Reflections on the notion of art, whether travel broadens the mind and the enigmas that are churchyards and graveyards.

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Travel broadens the mind – truism, observable fact, cliché
This has been a kind of recurring theme on our journey. We spent the day in Cambridge today visiting those colleges that were open. In Cambridge you need to be exceptionally wary of bicycles. It’s the transport of choice for Cambridge students. I have this stereotyped image of a Cambridge undergrad in a tweed coat and tie wandering the grounds and punting on the river Cam. I blame CHARIOTS OF FIRE and BRIDESHEAD REVISITED. The reality is that if you transposed the students from Cambridge (or Oxford) to Newcastle Uni, you wouldn’t notice any difference – until they opened their mouths. On one of the notice boards at Oxford when we were there was a GLBTQ section which had advice and counselling for young people coming out. In my mind’s eye, kids attending Cambridge and Oxford are so together that they wouldn’t need any such advice – which is ridiculous. They are young people with the same insecurities as any other young person who’s the son or daughter of an Earl or Marquis - which is a cheap shot as there are many young people from around the world attending Oxbridge now.
It’s interesting that both Cambridge and Oxford have “lesser” universities as well as the two main ones. I wonder how the kids who go to them feel. I guess you could say on your CV I got my degree at Cambridge.
As we moved about the city today we were constantly harangued by (what I presume were) students trying to make an extra quid. They were trying to sell us tickets for a punting tour of the Cam. Literally they were touting for punters.
I was on the 1233 Friday discussion session on Drive a few months back. One of the topics for discussion was the role and function of tertiary education. There has been a very strong push over the past 20 years for unis to take on a stronger vocational role: to make students ready for a job so they can stop being layabout dilettantes and a burden to the community, and start to reclaim some of the values that matter most in life. I refer of course to making money.
I argued that the sum of the university experience is greater than the parts; that it’s the sporting and social clubs and the drinking and the parties and the discussions over coffee and the disagreements and the friendships gained and, ABOVE ALL having the time to synthesize all these experiences, AS WELL AS the lectures and the tutes and assignments and exams, which go to make up a complete university experience. That to reduce the university experience to study and getting a degree is to deny the broader educational benefits of 3 years of self-discovery. It is this notion of a well-rounded education which grows directly out of the Oxbridge tradition. And if for no other reason we should be grateful to both of them for this.
Monday
Drove to York. Beautiful countryside, often with farmland on one side and the barrenness of the Yorkshire moors on the other. Arrived in York and decided to do some washing. This lovely young girl in Sainburys not only gave us directions to the Laundromat but printed a map for us. Finally got to our B&B. Lovely. Went into town and had a really nice Mexican meal.
Tuesday
Did the Jorvic experience which is the Viking city under York. In the time of Alfred the Great England was divided in two. The northern half was Danelaw – Viking territory. The lower half Saxon. Danelaw included York. Alfred was great because he defeated the Vikings and united Britain.
The JORVIC experience is actually it’s a total re creation. You await your “car”, a bit like the cars on the Ferris wheel and you are then taken round an “experience” of Viking life in York in 850AD. On the way you are presented with the “lifelike mannequins dressed as Vikings going about their daily life. The middle aged man straining to pass a motion was a highlight. On your car are stereo headphones in which the mannequins peak to you in Danish which is then translated. (the man in the iron age dunny required no translation)
Think a cross between Old Sydney Town and Dreamworld. Tres artificial. We then had an entirely authentic experience of York Minster provided by a volunteer guide who was just terrific.
I can now share with you the 2 major facts which emerged from the guided tour:
1. A minster is like a missionary building. York was a Minster created to convert the Vikings.
2. Cathedrals are named after the Latin for chair: CATHEDRA. The bishop has his “chair” in the cathedral.
York started as a minster and then became a cathedral and so now is both.
We ended up at a pub called the 3 Legged Mare for a quiz nite. The three legged mare is a euphemism for a triangular shaped gallows which permits multiple hangings - a pre-cursor to the Thatcher inspired drive to increased efficiency no doubt
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tyburn
Wednesday
We drove to Walberswick to catch up with Heli and Pen, Heli is a schoolfriend of Liz’s. Walberwick is on the coast near South Wold. Spent 3 hours chatting and lunching at the local pub. Unable to catch up with Suze Close who nearby at Beccles unfortunately.
Then it was on to Bury St Edmunds for the night. We stayed at a very old pub whose pretensions to elegance and style far exceeded its capacity to deliver. BUT we came upon a wonderful pub which served excellent food. A real highlight.
Thursday
We drove to Cambridge and parked and rode. Did the colleges that were open: Kings (beautiful chapel), Queens, St John. We also did the Fitzwilliam museum because it was a quiz question from the pub on Tuesday. Our luck with pubs continued as we had another excellent meal at an obscure little village up on a hill which was packed. Go figure
Friday
Possibly the most complete day in terms of the holiday experience we have had. We started off visiting some village graveyards to search for long lost relos. No luck unfortunately. Then it was on to the Imperial war Museum at Duxford. Just an outstanding experience. We saw the sublime (a spitfire taking off landing and buzzing the airfield) and the ridiculous (a Catalina flying boat, possibly the most cumbersome plane ever, taking off and dawdling around the sky). The spitfire is truly the most beautiful aircraft ever built and its flight is majestic.
To top the day off we saw a production of THE PITMEN PAINTERS in Cambridge. An exploration of class and notions of art and the socialist dream, It was theatre of the highest calibre performed with integrity and commitment and passion.
A wonderful day!

Saturday
Dublin! After probably the worst fight I’ve ever endured. Bumpy, noisy, on this tiny little jet plane. Buffeted and bumped in the air and on landing. Horrible!
We couldn’t find out hotel. Cause streets have different names depending whether it’s the north or the south side. It rained. We ate in for dinner. Dublin is very wet.

Sunday
On a whim (and advice from Jess) we decided to do a walking tour of Dublin. Was a truly informative and enlightening 2 and half hours. Our host was/is a history graduate of Trinity College. He managed to seamlessly link Ireland’s history with certain notable points of interest in Dublin. Very witty and knowledgeable man.
Then it back to Trinity and the book of Kells followed by a most interesting Indonesian meal.


I walk through the graveyard I read the headstones
So many dead & buried there, each one all alone
An old man and an infant & a little child of ten
I walk through the graveyard & I'll be back again – GRAVEYARD Loudon Wainwright

Graveyards have been punctuation points along our journey. We spend time searching the weathered stone inscriptions expectantly, hopefully, like an addicted pokie player, convinced that the next gravestone will yield a jackpot: the long lost relo. Sometimes we are successful. Recently we have not. What frustrates us is that many of the headstones have been weathered so much that there is no trace left of the person buried beneath. They lack even the anonymous celebrity which accrues to the unknown nameless skeleton we see in museums. As if they never existed.
The Pitmen Painters was such a good play. It dealt with so many issues of class and the role and place of art and indeed whether and how art exists. We have seen so much art. And our perceptions of the line between art and nature and built and unbuilt and high and low becomes increasingly blurred.
One of the painters, Oliver, is offered a weekly stipend by a local patroness of the arts to paint. He refuses. He is a PITMAN not an artist. Class rears its ugly head again. Along with all of the many apparent negatives of the Industrial revolution, one of the more pernicious and unstated negatives is the compartmentalisation of work and sundry activities. Oliver was a pitman. He couldn’t be an artist because he was a pitman. You had to be one or the other. There is a strong element of this still present in the way people see themselves today. It is one of the main reasons I work in youth arts – because this compartmentalisation is less powerful amongst young people.

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