Celebration and Community

Although here in Middlesbrough, we woke to an overcast and and blustery morning, it’s an auspicious day today. The summer solstice happened at 22.43pm last night - it’s officially midsummer. This morning, though we couldn’t see it from the UK, there was a ‘ring of fire’ or annular solar eclipse. And it’s Father’s Day. 

This morning, I’ve watched a minute or two of livestream footage: the moment of Solstice from Stonehenge via English Hertitage, and the the moment of full eclipse from New Delhi. My header photograph is a glorious image of this morning’s sunrise at Saltburn, captured by Kev Howard and delivered to me electronically for my socially distanced eyes. This is our modern world, our contemporary magic. I’m grateful for the worldwide communications we have, for these amazing images. We can’t be there, but we can watch it on a screen.

I found myself in reflective mode last night. At the end of a lovely sunny day I sat at my back door and watched the light fade on the longest day of the year. There have been times in the past when I’ve been outdoors all evening in places where I could watch the solstice sun sink into the sea, or disappear down behind glorious mountains. I’ve been at countless bonfire gatherings with like minded friends, and created rituals of thanks for the light, and the earth’s bounty, celebrating the turning of the seasons as the sun reliably reappeared on the opposite horizon.  

Last night’s solstice, in comparison, was very low key. From where I was sitting, as the sky changed and darkened, I couldn’t actually see the sun set, but memories of countless sunsets are there for my recall. At 22.43 with a nod to contemporary magic, I posted FB greetings to my friends and family across the globe, but mostly I left social media alone, and sat quietly, reflecting on the purpose of ritual, thinking of people I know and have known and of the value of sitting in the reality of the present moment, rather than wishing we were somewhere else. Living our own authentic life, rather than living vacariously through other people’s experiences. 

I was also reflecting on my day - yesterday I spent part of my time in Gresham, in central Middlesbrough, wandering the streets taking photographs in a socially distanced kind of way with Kev, as we prepared to launch a community arts project. I am very cautious about coming out of lockdown, this was a tentative begining, I haven’t seen Kev face to face for months. My workshop is cold and has a sense of the Marie Celeste about it. The spiders have had it all to themselves, and as I raise the shutters and let the light in, the apples still sit in anticipation in their wooden bowl, gently withering, but still with their own strange beauty.  

The streets were, thankfully, still much more quiet than in times past, but the sunshine had brought people out to sit on the doorsteps of their households, there was a calm to the day and a promise of returning sociability. It’s a mulitcultural neighbourhood, all life is in Gresham. People chatted to us, as we explained what we were up, taking photos of snippets of curious architecture, the buildings hinting at the heritage of the area, beautiful details high up above the eyeline. They gave us snippets of memories and shared asute opinions (‘they missed a trick there, with that accomodation block - a couple of doors on that first floor, and some railings, and people could have sat outside on that low flat roof’) No gardens were included in this estate, just back yards and alleyways. But people need places to be outside. 

Gresham as a neighbourhood draws a lot of bad press, but it is a diverse community of people with passion for where they live and fierce loyalty. This is where my workshop is, my family have a long connection with the area, my father’s working life was spent here and my brother continues to run and develop the family business. He’s just brought his team out of furlough and it’s worrying times. It’s a heritage craft business, and despite people constantly saying since his early apprenticeship days “Oh French Polishing? It’s a dying trade that, isn’t it?”, Graham has continued to successfully adapt and respond, continuing provide empoyment for people in a business that’s been going since 1944. Hopefully it will survive this latest crisis, change is inevitable, resilience is about embracing it. 

The neighbourhood itself has a long long history of change, it is truly multicultural. Parliament Road is a lively entrepreneurial place, the Newport Bridge rises up in view at the end of it, echos of a past industrial heyday; as a lad, my dad used to cycle to work in Gresham, over the broiling river Tees from Stockton. These days there’s a string of shops selling everything from saris to sausages. From the ‘60s onward, dad was an active member of the community relations council, the multifaith group, and victim support, volunteering his time in the pursuit of community chohesion and connection. As a teenager I recall community ‘socials’ with my first ever tastes of sweet gulab jamun, and fiery samosas, my mum providing endless cups of tea from her Baby Burco boiler. These days, so I believe, there are over 40 different languages spoken here. 

So I have my own memories of Gresham, and I hope the creative project work we’re planning will capture many others’ recollections. But more important than that, I hope it will play a small part in giving local residents opportunites to share their stories of the present, to voice their hopes and dreams for the future of their neighbourhood, to celebrate the now, and build a resisilient community that can move foward with positivity. The Covid crisis has created a lot of social isolation, there is economic struggle, and a lot of grief and trauma to be processed, but it’s also brought people together in solidarity. In a zoom meeting with project partners last week, the phrase ‘Permission of Snow’ was used. I’ve never heard that phrase before, but I love it. When people are snowed in, communities rise to the occasion and look after each other. I hope that by the time we reach winter solstice, and the potential for real snow, our communities will still carry this particular legacy forward into whatever comes next. I’ll carry on using the new magical tools we have, but I’m so looking forward to being in the ‘real’ world again.