand years and was originally used to predict the forthcoming harvest and herald the rice-planting season. People believed in spirits living in the trees, left offerings and drank sake. The Japanese proverb ‘dumplings rather than flowers’ hints that for some the food and drink may be the most important part of hanami nowadays, although it is clear to see how much delight the Japanese people get from the simple act of viewing the blossom-laden boughs. Part of this pleasure is explained by the Japanese term mono no aware which is used to describe the transience of things and a gentle sadness at their passing.

Back at home in Hampshire, whilst there are no lanterns and no al-fresco parties (to my knowledge) the roadside blackthorn and the glimpsed view of a neighbour’s cherry tree that I can see from my sitting-room window have taken on an altogether greater significance knowing that on the other side of the world a whole nation holds them in such great esteem.

Cherry blossom in a drink

Anyone for a cherry blossom martini?

 

For those looking to hold their own British-style hanami, Batsford Arboretum , Gloucestershire http://www.batsarb.co.uk/ and Keele University, Staffordshire both have excellent collections of flowering cherries. If you want to go one step further and replicate this in your own garden two of the varieties most beloved of the Japanese are Prunus subhirtella ‘Pendula’ and Prunus x yedoensis.

What’s in a name? – part II, by Martin

There’s nothing says that you’re in England more-so than a place name like ‘Crackpot’ (in Swaledale, North Yorkshire to be precise). One of the many joys of being a Landscape Architect is the need for us to explore, and when we do, we’re surprised by place names more often than you’d think. 

Happy Bottom, near Wimborne Minster

Viewpoint 44 of my VIA near Wimborne Minster

My recent Visual Impact Assessment of a proposed housing development in Wimborne Minster includes viewpoint 44, located at ‘Happy Bottom’. In the course of undertaking similar fieldwork, I’ve also visited ‘Scotland’ (near Liss, in Hampshire), and ‘Quebec’ (near Harting, in West Sussex). Out on the road I’ve been amused driving through ‘Worlds End’ (near Denmead, in Hampshire), and invariably on route to visit my Mum in Shropshire there comes a point when I’m at ‘Loggerheads’. When I first started out as a Landscape Architect, I did a design for a school in Wootton Wawen (in Warwickshire). Try saying that after a couple of pints. I would mention a favourite old Terra Firma scheme at ‘Sandy Balls’ (in the New Forest) – but we would not wish to cause offence to client, inhabitants or indeed the many who visit there.

 

Place names are a constant fascination to me. Not only do they often make me smile as I go about my work, but they nearly all (even the less amusing ones) make me reflect on the origins of the place. How do places become known by then names we associate with them? It would seem that it is rarely deliberate but often a quirk relating to some long-forgotten human intervention centuries back. 

Terra Firma's Visual Impact Assessment in West Sussex

Who said Quebec was in Canada? – It’s in West Sussex!

Human intervention is the very essence of the work of a Landscape Architect. A site we’ve designed including a prominent tree may have slipped our mind in 20 years’ time. But in that space of time, the tree may have become important in the minds of local people. They may associate it with the landowner. In another 20 years’ time, the landowner may sell the land and housing may be built on it. The tree may be kept, and the way people refer to it may stick. They may still call it ‘Mr. So-and-so’s tree’ – even though Mr. So-and-so is no longer around. The name might become synonymous with the place, not just the tree. After all, it’s believed that the Saxon origin of the name ‘Coventry’ is derived from ‘Mr. Cofa’s Tree’.

 

Once upon a time, somebody made the decision to plant some Oak trees – 7 of them. Eventually, that place became known as Sevenoaks. Or on a more local scale, sometimes you’ll come across street names referring to a tree. Even though ‘Elm Grove’ may no longer have any Elm trees, at some time in history somebody would have decided to plant the trees that gave the place its name.

 

Place names are littered with examples of how our predecessors have designed Landscapes in the past. Without knowing it, we might also create history in a similar way – a way that is almost indelible. Something which makes a ‘place’ different to a ‘plot’ is when a community collectively gains a perceptive association with it – and for ease of conversation the location often becomes intrinsically referred to by name. This possibility that an echo of our day-to-day designs could resonate long into the future (long outliving the original creations themselves) is all the more intriguing because it’s a quirk of fate, out of our hands. It’s a joy to think that our designs can take on a life of their own.

My analogy-tastic landscape head

It’s no secret that I’m into historical stuff. My mind often drifts that way, as it did when I was thinking about what to write in this blog. For me, the act of being in a place that resonates the past really fires the imagination. My daily commute to work involves a walk down a 10th century drove road, with a ‘magan’ (a bank and ditch marking a Saxon parish boundary) on one side, and an ancient semi-natural woodland on the other. I find it amazing to think that the first humans to walk the route which I walk were 44 generations before my own. In theory, it could have been my Great X 41 Grandfather who originally set out the track. My walk to work is tranquil, and at the same time it fires all of the senses. It’s a start, and an end to my working day which is beyond valuable. There’s something about it which is simply magical. 

Historic Landscape at Rowlands Castle

My daily trudge to work - horrid isn't it?

As a landscape architect I am in awe of places which invoke so much sentiment. In fact, I’d go as far as to say that no design can match the intangible depth of history, and I have to admit that as a designer I can’t compete. However, landscape architecture isn’t just about design. I was recently walking in the Royal Forest of Bere – another ancient semi-natural woodland near my home. Reminded that landscape architects are custodians of the landscape, it occurred to me that that might mean creating interventions befitting of the modern era, or it might equally mean looking after interventions from a bygone time.

As a designer, I don’t just look to the future – I like to keep one eye on the past. In the future my modern-day interventions will be considered as just another stitch in the ever-growing tapestry of history. Everywhere you look there is another thread in that tapestry – and each one tells a story. Some threads are short-lived – others have weaved from a point way back in history, and will go on into the future. Looking to the example of past interventions can help us consider how effective our proposed interventions might be.

This is why it is important for landscape architects to be skilled not only in design, but also in the practices of managing the land. There are some places where design is not the priority – if it denies us an ancient landscape that has much to teach. If I were asked to design a modern-day intervention for an ancient setting, I would make sure that my design respected the pre-existing threads in the tapestry of history. Moreover, as landscape architects we sometimes have the privilege of inheriting a weave started before us, and seeing it continues into the future.

 

2012: Landscapes of the future

I was recently on a flight toBarbados (just had to get that in) and I was reading ‘predictions for 2012’ in the on-flight magazine. Several ‘experts’ independently see this new year heralding a mass yearning to get away from the fast-paced digital age and experience something a bit ‘rustic’. People will want to visit places where their Blackberries don’t work. Apparently there’ll be new markets in more adventurous tourism, with people wanting to explore places that have never appealed before. I expect that going somewhere without the luxury facilities we’ve demanded in the past will also be a bit cheaper – perhaps not a coincidence. Continue reading

Overcrowding in the English landscape? by Paul Strugnell

Recently I found myself contemplating the nature of ‘classical’ landscapes, not from the comfort of home reading a book, but from the remains of a damp hermitage perched on a hillside at Stourhead.

Having felt much like Aeneas, having firstly sheltered from a torrential downpour in the grotto, I then commenced the walk up to the Temple of Apollo via the rock bridge and zig-zag path. As the rain increased to such an extent as to almost obscure the view, I found myself thoroughly soaking wet and took shelter halfway up in the hermitage.

It was here looking out at the view that something didn’t feel right about Stourhead, the problem not being the mix of classical architecture, or the loosely based classical references, but the view – or more precisely the lack of it.

Sheltering in the hermitage and contemplating the obscured view

Where was the view? All I could see through the rain was a mass of beech trees. Earlier on, following the route down from the house, brief glimpses of the pantheon and grotto would jump suddenly into view but be quickly replaced by an almost claustrophobic feeling of being enclosed by trees. Continue reading

Terra Firma in Transylvania

I don’t think my feet have touched the ground since returning from my fieldwork in Romania two weeks ago. My work with Terra Firma has sent me there twice before, but this time I was accompanied by Ramune on her first visit to the Transylvanian Goldfields. I knew I was in for a bumpy ride (literally), but Ramune quickly learned that our fieldwork would be far more intrepid than usual.

Terra Firma at work in Romania

Ramune doing fieldwork in Corna Valley

Rosia Montana Gold Corporation (RMGC) have appointed us to extend the Landscape and Visual Impact Assessment (LVIA) study we previously carried out for the setting of the historic village of Rosia Montana. Our job is to demonstrate that the proposed open-cast gold mining operations can be acceptable in the landscape context, and integrate with the existing cultural heritage. Considering the nature of extracting the rock from the mountain sides, that’s not an easy task from the perspective of a Landscape Architect. However, this project is a truly fascinating one, bringing into play so many facets of related criteria, (such as sociology, demography, archaeology, biodiversity, economics, mining technology and the science of decontamination techniques) which go to make-up a genuine need for the industry. Continue reading