Fly Catchers and my journey into the vaults of the British Library to see Coleridge's Journals

The Grand Gates to the British Library with mammoth sculpture of Sir Isaac Newton.

Thursday felt like a long time coming, the appointment to see the manuscripts of S T Coleridge with Rachel Foss of the British Library had taken months to secure. But then here I was, right in the heart of the written word, and as I was good and early for my appointment I seized the opportunity to view some of the gems on exhibit (usually Kubla Khan is amongst them). 

Pass security guards and into a darkened gallery with 'no UV' lighting and stickers everywhere saying 'No Photography' I found immaculately clean glass cabinets displaying Shakespeare and Marlowe, Da Vinci, and Dr John Dee, Angela Carter and Beatles lyrics. Then there were the maps, the gilded bindings, the flora and fauna illustrations, the Music scores (Handle, Mozart), not to mention the Magna Carta. There was not a footstep I couldn't take without discovering another jaw dropping slice of history. 

Love the density of text in the gateway, felt like a portcullis of text!

But this was just a tiny fragment of the archives and each one truly overwhelming, but I couldn't get close, I mean properly close, Angela Carter's journal was only a couple of feet away but the text too faint and small to read. Little did I know what was in store for me later on that day.

First I had to apply for a readers pass, which I was hoping would not be needed, (I had to declare that I would not smuggle knives or cameras into the reading rooms) I then headed to see Rachel and was soon through into staff only space as Rachel scanned her badge and punched in pin numbers again and again. I say numbers, as we passed through several doors and security measures, finally stepping into the archive room itself (thick steel doors) with more signs saying 'No Photography' all around.

Antony Gormley in the grounds of the British Library

Outside the main library is a huge foyer, with opulent space all about, a true cathedral space in honour of the contents within, but the archive rooms, were surprisingly compact in contrast, no need for wasteful head room here, the white metal shelves need to be accessible.When we started walking amongst the stacks I realised just how extensive the vaults were, lets just say I stuck close to Rachel, though truth be told she would not have let me out of sight for a moment and rightly so.

Rachel checked her notes then led me to a further metal door, bigger and heavier than the others, this required not only a number but a physical key. This was the most restricted area of the library, and inside more locked cabinets and out of these came the only copy in the world of 'Kubla Khan' written by Coleridge himself some 200 years ago. It was right there, no glass screen between us, sitting in a simple card frame in a  neat card box, looking for all the world quite normal!

Antony Gormley

For this project I should explain that I will be commissioning the library to digitise chosen scripts which I will dress up into my Storywalk Engine, geolocating them around Somerset and then inviting people to view the works through their smart device (iPhone, iPad etc) The final pieces will be restricted to the landscape which inspired the works, so Kubla Khan (to be located in Porlock) was always a must. A copy of which is on Coleridge's Wiki page so I had decided to use it even before I came, but still to have held the actual manuscript is quite an honour.

The other works were referenced as fragments, one of 'The Nightingale' and the other 'Frost at Midnight' the latter was reputedly a different variant from that published. Well when we eventually found 'the Nightingale' it  was just seven lines long, and I couldn't help but be a little disappointed, but it was truly a fragment. So we moved on to 'Frost at Midnight' one of his key poems written at Nether Stowey, (Coleridge Cottage NT)

The reference listed Frost at Midnight but no page or index so we had to do this the slow way, and as it was near on 300 pages it may take some time. Rachel expertly turned each page looking for titles and hints throughout as I leaned over her shoulder and caught snatches best I could. In this skim read I was still getting my eye into the script, (some of which was literally Greek!) so Rachel suggested this one be ordered up to the reading room and I go through it in greater detail on my own. Yes, me let loose on a 200 year old manuscript!

The Kings Library.
A singular cube  of a building, inside the British Library
 like a pearl in an oyster.
You can just see the metal screen top right
 which descends to protect the whole inner library from fire.

After I said my thank you's to Rachel, and a few more hurdles of administration (it is a library after all)  I ordered up the manuscript. About an hour later I was sat in front of it once again scanning page after page for threads of the said poem.

Coleridge throughout his life created hand written anthologies of his favourite poems for his friends and family. This was the 'mix tape' of it's time and this was exactly what I was looking at, page after page of finely hand written script with poems by Wordsworth, Southey, Byron; with some hymns as well. But no sign of Frost at Midnight, if it was there, then it alluded me, but what I did find was a poem written by Wordsworth and dedicated to 'Hartley Coleridge aged 6 years' 

Antony Gormley sculpture with St Pancras Station behind.

So sometimes you go hunting for one thing but in the end make another discovery just as wonderful, and that was my key find. Penned by Coleridge, written by Wordsworth, and dedicated to his son, who himself went on to become a poet in his own right.

So that's what I'll be commissioning for the 'Fly Catchers' project (Coleridge called his notebooks fly catchers as he needed to snatch idea's before they would flit away) and then Geo locating them in Somerset.

As I couldn't take any pictures inside the Library, especially of the manuscripts, or even of Rachel amongst the stacks of rare manuscripts (Next to one journal I saw R Southey's) So instead are images I took of Antony Gormley's sculptures that are found in the British library garden.

Let it rain

Mrs Mash with her harvested words from the children,
but written on the wooden board as the paper got so soggy in the rain.

I've been desperate to write about this day just before Easter, a day whose weather was so caustic that it felt endless, and all the stranger now sitting here with the sun shining! So just to re cap, I have worked with three First Schools in West Somerset, all are in the curtilage of the Coleridge Way. Nether Stowey at the head, Porlock at the tail, and Dunster, well a little off mid way, but the concept was simple, take a group out into the landscape and write words which reflect that experience in much the same manner as Coleridge and Wordsworth.

Watching the Exmoor foal disappear into the woods at the Jubilee Hut.

In some ways, the extreme weather, (and yes it was mad for all three separate days and schools!) was just the ticket, they needed something to write about and Cold, Icy, Fresh, Tingly, Breezy, are all in the mix.

These images here are from Porlock First St Dubricus School, who braved the weather up Webbers Post (Beneath Dunkery Beacon) This path is great, and a regular destination for St Dubricus, but as I drove over that morning I thought it was surly going to be cancelled, the rain was deep, the hills shrouded in mist, puddles right across the road. But no, the head master Mr Blazey was adamant that it would all pan out fine, and then he added that this was the walk they did when the weather was too bad at Pinkery Pond up on the Moors! When it comes down to it, the school know the limitations of their pupils far better than I do which is rightly so, and I am so pleased that we could go, as the old adage goes, 'there's no such thing as bad weather, just poor clothing.'

We tried to keep the paper dry by writing inside bags, but it was no use.

So the van dropped off the first party who thought that there was not enough water in the air so did some puddle jumping, and proper splashing. With that out of their system we were straight into word harvesting, what do you hear, feel, smell, what can you taste on the rain? And the kids were even more prolific than the clouds, for they poured forth endless phrases for us to jot down, faster than we could write.

One of the sculptures along the Coleridge Way trail at Webbers Post

Well we did have paper to write on but that soon turned to pulp, but by chance the clip boards were wooden, and not wanting to halt the kids flow, we just started to write on them, which oddly enough got better in the wet rather than worse. It reminded me about the great space race of the 60's, (before my time I know) where the Americans spent a huge budget in developing a biro style pen which would work in zero gravity, but the Russians just used a pencil! Doesn't rain in space though! 

Wet!

So the day went well, the first session harvesting out in the wilds, the afternoon writing up and working on their phrases. Jenny had a good structure for this, building in metaphor and simile into the structure of their writing, taking the ordinary and making it more, building, improving.

A great session.

So many thanks Jenny (Mrs Mash) for leading all the sessions, and thank you to all three schools for letting us loose in the wilds of Exmoor with their precious pupils. The poetry is all complete and I am just spell checking and proof reading to make sure that it's perfect before I etch the poetry into slate for re installation along the Coleridge Way. But you'll have to read other blogs for those details as I think that's plenty for one blog.