Well, as you may well have seen or noticed, around these parts we were recently(ish) involved in undertaking a project that took the name The Quietened Village which is “…a study of and reflection on the lost, disappeared and once were homes and hamlets that have wandered off the maps or that have become shells of their former lives and times…”
Or to (re)quote Folk Words, work that “…conjures roofless walls holding spirits not populations, skeletal spires pointing accusative fingers skywards, submerged shadows reflecting in water, crumbled remains wreathing a cliff’s base…”
All of which put me in mind of a collected library of loss which was previously gathered together around these parts in relation to the endeavours of Grey Frequency, whose work I said at the time tends to cause my mind to wander towards “…abandoned structures in the liminal areas where the edgelands meet rural landscapes…”
Just before Christmas of 1943 Tyneham was commandeered by the military as it was to be used as part of firing range for training troops in the then near all-consuming conflagration.
The villagers of Tyneham were given 28 days to leave and were to never return, despite promises that they would one day be able to.
Apparently the last person to leave left this note on the church door:
“Please treat the church and houses with care; we have given up our homes where many of us lived for generations to help win the war to keep men free. We shall return one day and thank you for treating the village kindly.”
A respectful tip of the hat to those who lived there across the generations.
On which note, I feel there is but little more to say, apart from to position a signpost or two:
Tyneham’s not-so-bricks-and-mortar home in the ether today here and amongst the not-so-ink-and-paper pages of an encyclopedia here. Mr Keith Seatman’s wanderings around those parts at Found Objects here.
The Quietened Village audiological explorations can be found here.