Giant JPs, artworks & JB is innocent, OK?

John Boden reminded me (as if I could ever have forgotten) of the chant of Parryisms that was used to maintain morale, distress grockles and embarrass our dear Director when he was showing visiting local dignitaries around the site. A 'giant JP' chant was to have been part of the adaptation of 'Captain Lash' that was to be directed and produced by Dr Phillpotts, as JB reminded us here. I have been trying to reconstruct the words of the Parry-inspired chant, although I am not entirely certain that it can be published in full.

Mr Boden writes on this, and other matters:

"Now, the 'Giant JP' - that quoted snippet was the only reference in my Capt. Lash copy (which I now realise after only spotting 'Phillpotts on Lash' in your blog today, that the mystery hand of scripting was obviously Kris P. himself, and not such a rarity as I had supposed), but so well-known at the time that further explanation not needed! My dim recollection is that the Giant JP tended to evolve, on an annual basis perhaps, depending on whatever new bons mots fell from the maestro's lips. It did, however, always start with the same Leitmotiv - "Bastard, Swine, Long-handled bugger...." [Surely no comma between "Bastard" and "Swine"? Ed.] If I had to make a guess at the originator/moderator/MC of the 'Giant JP', that would be Biggles. For example, I vaguely recall in 1980, JP was incensed by someone in our dormitory scraping his boots with a trowel at his bedside, rather too close to breakfast time and JP himself, and he shouted out the gem: "Damn you for that scratchin'" followed by "Damn your eyes for that scratchin'" when the scratchin' didn't immediately cease. That was incorporated into the 'Giant JP' for that season, or maybe it wasn't, as False Memory Syndrome kicks in yet again!!

.. glad you thought the artwork I gleaned from Cyberspace worthy of 'running up the flagpole', and despite the fact that you personally didn't salute it - after a couple of glasses of the Lincolnshire Co-Operative Society's finest industrial-quality S. African Cab/Shiraz, I thought I could almost detect nuances of 2m x 2m planning grids, Limestone, Long Mounds and Leisuredromes.......

Finally, on a slightly different tack, which needs squaring up, the recently-posted incident of myself falling drunkenly into a bed of nettles (urtica dioica) - I categorically don't see me in the frame for that one! I'm sure I would have remembered the after-effects, if not the incident itself....

There was an occasion when one of our party appeared to have become detached on a walk back from the Air Balloon, and a head-count in the dining room late-pm led us on a search party down Greenway Lane, where our missing member was discovered having been botanically sidetracked (urtica dioica, again). Iain...help, you were there - unless another attack of FMS."

You might remember this ....

After the picnic in August 2004 some of us were unable, on the way home, to resist a small diversion up Greenway Lane to examine the state of Ullenwood Camp. It was partly demolished and the scene of the devastation that greeted us I posted last July . Two rather better pictures, taken by Professor Dixon appeared in October and December. John Boden's picture of the ablutions, seen here in May, shows them in all their finery in their heyday, slightly foxed, in 1975.

This morning's photograph is of the sign that I retrieved from the sad wreckage as a memento. When I picked it up out of the rubble I imagined it in my mind's eye that it was on the outside of the ablutions block. J. B.'s photograph shows that my memory plays me false because the sign in his photograph reads "Gentlemen Ablutions" and is clearly in white letters on a blue background. So my souvenir either must have come from somewhere else other than the outside of the ablutions block (more likely) or the signage changed after 1975 (less likely). Perhaps it was on the entrance door itself? Or maybe there was another loo I've forgotten about.

The long grass at Ullenwood in black and white

From the English Heritage National Monuments Record collection, the Cold War series taken by Michael Hesketh Roberts in 1999: the long grass at Ullenwood looking particularly luxurious and doubtless appealing to the foxes of which Lofty was so fond ...

Whilst on the subject of Ullenwood, I have a vague recollection of some episode involving surveillance by the Gloucestershire Constabulary drug squad.  I have a feeling that somebody had planted a grove of marijuana, on one side or the other of Greenway Lane, and that the dope plants were discovered, presumably by Mike Cuttell, on whose land the undesirable growing was taking place.  The police were informed and this led to some doubtless long-suffering Detective Constable hiding in the hedge awaiting the return of the marijuana grower, presumably with the intention of making an arrest followed by interview, and unless a very good explanation was forthcoming, charges were sure to follow. I have half a suspicion that this may have been either in 1976 on 1977 when Ken and Dave were the cooks for the season and I think the only reason I know anything about this at all is that they mentioned that they were in the habit over a few days of slipping down Greenway Lane and handing plates of hot food into the hedge for the nourishment of the long-suffering Detective Constable.  Presumably a disembodied arm would emerge from the hedge to return the plates and cutlery.  At this distance I am beginning to wonder whether I have imagined this: does it ring any bells with anyone else?

 I cannot imagine the Gloucestershire police sparing anyone to stake out a marijuana patch these days.

9 diggers and a 5-barred gate ...

Jim Irvine sends this from 1983.  L to R: Simon Bacon, Jim ? (sadly killed shortly thereafter in a car accident) Sue Bird, ?, John Watterson, Mel ?, Malcolm White, Nina Stoyan, and Griff.  Was this taken just outside Ullenwood with Greenway Lane down to the left?

Update: John Watterson writes: "I don't think we know each other, but Jim Irvine sent you a photograph with me in (John Watterson).  I can help complete a couple of missing names: Sue Bird (now Sue Burrett), Denise (I think...she was friend of Melanie's) ?, John Watterson, Mel(anie) Grant  (now Melanie Thwaites). After all these years I'm still in close contact with Malcolm White, and hear from Sue and Mel every x-mas. The photograph brings back some wonderful memories, but Jim's death was a tragedy. The photograph was taken just outside Ullenwood with Greenway Lane down to the left."

One Thursday in 1985 ...

For reasons I know not - but I'm sure enlightenment would come from Messrs. Dixon or Savage - Thursday was the rest day. By and large, because the bus that stopped at the end of Greenway Lane went to Cheltenham, almost everyone went into Cheltenham on Thursdays to do a little bit of shopping and to relax.  Few people, especially in the first 15 years of the excavations, had cars, so other destinations than Cheltenham were a rarity.  (Much for the same reason, public houses other than the Air Balloon were rarely honoured with the diggers' custom.  There were occasional trips to the Green Dragon at Cowley, but not much else.)

Favoured haunts included the Montpellier end of town, the Promenade and the Imperial Gardens.  The latter, I think, is the location of the above Phillpotts 1985 picture of Sasha Judelson and Alan Lupton (with a hint of Nadine Munn-Baron on the left).

Ode to Ullenwood

Dr Phillpotts, in his definitive history of the Below Average White Band, which I posted here, in November, makes reference to the performance of the "Ode to Ullenwood". Dr Ferris remembered John Boden's recitations, in the style of John Cooper Clarke, here.  One such recitation, after a session at the Air Balloon, took place in 1980: the accompaniment to JB consisted of Phillpotts on hosepipe, teapot, kazoo and jug, Ferris on cider jars filled with varying amounts of water to change the pitch of the notes, and Parker on Piano. I seem to remember playing the pianowires, inside the piano itself, with the assistance of some cutlery purloined from the kitchen. Hmm...

I have unearthed the original typed manuscript of the Ode to Ullenwood: it was written one evening at my parents' house in Crouch End in London by Dr Phillpotts, myself and my mother. We were, if I remember through the haze of time, assisted by liberal libations of rough cider made by Westons of Much Marcle. That was my mother's preferred drink: one of my schoolfriends once remarked that my parents's house was the only place he knew where rough cider was treated as a soft drink that you were given if you couldn't think of anything you'd rather have.  My mother had been trained, in her schooldays in the early 1930s, to write verse: she was good at rhyming and very hot on scansion. But I digress. Here then, after a doubtless welcome absence of 28 years, since its one and only public performance, is the Ode to Ullenwood, together with a commentary, not all of which survives.

Ode to Ullenwood Line

Near Ullenwood a hill was found,

A fort with ramparts bless’d:

Courtney’s woeful Leisuredrome

Was built upon its crest. 4

An archaeologist came by,

Of Mediaeval bent,

And all at once he was inspired

His passions there to vent. 8

So Dixon set his crew to dig

With catbasher and pick,

Continuing ten years and more

Since work is scarcely quick 12

The Secretary, a bearded man,

Driving Volkswagen van,

Prepared the camp at Ullenwood

For Dixon’s rabid clan. 16

The end of Greenway Lane once reached,

Is met with Lofty’s glare

But girls may find reserved for them

A leering Parry stare. 20

The dormitories are bare indeed,

But homely all the same –

Straw mattresses which Michael Dash

Flea-powder’d into fame. 24

Are cubicles anathema

And cramping to your style?

Then tents erect and there inspect

Your partner’s winsome smile. 28

Each evening one is forced to queue

To fuel the hungry gut,

With beans and sausage pie and stew

And baps, that fearsome glut. 32

The vile corpse thus satisfied

Can never be too soon

Restored by running down the lane

To reach the Air Balloon 36

At closing time, the camp regained,

The Mummers take the boards

With kettle, hose and dustbin-lid

To tame th’unlovely hordes. 40

Cacophony is shrieked aloft

To make the rafters ring:

Three drunken diggers take the stage

Endeavouring to sing. 44

The Bacchic frenzy lingers on

Till one or two a.m.

Bewildering the new recruits

O! Who the tide will stem? 48

The breakfast eggs the stomach turn,

Reduce strong men to pulp;

The sausages and beans and grease

Resist your every gulp: 52

But soft! the Sound of Lofty’s horn

Summoning all in sight,

To mount the fearsome Magyar’s coach

Worsens your morning plight: 56

The summit reached, the dumper trucks

With clangor fill the air,

And Parry’s morning curse therewith

Chills the brave and fair. 60

But Parry’s curse, put into verse

Immodest here would seem:

The poet now discreet must be

To sully not his theme. 64

Scorn not the Bard whose noble aim

In doggerel is fram’d

The broaching of the tool shed door

By such verse is not shamed. 68

The supervisors name their tools

As Philip tugs his beard

Why blench they all at Bernie’s belch

And why is Courtney feared? 72

The limestone rings to trowel and pick,

The shovels scrape and swing,

The barrows climb the spoil heap side

Their weary loads to fling. 76

Then Corky’s cry – O blessèd sound –

Tea and relief provides,

One cup for each of us, no more,

And biscuits there besides. 80

The work continues then apace,

Till sandwich time arrives

Egg and mustard – mayonnaise –

Th’industrious digger thrives. 84

Another session yet ensues

Till four o’clock – more tea,

But two more weary hours must pass

‘ere diggers can be free. 88

He who would wash must rules obey,

Prevailing in this clime:

He gets the chance on each third day

To scrape away the grime. 92

The ladies’ fate, sad to relate,

Equality foreswears:

Two days in three the showers pour

Cleansing their matted hairs. 96

Despite such strife, the digger’s life

Congenial to few

To us is best, so let the rest

Dear Ullenwood eschew. 100

Commentary and notes on " Ode to Ullenwood"

Title: the poem is addressed to Ullenwood, more specifically to the Civil Defence Centre situated there. (NGR: SO 936 174). It has been the accommodation of numerous volunteer diggers who work on the excavation of Crickley Hill, an Iron Age and Neolithic site situated a few miles from Cheltenham.

The poem consists of 25 four line stanzas and describes many features of life on the excavation and at the camp and several peculiarities thereof.

Line 1: "Ullenwood": cf. note on title.

Line 2: "A fort with ramparts bless’d": the centres of Iron Age and Neolithic occupation are surrounded by an extensive ditch and rampart defensive structure.

Line 3: "Courtney's woeful Leisuredrome" this refers to the decision of the Gloucestershire County Council in the late 1970s to deem the part of the site which belongs to them, and not the National Trust, a "Country Park". To ameliorate the facilities on top of the hill and therefore attract the general public, a public lavatory complex was built at the site. This was a cause of much chagrin to the diggers who, resenting the modernity of the lavatories and furthermore the sudden influx of tourists to distract them from their work, would have preferred to continue to use the "Elsan" chemical toilets which became such a prominent feature of the digging day, in the years from 1969 to 1979 when the toilets were built. Terry Courtney is the assistant director of the excavation, and an unidentified digger name to the lavatory block after him. Suggestions from one of the diggers, Flt Lt David Southwood, RAF, that he should bomb the Leisuredrome has been turned down because of the ensuing havoc, despite the desirability of the programme.

Line 5: “An archaeologist” : a reference to Dr P. W. Dixon, of Nottingham University, the Director of the Excavation.

Line 6: "Of Mediaeval bent": Dr Dixon's preference is for the aforementioned period.

Line 10: "catbasher": a word in vogue at Crickley meaning an entrenching tool, cf. refs to J. Parry Esq.

Line 11: "ten years and more": the excavation has been in progress since the summer of 1969.

Line 12: the site covers 9 ½ acres of which an area in the region of 4 acres has been completely excavated.

Line 13: "the secretary": R.D.A. Savage, lecturer at the Gloucestershire College of Art and Design, who is an expert on the British Iron Age Mirror series, and also upon Celtic myth. He is the secretary of the excavation, and in the evenings lectures upon these two subjects with great zest as well as on the maintenance of Ullenwood, notably the dangers of blocking the drains with foreign material.

Line 14: "Volkswagen van" Mr Savage possesses an "F" registration Volkswagen bus which has performed over 120,000 miles with a few technical hitches on some of the worst terrain in Great Britain. The van has only been known to collapse after conveying no less than 23 people from site to camp, along the old quarry road; this proved too much for the suspension but little else ever has.

Line 17: "Greenway Lane": the lane which leads from the B4070 to the Civil Defence Centre.

Line 18: "Lofty": the Hungarian caretaker of the camp who is tremendously helpful, but positively frightening if riled or if he suspects that all is not quite what it should be.

Line 20: "a leering Parry stare": you'll soon meet John whose principal occupation is coin dealing, though this is linked with colourful language, and leering at everybody. A fixture at Crickley.

Line 21: the dormitories certainly are bare but the rain is rarely known to penetrate the corrugated iron roof and the accommodation is much superior to that of most sites.

Line 23 to 24: the straw mattresses can be a trifle hard, but during his years of work on the excavation, Michael Dash of Sussex University, has by regular and extensive application of powder ensured that we can all sleep comfortably beds free from bites at the hands of any creatures that may be fool enough to attempt to inhabit the mattresses. The probability of getting respiratory problems because of the powder is, however, accordingly increased.

Line 25 to 28: It is, perhaps, worth noting that camping is available as an alternative to listening to other people snoring in the cubicles.

The rest of the commentary is lost, which is perhaps as well.

A 19th century description of Crickley

My thanks to the Bristol and Gloucestershire Archaeological Society for permission to reproduce extracts from their transactions. Here from 1896-97:

"On their right a mile distant, was Crickley Hill Camp, formed by a mound and ditch running across the projecting height in a slightly curved line, with a second mound and ditch running parallel to it 100 yards off. The three other sides of the defence were formed by the natural slope of the hill, scarped artificially.  The defended area was about nine acres. The entrance remains in a perfect condition and is defended by a bank and ditch.  In the immediate neighbourhood there are six round barrows and one long barrow" (This description of the camp is drawn from Mr. Witts' Archaeological Handbook of Gloucestershire.)

On some ancient roads on the Cotswolds ...

My thanks again to the Secretary of the Bristol & Gloucestershire Archaeological Society, John Loosley, for permission to reproduce this extract from the BGAS Transactions. Interesting comments from 1896-97 from John Sawyer on the road from Birdlip via Crickley and the Greenway to Leckhampton and Norbury. "Crickley Hill ... appears to have been a British village". Full paper is here.

Life at Ullenwood 2: Dr Ferris writes ...

Like Crickley Hill Man, I thought I would also set down some memories of living at Ullenwood while digging at Crickley. Certainly the camp was very much as remembered by Crickley Hill Man even in the earlier seasons-I first dug at Crickley in either 1971 or 1972. There was also a private house, next to the mess hall and kitchen, lived in by Lofty, the exiled Hungarian coach driver for Swanbrook Coaches and Mrs Lofty his wife, whose real name we never knew. Beyond this was a large tarmacked area known, for obvious reasons, as the football pitch, and to the side of that a few Nissen huts dubbed 'the married quarters'. The most curiously monickered buildings were The Ablutions, the washrooms and toilets, but I cannot recall if there was a sign on the doors designating them this way or if the name originally came from Richard Savage. The mess hall or dining room was the hub of the camp, with book readers and letter writers spilling out of the mess hall to sit on the steps in the better evening weather. Dinner served at 7 o'clock was always somewhat of a stampede, though there were always inevitably seconds available. I cannot recall a season when the food wasn't really good, though those diggers who on a couple of mornings had their breakfasts cooked by John Boden and myself in order to give the hard-pressed cooks a sleep-in may beg to differ. In those pre-mobile phone days Ullenwood was amazingly quiet and restful, generally until after the Air Balloon had shut. There was no TV and record players or cassette decks only tended to be brought out on party nights-on two or three Wednesday nights every season. I do remember though many of us being gripped by certain dramatic news stories listened to on transistor radios whenever we could, these being the fall of Saigon in 1973 and the Turkish invasion of Cyprus in 1974. After dinner, if we weren't on chores, we would go the Air Balloon or attend one of the evening lectures and then race down to the Air Balloon for last orders. I particularly remember Richard Savage's marvellous lectures on the Irish sagas which had a huge influence on me. Kenneth Jackson's Celtic Miscellany, recommended by Richard, is still a favourite book of mine. Getting back from the Air Balloon could either be by the simple direct route or on some evenings it would involve walking up Crickley Hill and along the scarp through the woods. In the dark this could be quite time-consuming, particularly when we stopped off to sit on top of one of the barrows near the top of Greenway Lane to drink cider take-outs- Gold Label, GL -and tell ghost stories. For a couple of seasons I was a member of the terribly-named Below Average White Band whose regular drink-fuelled late night performances of improvised 'sound sculptures' on 'found' instruments such as an old piano frame, a kettle with a rubber hosepipe attached and some biscuit tins and empty cider bottles gave GBH of the earhole to many more sober diggers back in the mess hall. Other members of the band included Chris Philpotts and John Boden but I cannot remember who else might have performed with this sadly not-missed floating collective of troubadours. Update: definitive history from Dr Phillpotts now posted here. About 20 people "performed" one way and another over the years.