I’m now at the halfway stage of the Lincoln residency.
Everything is going to plan. The best photographs are in a folder according to location. These will eventually be made into a film between five and ten minutes long. Each has been sorted, graded and flagged. I have a title; ‘Place Setting’. I have so many different folders that could indicate other work. Ideas keep coming to me for additional work but then I do have that installation mentality.
I’m still not totally happy with some of my photos and one place that I keep returning to is near Spondon.
The picture I have to find is of a ploughed field. There are many fields around Spondon, few have been ploughed at this time of the year so that’s not helping. There are other clues; a hill, a horse and some bushes. Plenty of those in Spondon too! In desperation I try to convince myself that the ploughed field is actually a muddy lake … This takes me to Locko Park. It looks like a big park but it’s a footpath. If you deviate from it the farmer will kindly direct you back.
What sort of a word is ‘Locko’? It’s a weird one. I look up the history and I’m astonished to find that in 1180 this place was a leper hospital. The patients were cared for by Monks and ‘Locko’ is French for rags or bandages.
I start looking at things differently. The entrance to the place was strange. This was because leper hopitals were required to be on crossroads. In the lake I start seeing rags (or at least bags) in the mud plus other ominous looking things.
There is nothing left of the the original buildings. Everything was distroyed in 1340 in the Great Fire of Spondon. Just four houses were left standing in the village. A nearby lane has a strange name too. Lousie Greaves Lane was formally Lousy Graves Lane. Well no one would want to live there would they?
I remind myself about the field and walk on. I’m not going to say where but I stumble across a small area of ancient woodland. I know it’s ancient because I’ve just read Ancient Woodland. History,Industry And Crafts by Ian D Roberts. Mature trees had once been coppiced down to the ground here. As I’m looking at the ground I start to find pieces of pottery everywhere. They are from all different ages. There must have been a tip here. There’s even a piece of hand-painted porcelain, what a coincidence! I’m filling my pockets when it starts to rain. I shall have to go back again.
The search for the field continues …
