Ghostly Figures That Look Suspiciously Like Ray Davies

The Psychogeographer in the Urban Landscape

In a series of articles in the Guardian in 2009 called 'Secret Britain' the British psychogeographer Iain Sinclair explains the effect/affect of stumbling across 'hidden' places in the urban terrain:

These sites, come upon by accident, prick our imagination, provoke reverie. Questing for one story, we blunder into another: we must train ourselves to expect the unexpected. The thing hidden behind a high wall is still part of our true 'legacy', but buildings and sites sometimes have to wait to achieve a haunting dereliction, to be come legitimate targets for vulgar curiosity. That's how the Secret Britain guide philosophy works: when you don't see it, it is still there. And when you do, it is on the point of disappearance. (2009: 5).

And it is these sites that most contemporary psychogeographers write about and show in their films. The writing often takes the form of a personal account which is interspersed with historical or literary references - a subjective response to a particular place that "provoke[s] reverie" (or other psychic responses), combined with an interest in pursuing a particular historical direction engendered by that affective reaction. These accounts are what give the best 'flavour' of what psychogeography is, much more than any theoretical analysis or discussion can. So, I shall include a few paragraphs from some writers and will also comment on some psychogeographic films.

One of the chapters in Will Self's Psychogeography recounts a walk around the nuclear plant known as Sizewell, in the UK:

Sizewell again. This patch of Suffolk coastline, psychically irradiated by the untold ergs of electricity generated by the two nuclear power stations, exerts a strange hold on me. I far prefer it to the environs of Southwold, further up the coast, which have become overwritten by scribes as various as P.D. James and W.G. Sebald. I lived inland of here for a couple of years in the mid-1990s but was forced to evacuate when the wife of the one local acquaintance I'd made invited me to 'drop by' her gift shop in Saxmunden. I was on the phone to the self-drive van hire company that very evening. (2007: 141)

Self is known for his caustic wit and it is this type of subjective response to place that seems to be permitted in textual representations of psychogeographic walks. Below is the transcription from part of one of the films that Nick Papadimitriou and John Rogers made together about one of Papadimitriou's walks. Papadimitriou's geographic concentration is the English county that used to be called Middlesex. What was left of the county Middlesex (after the forming of the county council system in the 1800s) was taken up by Greater London and other counties before World War II. However, it is still considered a geographic area, so it remains so in that sense. Papadimitriou investigates the urban detail at its fundamental microbe-like level, almost down to the very molecules that make up the urban décor, as you will see when we look at him examining a concrete post. This film is called Deep Topography with Nick Papadimitriou. At about 53 seconds into the film we see Papadimitriou standing facing the camera with his right hand on a concrete post. There are a couple of trees to Papadimitriou's right, a road behind him; at the far side of the road we can see a building and a car. We are in Golders Green in North London. The concrete post reaches approximately the level of Papadimitriou's chest. From its appearance it looks like it is made from a mix of concrete which also contains shingle. The post is old, part of it is worn away, we can see its inner metal skeleton has been exposed. Rogers says: “Tell me about this post Nick”. This is Papadimitriou's reply:

I don't know anything about this post, but I like it and I think that, you know, I'm basically a religious writer and if I were to invent a religion this would be the type of object that people would kneel to. I think it's a kind of storage vat of regional memories, and they are contained inside it like a sort of, [pause] they radiate out slowly. Sometimes when I am in certain frames of mind, particularly on very hot days around the North Circular, I can feel time radiating off of pre-moulded concrete lintels and I've kind of developed a way of accessing them. And, I think what these things store are conglomerate images, eras passing, people's hairstyles, ghostly figures that look suspiciously like Ray Davies [pause] or his brother Dave Davies. I love this, this machining. It's fantastic isn't it?

Papadimitriou's connection with this concrete post, whilst highly imaginative and also cultural, philosophical and existential, is also extremely tactile. Papadimitriou sees the post as, somehow, storing “conglomerate images” and he explains how it has seen the change of fashion (hairstyles) and popular music (the Davies brothers from the band The Kinks), and that this history has become stored in the very matter of the concrete.

This subjective response to space will become a large part of the psychogeographic walks used in my own project and will tie in to the theory of Félix Guattari that looks at the subjective processes that can become a challenge to dominant modes of power - his Molecular Revolution texts in particular. Below is another example of Papadimitriou's which demonstrates how an individual can respond to a space in a different way to the 'intended' one. At a showing of The London Perambulator at the Curzon in Soho, London, the literature made available to the audience includes a note from Papadimitriou:

I imagine sometimes that I am on a powerful and yet undiscovered hallucinogen, one that dissolves the ego-boundaries so effectively that subject and object fuse, so that, were I to ingest this substance while visiting Watford, I would in some way pass into and become the town centre. It would be a transtemporal, multiplex, experience; a monad amidst conflagrations of men and women; young girls' eyes at Chicken Hut; your story, one among many as you surged through the Studham for work at your tattoo parlour. (2010)

In Lights Out for the Territory (1997) Sinclair traces a number of routes across London, showing us its darker side and at the same time historically connecting people and place. The extract below provides an example of how individuals - in this case a published writer and psychogeographer - who do not fit the model of a certain 'type' in the capital, can become persona non grata:

And so it was, on the fine and pleasant afternoon of Saturday 8th April, 1995, that I found myself trying to walk in through the front entrance of the Barbican Arts Complex and being treated like a bogside bomb-carrier. The sensation is not uncommon in the new City. It's how they want you to feel, uncomfortable: the stranger in town. They want you to carry a card, with a photograph and a number, that defines you as some sort of non-person lowlife. (2003: 99)

The Barbican Exhibition Hall is located in the heart of the finance district in London and during the 1990s British security was becoming very constricted because of the IRA bombings in the capital at that time. This is a common side-effect of being a psychogeographer, being treated suspiciously because a definitive label cannot be attached to you. In The Fringe of London: Being Some Ventures and Adventures in Topography (1925) Gordon S. Maxwell, a walker and writer, includes his experiences of how he is received by others when they ask what he does 'for a living'. On meeting a "commercial traveller" in an inn, the travelling salesman assumed that he was of the same profession, yet wondered where he kept his samples. Maxwell explained that his samples were too large to carry with him because he was a topographer. The other, commenting on the art of cutting trees into the shapes of animals, confused it with topiary. (1925: 27-28)

Prohibitive signs that appear in the environment are a form of urban phenomenon that can be intriguing to psychogeographers. In his essay on walking around Bromley-by-Bow in London, Dougald Hine explains how the signs that forbid action are the ones that predominate: "Spaces are defined by the games we can't play, the activities which won't be tolerated." (2011) He then remarks: "Where are the suggestive signs, I wonder - the signs which invite you to try something you might not otherwise have thought of? [...] Even the sign at Prospect Park which reads 'Play Here' feels like a command, rather than an invitation. (ibid.)

Psychogeographers have to decide what boundaries they are prepared to cross, legal or physical, in order to find their 'story'. Maxwell states: "The true rambler must never be afraid of committing the crime of trespass; fair words are a better help than fast legs." (1925: 22) However, this was 1925, when society was far simpler in structure and crimes, such as trespass, may have not even been reported. Maxwell goes on to say:

On the whole, people are courteous, when they know your errand is harmless [...] I have known an Ordnance Survey map works wonders if prominently displayed. You are sometimes then mistaken for a Government surveyor by a farm labourer - a mistake which is often useful. (ibid.)

This innocent comment is starkly contrasted to Sinclair's experience outside the Barbican. Nowadays a map in the hands of someone whose appearance might be deemed suspicious, could be the sign of a potential 'terrorist' threat. Maurice Beresford's text on the University of Leeds Walks Round Red Brick (1980) also includes similar experiences to that of Sinclair and Maxwell, and interestingly, since his walks took place in the 1970s, could be situated somewhere in between the other two, both historically and culturally. Beresford explains how one day when discovered hiding in the shrubbery of a private garden by a research fellow, his explanation for being there was dismissed by the other. The fellow exclaimed: "You're no professor, you're a thief!" (1980: 104)


Bibliography:
Beresford, Maurice. 1980. Walks Round Red Brick (Leeds: University of Leeds Press).
Hine, Dougald, 'Dériving Scarcity', Dougald Hine, (2011), [accessed 08 July 2011]
Gordon S., Maxwell. 1925. The Fringe of London: Being Some Ventures and Adventures in Topography (London: Cecil Palmer).
Self, Will. 2007. Psychogeography (London: Bloomsbury).
Sinclair, Iain. 2003. Lights Out for the Territory (London: Penguin).
Sinclair, Iain. 'A world you never knew existed', 'Secret Britain', The Guardian, April 2009, pp. 4-6.

The Cherry Tree Dérive (or the Blue Fork Walk)

Sunday July 25th 2010 12.30pm. Tim Waters (neo-geographer extraordinaire) and myself set off for a University of Leeds campus dérive using this method to chart our route:

We wrote the following numbers onto pieces of paper and put them in a hat (one digit per piece of paper): the last two digits of our mobile number, the last two digits of the year we were born and the last two digits of our house number. In turn we pulled out two numbers and marked the buildings that corresponded to them on the following map. The numbers were replaced in the hat each time. By the order the numbers were pulled, we charted that route by joining the dots:

Campus Map

This blog is a subjective schizocartography of that walk, supplemented by Maurice Beresford's Walks Round Red Brick (a little gem I picked up at Kirkstall Bookshop) and relevant information found online. The book was written in 1980 by a professor who walked the campus with his dog Lulu. It is a truly psychogeographic text and a superb find as research material for my thesis. He apparently died in Leeds on December 2005 and was a historian who specialised in writing about lost villages:

Maurice Beresford's Obituary

Here's a really nice recent picture of Maurice Beresford. It seems he very generously left £140,00 to the university for scholarships:

Staff Leave Lasting Legacy

Our walk began at The Packhorse on Woodhouse Lane, Leeds. We headed up Clarendon Road. While walking to this location I took a picture of the interesting water tower(?) attached to Henry Price Halls. I've been meaning to shoot it for a long time. It's a really interesting shape and from directly below has a spooky perspective which is quite unsettling and makes it seem precariously balanced:




Fairbairn House

The Fairbairn House area was the first stopping point on our chart. As you can see from the blue plaque, Queen Victoria stayed there:



The house and related area was locked, as it was a Sunday, but I have walked around it before with the Film and City students. It has an interesting grass courtyard at the back. I didn't take a picture of the house, but there's a nice one here:

Fairbairn House

Fairbairn House is a listed building. Here is the information on it in that regard for the architecturally-minded reader (the site quotes Beresford):

British Listed Buildings

Fairbairn House used to be called Woodsley House and also Albert Mansbridge Hall but was owned by Sir Peter Fairbairn (according to Maurice Beresford's text). Here is the statue of Fairbairn.

Statue of Sir Peter Fairbairn

It seems, like myself, the above blogger has also noticed the current fashion for cones on the heads of our Leeds statues. He is right, Wellington has a matching cone to go with his red wellies.

Below is an interesting street sign painted on the wall of Victoria Street, which is quite near Fairbairn House:



Charles Morris Hall

We had a good look at the new Charles Morris Hall. The area was locked at the main gates and fenced off around the perimeter. The halls look just about finished and I imagine almost ready for the new semester. I particularly liked the coloured glass in the windows (green or red). We spent a while gazing through the gates:



Tim started saying 'hello' to test the echo and we think this was what attracted the security guard over. He was very helpful and tried to answer all our questions. It was great to chat to a friendly security guard, rather than the usual 'jobsworth' type that one normally encounters.


Memorials

Near Parkinson Court (aka Parky) there were two memorials. The first one was at the bottom of a tree which was dying. It was for Emily Francis Parker who died the 6th of April this year. She was almost 21. Her friends had put pink ribbons on the tree and written sweet messages to her. It was very touching and quite sad.




Very close by was a memorial for Parvathy Kengatharan. One fixed in the ground, as with Emily, and also a lovely memorial bench. Below is a close up of the plaque and also a picture of Tim sitting on the bench:




There is an online obituary for Dr. Kengatharan. She died at 38 – very young. Here is the tribute:

Tribute to Parvathy Kengatharan


Childcare Centre

This was the first time I've had a proper look at the new childcare centre on campus. It has a Scandinavian look about it, with all the wood panelling. You can't see much of it in my photo below, so I've also provided an image of it during construction and an article from the university website:



Bright Beginnings Get Ready to Shine


Brutalist Architecture

I know not many people do, but I love the 60s brutalist architecture. My favourite buildings on campus - from the Chamberlin, Powell and Bon period - are the Roger Stevens Lecture Theatre and the Worsley Building.

I'm really happy with this picture of Roger Stevens (as we call it, as if it is the man himself rather than a building dedicated to him):



The piping effect on the side reminds me of a church organ. Apparently they do actually contain pipes of some sort (maybe air conditioning) and are not just for aesthetic effect. Maurice Beresford's walks do not seem to cover the precinct area. Maybe he doesn't enjoy the modernist architecture as much as I do.

The Worsley Building is a behemoth. I love it. It is like a massive chunk of impervious concrete. On the campus map it takes up a lot of space and is clearly a giant even from the birds eye perspective of the map. The first time I went inside it I was rather disappointed. I went via the walkways and was not even aware of the point that I entered it. The second time I entered from the dentist school side: when you approach the building there is a moment where you step from the outside and enter its interior. Once inside it is very difficult to get any sense of what the outside of the building is like.




Egypt in Leeds

Another aspect of the university campus that I'm attracted to is what I like to pretend are the secret pyramids.

The first one is at the back of the union building. You can't get to it at the moment because of the building works. I have walked up to it before and looked into the room below. Apparently it was some form of common room but is now unused. I remember seeing old fliers lying around the ledge on the inside of the glass.



The second pyramid actually turned out to be two. From the far side of the Roger Stevens pond you can only see one. The first one hides the second one. They are much smaller than the other one and are made of plastic. Unfortunately, you can't actually see into the space below.





Cavendish Road

Maurice Beresford dedicates a chapter to Cavendish Road. My photo below is of the Presbyterian Church built in 1879.



According to Beresford's text the church was converted to the Clothworker's Centenary Concert Hall in the sixties. I am going to include some of his text about the church here because it is very poetic and quite poignant:

“On a Sunday morning the empty streets allows the ghosts of the unco' guide Celtic exiles to come down the steps unobserved and walk to Hilary Place where pedestrianization has forced their grooms to wait respectfully by the pawing horses, impatient for home and their Sunday lunch of hay in the coach houses of Headingley Hill and Far Headingley.”

This is the topography of yesteryear, and Beresford can see its echoes in 1977 and 1978 when he wrote his text. This reminded me of The Ghosts of Oxford Street by Malcolm McLaren.

The Ghosts of Oxford Street


Conclusion

We forgot to pick up a found object of which we always name the dérive. However, Tim spent some time looking at the campus cherry trees - of which there are many - and picking the ripe cherries. At the beginning of the walk I thought about picking up a cherry stone but decided to wait till later on, then forgot. It wasn't till we were leaving that we realised we hadn't got an object. However, at the gate to my house I found half a blue plastic fork: the detritus of fast food that is the bedrock of student central (aka Headers).