Listening (94 days to go…)
by Max Akroyd
It’s the wrong end of the half term holiday and I’m sitting in the departure lounge of Manchester airport. It’s as low and grey in here as the clouds out there. Between the ranks of uncomfortable seats, and away from his Mum, there’s a toddler attempting to walk, but he’s being thwarted by the difficult angles and textures of this desolate space.
My French magazine is trying to tell me about the findings of a Danish study. It claims a 14% increase in heart failure among the over 65’s per 10 decibels of nuisance noise.
The night before a drunken Geordie was shouting outside my hotel room door at 2 a.m. His nocturnal rant was slightly quieter than that of the teething baby I’m used to at home, so my heart barely missed a beat. But sitting here for hours is definitely not good for your health. And what is that constant humming noise in the background? Maybe, like the dreary walls and ceilings, as interminable as the hours they capture, it’s designed to drive you into the retail outlets.
Only a madman or a martyr would attempt to relate to the sea of faces washed up in the global village. Safer just to zone out, switch off to survive.
I think of home and the opposite relationship with the space we’re in. Back there the experience of the senses is the only reward: no wage, just sunrise, great food, bird song. If you couldn’t enjoy these it would be a life of poverty indeed. And, after exactly three years of field work, I find myself listening constantly, intently. Any wrinkle in the fabric of the farm’s normal sounds instantly attracts my attention. If any of the animals makes a non-ordinary noise I investigate immediately for fear of fox, stray dog or other walking calamity.
Back in the public place, I put my headphones on and sink further into a private space.
*
Catching up on reading is the best aspect of the journey. I finally finished Twenty Years A-Growing. Latterly I’d had to ration my consumption of the chapters because I knew I was going to be sad when it was all over. It’s not often you can share in such a vivid experience of a pre-industrial life. I’m always sorry to leave.
More recommended reading! Our friends at Small Potatoes had linked me in to this report. I read it on the train as the weirdly unfamiliar Pennine landscape slipped by unheeded. I’d suggest that anyone else tempted to go back to the land should look at it closely.
Among the accounts of businesses based on small acreage there are some familiar names: Charles Dowding and Real Seeds are people I’ve given money to before now! Nothing in the report changed my conviction that subsistence and barter are the natural affiliates of this way of life, rather than profit. I wasn’t completely convinced that viability achieved by propping up a venture with private funds is necessarily more worthy or sensible than accepting a state handout, like Big Ag does. But until the tax man accepts payment in the form of Jerusalem artichokes, I guess it might pay to take note.
ruralidiocy.wordpress.com 
Morning Max
Felt a bit sad after reading this post.It felt so sad, grey & lonely.
Get back home as fast as you can & walk around your fields until you have shaken that gloom off.
It’s very wet & cold here today so I’m baking bread.
Mary x
Morning Mary,
I’m back and the prescribed remedy has worked a treat!
The weather is equally gloomy here, but nothing a bit of digging can’t displace.
Thank you.
I apologise on behalf of The Geordies, who are often drunk and shout at nothing immediately apparent to an observer. That is until the Geordie in question observes that it is being observed then will direct the shouting at said observer with frank and open enquiry as to what the observer is observing.
Hi Benn,
From my extensive observations in the field it seems to be a national rather than regional speciality.
But he was exceptionally loud. And might, in fact, have originated from Sunderland, for all I know!
I think you’ve put your finger on a very important distinction here between life as it is these days and life as it should be. The constant buzz of everyday 21st century life forces one to shut everything out to maintain sanity, a state of perpetual numbness. I once read an interesting Walter Benjamin piece to this effect, that it is too much stimulus for the conscious mind to handle, so much of it is parried to the subconscious, where it builds and can cause at the least uneasiness and at worst mental health problems. He also linked it to the idea of a ‘mémoire volontaire’ and ‘mémoire involontaire’ – we can only consciously remember the things which we are fully aware of at the time (and not parrying to the subconscious), but the involuntary memories still exist in the depths of the mind and are triggered by sensory stimulus, like Proust with the madeleine.
Ahem, sorry, severe tangent. I meant to say that I feel the same when I go into Paris these days. It is just too much auditory and visual stimulus. And I visited my former workplace the other day and found it so depressing I was surprised I actually made it out of there with any shred of sanity.
Hi Laura,
That’s very informative and also feels true. So many concepts formed in my previous life – notions of what constitutes wealth, happiness, merit, security – seem to have been wrecked by this experience. My regular forays back into civilisation are pretty disorientating as a result. I only record them here in the hopes it somehow illuminates the main theme.
Thank you.
The only thing to do is to head for home and bury your fingers in the deep rich earth (or a bucket of compost will do) it re-connects you to what really matters, gets you back on track and that, (and a cuddle off wife and baby)are what life is about.
That your monotonous journeying has such an important point is the only salvation.
Sue xx
Evening Sue,
It’s a massive defect in this plan tbh, that commitment to 12 journeys to Yorkshire and back each year. It’s an ecological nonsense and cripplingly expensive. And, of course, I’m going to keep on doing it from here to eternity if required! I know you understand why ; )
The report was an interesting read. I was surprised to see the turn over of Real Seeds!
Hi Ben,
Great little business isn’t it? I can’t even look at the website any more or I know I’ll buy something!
Finished reading 20 Years A-Growing last night. A little different from what I normally read but I enjoyed it. A totally different way of life in such an extreme environment. Can you imagine the reaction you’d get these days if you just walked into someone’s house, and best not mention the puffin eating! I was sad to think that times changed and people moved away. There was a similar village on St Kilda which has also been abandoned now, apart from an army base.
Hi Ben,
I’m really glad you’ve read it.
For me, it’s kind of a relief to hear directly that people can thrive in a non-industrial world. Even if they have to eat puffins!
Reading about the history of the island. The islanders had to make an emergency call to the Irish government requesting supplies in April 1947 after weeks of being cut off from the mainland.
I wonder what happened. I would guess at a harsh winter and an ageing population that couldn’t gather food/fuel or fish in the harsh weather.
There are a couple of other writers that have written about their lives on the island. Might see if I can find an copy of their books.
I may have said this before but you write beautifully. I loved reading this.
Thank you very much, silvercannon. I was a bit nervous about hitting the ‘publish’ button on this one but your comment makes me glad I did.