Nicholas Hedges

Art, Writing and Research

Lines Drawn in Water

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The following passage is taken from ‘The Old Ways: A Journey on Foot’ by Robert Macfarlane. In a chapter on water he writes:

“The second thing to know about sea roads is that they are not arbitrary. There are optimal routes to sail across open sea, as there are optimal routes to walk across open land. Sea roads are determined by the shape of the coastline (they bend out to avoid headlands, they dip towards significant ports, archipelagos and skerry guards) as well as by marine phenomena. Surface currents, tidal streams and prevailing winds all offer limits and opportunities for sea travel between certain places…”

This reminded me of some work I did on my ancestor Stephen Hedges who was transported to Australia in 1828. In particular I thought about the route The Marquis of Hastings (the ship on which he sailed) took from Portsmouth to Port Jackson (Sydney) which I mapped using Google Earth and coordinates written down in a logbook by the ship’s surgeon, William Rae.

Macfarlane also writes:

“Such methods would have allowed early navigators to keep close to a desired track, and would have contributed over time to a shared memory map of the coastline and the best sea routes, kept and passed on as story and drawing…

Such knowledge became codified over time in the form of rudimentary charts and peripli, and then as route books in which sea paths were recorded as narratives and poems…

To Ian, traditional stories, like traditional songs, are closely kindred to the traditional seaways, in that they are highly contingent and yet broadly repeatable. ‘A song is different every time it’s sung,’ he told me, ‘and variations of wind, tide, vessel and crew mean that no voyage along a sea route will ever be the same.’ Each sea route, planned in the mind, exists first as anticipation, then as dissolving wake and then finally as logbook data. Each is ‘affected by isobars, / the stationing of satellites, recorded ephemera / hands on helms’. I liked that idea; it reminded me both of the Aboriginal Songlines, and of [Edward] Thomas’s vision of path as story, with each new walker adding a new note or plot-line to the way.”

One of the things I like about William Rae’s logbook of the journey aboard the Marquis of Hastings is the description of the weather. The world aboard a prison ship in 1828 is far removed from our experience, but we know weather and can therefore use his descriptions to bridge the gap between now and then; moving from – to use Macfarlane’s words – “logbook data” through “dissolving wake” and “anticipation,” all the way back to “planned in the mind.” The description of the weather therefore becomes a poem of sorts, echoing what Macfarlane writes above; how sea paths become narratives and poems, allowing me to step back into the mind of my ancestor.

Fresh Breeze. Mist and rain.
Strong Breeze. Cirro stratus. Horizon hazy.
Hard gale & raining. Heavy Sea.
Hard rain & Violent Squalls. Hail & rain.

Click here for a PDF transcript I made of the journey.

Bartlemas Chapel Observation

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Taken from Artefact – a website concerning Contemporary Art and Archaeology.

I’m making this initial visit to the chapel a few days before archaeological excavations are due to begin within its grounds. I’m interested in how my initial observations might be tied in with both the archaeology discovered there and the chapel’s history. How far is empathy an augmented discourse between bodily experience and knowledge?

As usual, I began by observing the chapel using a Goethean methodology, which – as if often the case – ended up following its own course.

Pre-Observation

Leaving Cowley Road and walking up the track to the chapel was like leaving the modern world behind; not completely for the outside around the chapel and here inside once can still hear the traffic humming like an overhead cable carrying electricity.

The first thing I notice when entering the chapel is the smell; the smell of age, of the past – the smell of the rooms in the church I’d attended as a child. Old books, paper and damp.

The light is slowly beginning to fade being as it is 6pm and the weather grey and raining.

I shall endeavour to carry out the observation without electric light for as long as is possible.

Part 1

The chapel is small comprising two parts divided by a screen. The main door on the chapel’s western side is locked and one enters through a small door on the left hand (north) side. (I’m going to carry out my observation inside rather than out – not least because of the rain, but also because I can easily record outside at a later date).

The walls are all whitewashed; they are rough and bumpy beneath revealing the stone. There are five windows, each of which is arched and through which the last light of the day is creeping. Behind me to my left is a large door in front of which are stacked wooden chairs – no doubt for congregations when services are held here, which they still are. Along the left hand wall more chairs are lined up in a row – eight of them. At the end facing me and in front of the screen are two small pews. Running alongside the right hand wall is another row of chairs – nine of them. There is a radiator, an old wooden cupboard on the side of which are electric sockets and a light switch. I’m sitting on a small wooden bench. In the corner to my right is a large red candle holder replete with candle – no doubt for ceremonial purposes.

Ahead, either side of the doorway through the screen are two small stools. Beyond the screen, from my position, I can see a wooden altar with a crucifix and four candles. A stool stands before them on which rests a box. Above the altar is a window and on the left and right hand walls are also windows. In the wall in this half of the building, on the right hand side from where I am sitting is another window upon the sill of which – which is deep – sits a book, open on a small lectern. Another lectern stands next to me on my right with a book containing the names of visitors. I write my name in it now.

I get up and walk. The hum of the traffic is weak like the light. I can hear the wind rustling the trees outside. Outside the window above the book is an apple tree covered with fruit. My footsteps echo.

I measure the first part of the chapel which is approximately 8 paces. The floor in this part of the chapel is parquet. In the part ahead of me it’s stone.

The pew creaks as I sit down. There are two small pews divided in two to accommodate two people. There are candle stands with low candles (burned down) on my left, a crucifix on a pole and a blue bottle of gas. On the right hand side is another blue bottle, two more well-used candles, four chairs and a picture of Christ. I see now that the altar is stone. Either side in the corners are two wood burners. The window in the left wall is narrower than the others and has a deep sill. This part of the chapel again measures approximately 8 paces.

On a window sill (right) is the curled body of a dead fly. Outside I see the apple trees and the leaves on the wet grass.

The altar is covered by a cloth – green and another white one beneath.

The bible on what I now see is a folding lectern is open at John. Tomorrow’s reading, John 3:13-17.

The ceiling is wooden with numerous coloured shields placed between the beams. The light is fading and it’s getting harder to see.

As I stand before the altar my face is drawn up to the window above it and to the sky. I turn to my left and see the old building that stands alongside. The wind stirs again. There is a white iron work chair in the garden outside. No-one is sitting in it of course.

The window above the large door in the western end of the chapel is smaller than all the others. Again I find my eyes drawn up towards it, to the pale grey light of the sky. There is a large hole in the wall on the right hand side (as I look at it) no doubt where a wooden bolt was once used to secure the church.

There are two circles, unwhitewashed either side of the door.

There are four ‘arches’ supporting the ceiling. The wood appears to be very old. The stone of the floor around the altar is patterned almost as if something has spilled upon it and not quite dried.

The width of the chapel is 7 paces.

I look again at the book full of names and dates – someone from as far away as Australia has visited here. In just a few pages we’re back at the start of 2005. I think of what I’ve done in these few pages – I think of the people I know who have recently passed away.

As the light fades the windows become a stronger presence as they hold what remains of the light outside. I can hear the chimes of an ice-cream van – a sound from my childhood. But although the windows are dominant, I don’t find myself looking beyond – just at them.

Echoes and footsteps. Car horns.

Part 2

I allow the cars and the sounds of the modern world to fall away and instead I listen only to the wind blowing through the trees. I look outside at the trees. I imagine the fruit trees across hundreds of seasons, bearing fruit, dropping the fruit, surviving the winter, blooming again in the spring. I imagine how much more important apple trees would have been long ago; a vital source of food rather than something one might idly pick while strolling past. The book on the sill is open at a text on St. Bartholomew. The words are silent on the page.

I read the first few words on the saint. I turn the page – again the ice-cream van. The page creaks like the pew I sat on. I can hear the words as I read them in my head, although of course they make no sound. I imagine hundreds and thousands of internal voices of people who have stood inside the chapel.

The shadow cast by my hand is more prominent here before the window.

I pick a spot on the left hand side of the chapel looking towards the altar. I imagine all those who have stood here in my place over the centuries, looking to their right at whatever was outside; up ahead through the window; at the others standing there with them; and I begin to imagine those other people. I begin to try and imagine their presence.

The crows outside help dispel the modern world. I think of the floor – how it would have been. I imagine the city behind me, Oxford as it was a few hundred years ago.

I move around the chapel before the screen and glance behind me to the side and up ahead and where I see the walls and windows I imagine people. Each glance is accompanied with a thought – my thoughts.

I try and get a sense of my body in relation to the chapel.

The shadows grow across the floor, blurring to become the first signs of nightfall. Forms in the chapel, like the legs of the chairs against the walls begin to disappear. Everything becomes a shadow – perhaps even me.

I imagine the large locked door being opened and people filing into the light behind. I picture that light filling the chapel, chasing away the shadows.

I’m aware of my body – how my back is aching – how I’m hungry.

The green of the leaves outside is still very visible. Everything is brown, green and grey.

My shadow is faint on the wall.

I move to stand before the altar. I turn and face the large door. Lines of sight from people long since gone still linger. I turn and face the altar. My eyes are drawn to the window, following these eye lines behind me.

I imagine the candles flickering, casting shadows on the walls as the light continues to fade. These candles which are little more than stubs of wax with short blackened wicks and puddles of wax around them.

The sound of the traffic cannot be stopped. It’s always present like interference. The only way to hear the past is with my body.

Part 3

(Rather hard as I can hardly see to write.)

Fleeting, embodied shadows.

I try and think of myself as the chapel. There is, like everything, an outside (exterior) and an inside (interior). I can feel my body – my presence – not so much as me but as something within the chapel.

Contact with the floor, with the furniture means that the chapel and I are one.

NB I have to put on the light – and only then am I aware how dark it is outside. The shift from an external light and interior dark to interior light and external dark is striking. When I turn off the light it’s reversed.

I’m aware of my heart as I sit with my eyes closed – of my breathing. My back against the wall – my breathing and heartbeat becomes that of the chapel.

Exterior / interior.
Beyond the chapel and inside.
Beyond my own body and inside.
A reversal of the two.
Interior voice reading / exterior voice listening.

With the lights on, the light beyond the window is blueish above the door. Up ahead, the window above the altar is dark.

Again there is almost a grain in the building – of sight. Looking towards the altar one is aware of the individual; then turning round, of a crowd.

The Trial of Stephen Hedges 1828 in Morse Code

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Transcript

Berkshire Easter Sessions Newbury 1815. H. Stockwell, J. Harper (not in custody,) and S. Hedges of Abingdon, were indicted for stealing 154 lbs of lead, at Radley, the property of Benjamin Kent and Charles Jones, of Oxford, for receiving the lead, knowing it to be stolen. Stockwell and Hedges pleaded Guilty, but Jones pleaded “Not Guilty”. Jones was then put on trial for receiving the lead with a felonious knowledge etc. from the two prisoners who pleaded guilty. Mr. Shepherd said, he appeared on behalf of Mr. Kent, the prosecutor of Jones, under a new statute, (sec. 447, Geo. IV. C.29) which made the offence a felony. By the 54th sec. of the same statute the receiving of property feloniously stolen would constitute a felony. The circumstances of the case were sufficiently strong to satisfy the Jury that the lead was stolen. Mr. Kent examined I live at RadleyHouse about 100 yards from the office is a larder the roof is covered with lead. In January last a considerable quantity of it was stolen. Crossexamined by Mr. Talfourd I am tenant of the house. Sir James Bowyer is the proprietor. I am yearly tenant. James Smith examined I am servant to Mr. Kent the hips of the larder were covered with lead. The lead was stolen in January last I saw it gone on the 29th January. There was a ladder found near to the ditch. There were three hips cleared of lead. Richard Burgess examined I live at Abingdon, I am a sawyer on the 28th of January I went to Oxford, and on the road, having some bones in my cart to sell, I met the three men, Stockwell, Hedges and Harper. Hedges asked me if I were going to Oxford? And would I carry a parcel? I carried a parcel for them. Harper went back for something, for a bag the other two went on with me. Near Sir G. Bowyer’s Lodge I was desired to stop. I at first objected, but I did stop about five minutes.

Harper soon afterwards came up with a bag they went into a plantation, near where Mr. Kent lives they were not five minutes away when they brought a bag, which appeared to be very heavy. I never saw what was in the bag. Stockwell carried a piece of lead on his shoulder. This was afterwards put in the bag by Hedges and Stockwell. Shortly after Jones met the prisoners, and they had some conversation together. I went on to Oxford, to Mr. Round’s wharf and near the gates I put the parcel of lead down, and delivered the bones to be weighed. Stockwell and Jones came up in about half an hour, and put the bag with the lead into the cart again. I said, where are you to take this? And Jones said “Come on back again follow me.” I followed him up the Cityroad and near the Castle met Hedges and Harper. They turned back with us through Butcherrow when Jones called out, “Hold off there here it is,” meaning the place where it was to be taken to. The bag was taken out of the cart by Jones and Stockwell, and carried up a passage by Stockwell. They soon after came back, but I did not notice they had the bag. Jones said, “What are you going to give the man for bringing it?” When Stockwell said give him sixpence, and Jones did so. Crossexamined by Mr. Talfourd I am a sawyer I don’t collect bones. I don’t deal in lead. I did not know what was in the bag I had no suspicion whatever. I was carrying the bones for Mr. Owen of Abingdon. Mr. John King examined I am a glazier, in Oxford. I know Jones on the 28th January I saw him at my house. He came to say he had some lead to sell. I told him I wanted lead and asked him what price he wanted? He said 16s a hundred. I said lead was low in price, and if it was good for any thing I would buy it. He brought me the lead in about half an hour he said he had a hundred and a half.

Three young men came with him, but I should not know them again. I paid Jones for the lead he received 20s. 6d. It was in three pieces, I believe. Some pieces were afterwards cut up by my shopman. It corresponded with the hips from which it had been taken. James Smith produced the lead. The lead was given to me by Mr. Walker, the gaoler. I marked the lead before the Magistrates. Crossexamined. The price I gave was a fair price. I had before dealt with Jones, and have known him three or four years. I had never heard any thing against his character. Mr. D. Godfrey examined. I was present at the examination of Jones what he said I took down myself. This is the signature of Mr. Bowles, the Magistrate. The prisoner declined signing his statement. [It stated that the three prisoners asked him where there was a fence for lead. And then corroborated a good deal of the testimony as adduced by the prosecution.] Mr. Talfourd submitted there was no evidence of receiving to go to the Jury no actual receiving into possession. Mr Shepherd. That will be for the Jury to decide upon. Mr. Talfourd. And that is precisely what I mean to say. Chairman. He receives the lead, and makes a bargain for the sale of it. And if that is not receiving, I am at a loss to know what receiving is. Rev. Mr. Sawbridge. And he pays the carriage of the lead. E. Gardener Esq. Yes, and he helped to carry it up the passage. The prisoner in his defence said, I asked Stockwell how he came by the lead, when he replied Hedges is captain, and got it where he had been at work.

I said I would go to Mr. King, for there I could get a fair price. Stockwell wanted 14s or more for the hundred weight, and I told them all to go to Mr. King if they pleased. At last it was agreed I was to have all above 13s. for the first hundred, and all above 14s for the remainder. I have been left friendless for nine years, and have got the best living I could buying sheepskins, rabbitskins, or anything else, for I was not nice. When the young gentleman are at the University, I make pastry, and carry it about from house to house. I have one friend in court, a Mr. Dyer. Isaac Dyer called. I am brotherinlaw to the prisoner I am a confectioner at Abingdon I have known Jones for twelve years nearly, and always understood him to be an upright and bright character. He has been a youth of a thousand honestyry, and for getting through difficulties by industrysy. The Chairman summed up the case to the Jury. If the Jury were of opinion, that he did not know the lead was stolen that he had not a guilty knowledge, they must acquit him. Verdict Not Guilty. The Chairman cautioned Jones, previous to his discharge, to avoid purchasing lead and other articles, in future he had had a very narrow escape. Jones. I trust in God I shall it shall be a thorough caution. Hedges and Stockwell were ordered to stand at the bar, and were told their offence was not of a trifling nature, for, by a very old statute, it was severely punished and by the present statute the course may pass sentence of transportation. Under all the circumstances the sentence of the court was, that they be transported for seven years. In quitting the bar, Stockwell struck Hedges familiarly on the back, and laughed.

Transcript in Morse Code

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Sail

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Carrying on with the work I did in Australia, I’ve spent the last couple of days videoing the canvas ‘sail’ that I made there, which was itself made from the pattern of several walks made around Newcastle, NSW. This work (‘Repaired Sail of HMS York (1828)’) is in many respects linked to a piece I made for my third Mine the Mountain exhibition called  ‘Old Battle Flags‘ and is about the feel of the wind – the wind being something which although one may read about in history (particularly in the context of sailing) one can only experience in the present (of course the same could be said of everything else, but in light of the theme of this residency, the wind is especially pertinent).

This piece is about the disparity between language and experience. The wind we feel today is the same wind that’s blown over – and indeed through – the centuries and millennia. In winter the wind may blow from the east, from the vast and distant land of Siberia – a place well beyond the horizon but nevertheless a place which exists all the same. 

The sail is made from my own past experiences, and the wind a reminder of movement in the past – that which is missing from the pages of history. It’s also about the everydayness of the past – something which we take often for granted like so much else but which is integral to our experience of the world.

The Geographer

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The Geographer

A still from some video footage of me in Australia, drawing out a map of one of the walks I did there alongside Vermeer’s ‘Geographer.’ I’m interested in the idea of performance and had something like Vermeer’s image in mind whilst I was creating my work.

Return to England

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Since returning to England this morning after my residency in Australia, I’ve been looking at my notebook, and feel it’s worthwhile putting the pages up on, in particular those relating to the walks I did. So reproduced with this blog are those pages, written as I was walking (such is why the handwriting is atrocious whereas normally its little better than poor).

Repaired Sail of HMS York (1828)

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Yesterday, I finally finished stitching together the canvas pieces for a workI have tentatively called Repaired Sail of HMS York (1828), refrerring to the prison hulk on which Stephen Hedges was incarcerated before being transported to Australia. The hulk was a demasted ship and on contemporary images (such as that below) one can see how clothes were strung across the ship, almost as if replacement sails themselves.

This piece also alludes to an earlier work of mine called ‘Old Battle Flags‘ which I exhibited as part of my  recent Mine the Mountain exhibition. This work – Repaired Sail of HMS York (1828) – was made in response to the old battle flags one finds sometimes hanging in cathedrals. As I wrote in a text accompanying the work:

“Whenever I see them, hanging from their poles, still and lifeless, I think of the wind that would have once shaped them, a wind which would have once blown and turned the pages of history as it was being written. It reminds me that the flags had a place in what was then the present, rather than a scripted, preordained past. I can remember as a child, sitting on the beach when the weather was less than clement, when the wind whipped the sand, drilled the waves and flapped the canvas of the deckchairs. These deckchairs on display still have their colours, and in the main, their shape, but now they are broken; metaphors for times which cannot be revisited.“

The flags hang lifeless without the wind – the past hangs lifeless too. HMS York in this sense is a metaphor for the past – demasted and without a sail, lifeless almost, a prison for the past which in its own present criss-crossed the globe. To re-witness that past we need to see it move again, to catch the wind: we need a new sail.

The sail in this work is made of canvas, and is derived from a pattern made from data recorded on a GPS. The data itself represents a series of nine walks made during the first week or so of the residency here in Newcastle, NSW. As I have discovered through my work over the last few years, walking and being in a particular place and experiencing the everydayness of a place, is vital in our understanding of associated historical events. It is relevant therefore, that this ‘sail’, made to catch the wind and ‘move’ HMS York once again, is constructed from a series of walks.

Below are a number of images of the sail.

Repaired sail of HMS York 1828

Repaired sail of HMS York 1828

Repaired sail of HMS York 1828

Repaired sail of HMS York 1828

Often, it’s the reverse side of a piece like this which proves to be the most interesting, and indeed the most aesthetically satisfying. This particular canvas is no exception. When I turned it over and laid it out, I found the loose threads and knots particularly interesting. Perhaps they remind me the cut lines of past lives or the unwritten lines of text of which, for the most part, history is comprised. Below are images of the reverse side of the canvas.

Repaired sail of HMS York 1828

Repaired sail of HMS York 1828

Repaired sail of HMS York 1828

Repaired sail of HMS York 1828

Cutting and Stitching II

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I’ve made a lot of progress over the last couple of days with video work and with the sticthed map of walks I’m creating, the title of which will be something like ‘The Lost Sail of HMS York’ referring to the prison hulk on which Stephen Hedges was incarcerated in 1828 prior to being transported to New South Wales.

Having cut the templates and pinned them to the canvas, I then drew around each one directly onto the canvas so that I could begin cutting them out and stitching the piece together. To make things easier I will cut each piece as and when I need it so that I don’t get lost as regards where the pieces are meant to go.

The followng stills are taken from further documentary footage I’ve filmed of the process.

Template making

Template making

Template making

Template making

Template making

Cutting and Stitching

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A busy day today working on a piece tentatively titled ‘Hammock’ and another which has yet to acquire even a working title. The hammock piece (shown in the photograph imemdiately below) alludes to when sailors died at sea and were sewn up in their hammocks before being cast into the water. The stitching on this particular hammock/body bag is the line recorded on my GPS when I walked the route Stephen Hedges walked from Radley House to Oxford in January 1828.

Stitching and Cutting

The hammock no longer has a body inside but what is left is the line. In many respects, the body inside was never meant to be that of Stephen, but rather his life in England, cast overboard along with his clothes when he entered the Prison Hulk York in Portsmouth following his conviction.

I want to dirty-up the canvas a bit and am thinking of taking it down to the sea tomorrow and videoing it lapping at the shore with the waves; something which would lend the work greater resonance.

The images below show the piece being made.

Work in Progress

Work in Progress

Work in Progress

The following images are taken from the second, much bigger piece, which is a canvas comprising all the walks I have made in Newcastle NSW. The walks have been transferred to tracing paper (see Making the Map) and have now been cut up and pinned to the canvas ready for the material to be cut.

The images below are taken from documentary footage of the process.

Work in Progress

Work in Progress

Work in Progress

The map itself isn’t so easy to photograph, but I like the way it looks in its current state, with the cut out templates and the pins. Ideally I would like to inject something of a perfomative aspect into this work, so that the template creation has something to do with the process of tailoring – preparing fabric for an individual.

Stitching and Cutting

Stitching and Cutting

Stitching and Cutting

Thoughts so far

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A few days into the residency now and I’ve managed to do a fair bit of research around Newcastle, carrying out a number of walks and working on some video pieces down on the beach. I came to Australia with ideas as regards work I wanted to carry out and that is going according to plan, but it’s always important when coming to something like this to leave room for work to develop as a consequence of initial and ongoing research. The first week was always going to be a time for gathering information, which I’ve done as a result of the walks around town, and through these, a number of areas which I couldn’t have known about before coming here have interested me. One of those areas is the story of Yi-ran-na-li, the Aboriginal name for cliffs near Newcastle beach. To see them surrounded (for reasons of safety) by a wire fence is a little sad to say the least, and the fact the sign describing the cliffs and the lack of respect they’ve received (‘it’s not too late to show the respect Yi-ran-na-li deserves‘) – contains spelling mistakes is far from encouraging. It’s a small thing, mis-spelling ‘the’ as ‘thre’ but it seems to speak volumes nevertheless. A work about this, entitled ‘Thre’ might therefore be on the cards.

The town of Newcastle is the world’s biggest exporter of coal, and the vast ships which come and take the coal away interest me a great deal. They look almost like a photoshopped image when you see them lined across the horizon, as if someone has done a cut and paste job with a single ship. Nobbys island – now attached to the mainland via the Macquarie Pier – was surveyed in 1797 by John Shortland who spotted coal seams and set to work having the island mined. The island itself was regarded by the Awabakal people as having been created in the time of the Dreaming by the great rainbow serpent as it pushed itself onto the land after dropping from the sky. It was also thought to be home to a giant Kangaroo, and again its rather sad to see it reduced from its original height of 62 metres to just 28.

Below is an image from the State Library of New South Wales showing Nobbys Island and Pier in 1820.

Compare this with how Nobbys Island looks today.

Nobbys Island

The importance placed on rocks by the Awabakal people finds a connection with the importance placed on coal by ‘modern man’. Seeing the ships come and take the coal away seems almost a metaphor for the ships which brought the convicts and took away something of the country’s ‘innocence’. Of course, one has to be careful not sound accusatory, rather, this is analogous to modern man’s destruction of the world for the sake of capital gain. Something is lost and the cliffs of Yi-ran-na-li remind us that sometimes we just need to listen.

Listening was something carried out not far from Yi-ran-na-li, up on Shepherd’s Hill. The idea of the Radar as a metaphor for listening interests me, as well as the idea of looking out across the sea for approaching ships etc. The ships bringing the convicts, and the ships coming to take away the coal.

Whilst taking notes on one of my walks (walk 4) I wrote: The radar beeps of several crossings. This alludes to the crossings here which beep continuously until, with what sounds like a blast from a ray gun, you are given the go ahead to walk.

The idea of looking for the individual – a theme central to my work – becomes important here. In order to find those people, we sometimes have to listen to what the rocks have to tell us. Of course, for rocks we might substitute buildings, houses, roads, pathways etc. And as we walk amongst them, we are like a radar, a signal which looks for that which is invisible, and which returns – not a blip or a shadow on a screen – but what we might term an empathetic response.

Whilst videoing on the beach, I became interested in the clouds, in the way they changed almost imperceptibly, looking – at a glance – as fixed as any sculpture, or in fact a photograph. Given the colour of the rain clouds, the contrast between dark grey and white, the connection with an early black and white photograph is strong – at least in my mind! Of course photographs don’t change, but the movement of clouds when studied over a period of time reminds us perhaps that the people photographed were part of a moving world, and that that world also had its clouds. Like the past, the world carried on beneath them, just as it does today.

Undermined

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During Walk No.4 I discovered a sign entitled ‘Undermined’ about the coal industry in Newcastle. Given the importance of coal to the area, I’ve reproduced the information below in its entirety.

‘Awabakal clans used Newcastle’s coal in their fires and ceremonies for millennia, and explain its origins in their ancient Dreaming stories. Europeans also sought this valuable substance, so when Lieutenant Shortland noted coal deposits here in 1797, shops were quickly dispatched to return quantities of coal to Sydney. In 1799 The Hunter exported a shipment of coal to Bengal, and Newcastle coal was later shipped to the Cape of Good Hope by the Anna Joseph.

During the early years of settlement, the Colonial Government declared Hunter River coal to be the property of the Crown and prohibited free individuals and companies from mining here. Convict gangs were obliged to work the coal seams and load the vessels.

In 1826 private enterprise was finally permitted to mine coal and the Australian Agricultural Company obtained the first lease. In 1831 the company sunk its initial shaft near the Anglican Cathedral and innumerable tunnels chasing the buried coal seams have since been excavated below Newcastle’s streets. The success of the Australian Agricultural Company soon attracted other companies and mining operations spread to the extensive coalfields of East Maitland in 1844.

Fast-loading steam cranes were installed at King’s Wharf in 1860. But the demand for coal still exceeded the loading capacity of the port so the Bullock Island mud flats were reclaimed and new coal loading wharves were constructed. In 1888, twelve hydraulic cranes were in position.

During the late nineteenth century, sailing vessels berthed two or three deep along the length of the Bullock Island dyke, creating a forest of masts, while hundreds of sailors of all nationalities flocked to the city of Newcastle on Saturday nights. Throughout the twentieth century, further developments in mining and loading saw Newcastle’s exports soar, and by 1907 coal shipments exceeded 4,500,000 tons.

The port of Newcastle has long been the economic and trade centre for the Hunter region. In the 1989-90 financial year Newcastle handled 68.2 million tonnes to become the world’s largest coal export port and Australia’s largest tonnage dock.’

Shepherds Hill

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Whilst on my walk today, I took some time to explore the concrete ruins of what I discovered was the Shepherds Hill complex, described on a plaque fixed to one of the walls.

The text of the plaque is as follows: 

The Shepherds Hill complex is unique to in Australia for housing, during 1942, all three services at one time. A fortress observation post (army) coordinated the guns at Fort Wallace, Fort Scratchley and Park Battery. A Radar station (RAAF) assisted in locating air and seabourne targets. A port war signal station (Navy) monitored shipping movements to identify if friendly or enemy. A directing station (Army) coordinated the coastal searchlights which were used to illuminate seabourne targets. The army also took over nearby houses as well as King Edward Park, closing it to the public.

The empty concrete rooms, all stopped up with bars are strangely enigmatic. Full of detritus, graffiti and fragments of rusted metal like fossilised bones, they’re also full of lines, the movements of people busy at the time of the second world war.

The steps that lead nowhere lead one nonetheless back to a time when they had a purpose, when they weren’t incongruous but rather banal and a part of everyday activity.

As I looked around the ruins, casting my eyes like the sonic pulse of a radar, I could imagine the individuals who once worked there, picking them out like blips on a radar screen. And it was interesting, given what I wrote about yesterday, that this space had once been used for the purpose of listening, just a few hundred yards from Yi-ran-na-li, where people haven’t listened enough.

Yi-ran-na-li

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At the end of Nobbys beach can be found Nobbys Island. Once a rocky outcrop, the island was joined to the mainland through work carried out by convict gangs between 1818 and 1846. In 1855, the quarried summit of the island (the rock of which had been used to create the pier joining the island with the mainland) was cut down from 62 metres to his present height of 28 metres. A sign near the island explains how the local Aboriginal people, the Awabakal, believe Nobbys Island was created in the time of the Dreaming by the great rainbow serpent as it pushed itself onto the land after it had dropped from the sky into the island. To read how it was mined for coal (after being surveyed by Lieutenant John Shortland who surveyed the bluff during the 1790s) and then – being a danger to ships – reduced by almost a third in height, makes one feel sorry, especially in light of the beliefs of the Awabakal people.

The importance placed on rocks by Aboriginal people is also described near Newcastle beach, where a sign describes Yi-ran-na-li, the Aboriginal name for the cliff which, the sign tells us, is known by them as being a place of silence and respect. The cliff was – or rather is – a sacred place and the sign itself something of an apologia, the text of which is worth repeating here in full:

“In the 1880s, John McGill, an Awakbal man, also known as Biraban (Eaglehawk) told the missionary Reverend Lancelot Threlkeld the story of Yi-ran-na-li whilst passing beneath the cliff one day.

‘There is a sort of scared place near Newcastle on the sea-beach, beneath a high cliff named Yi-ran-na-li, it is said, that if any person speaks, the stones will fall  down upon them, from the high arched rocks above, the crumbling state of which is such as to render it extremely probable, that the mere concussion of air from the voice would cause the effect to take place.

I was walking beneath the projecting rock and called loudly to McGill , who with other blacks, were with me. He instantly beckoned me to be silent, at which I wondered, a few small stones fell down from the crumbling overshadowing cliff at that moment, and they urged me on.

When we had passed out the precincts of the fearful place, I asked what they meant by commanding my silence, and pushing on so quickly without speaking? This elicited the tradition of the place as a very fearful one, for if any one speaks whilst passing beneath the overhanging rocks, stones would invariably fall as we had just witnessed.’ (Threkeld in Gunson 1974:65)

The large rock fall in 2002 perhaps marked Yi-ran-na-li’s final stand. It was a rock so large that we couldn’t ignore it. The rock was a statement about our inability to live within the constraints and sensitivities of place. Despite the removal of the rock and the total reshaping of the cliff face to make it ‘safer’ we should not forget the cultural belief of the local Aboriginal people that this place was to be feared and respected.

The cliff speaks to us with a wisdom that is thousands of years old. McGill knew this cultural wisdom but we have failed to listen, and today we still have so much to learn about the many other aspects of an endemic sense of place and about the environment we live in.

It is not too late to show the respect that Yi-ran-na-li deserves.’

The photograph below, shows Yi-ran-na-li today:

I was struck by the last paragraph admitting to the country’s failings as regard its indigenous population and their ancient heritage (although this is in no way only an Australian problem: America, Europe, and in particular Britain have shown throughout history a blatant disregard for the culture of those people on whose countries it has claimed dominion). As regards Yi-ran-na-li, how can such respect be shown when, as the text also describes the rocks – like Nobbys Island – have been reshaped? Should the fallen rock have been removed? Would it not have been a good idea to leave it as a reminder of cultural ignorance and its consequences? It seems to me there is a strong correlation between failing to listen and speaking when we shouldn’t. Also, the fact the sign contained a few typos didn’t really help as regards the sincerity of its message. I’ve no doubt that it is sincere, but small things like spelling the ‘thre’ undermines its message nevertheless.

My Residence

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I arrived in Newcastle, NSW yesterday afternoon after a 3 hour train journey from Sydney. The journey itself was pleasant enough, save for the moment a rather loud couple got on and upset the peacefulness of the carriage. She kept going on about how “it wasn’t against the law” in such a way as to suggest that whatever it was that ‘wasn’t against the law’ was in fact against the law and was, furthermore, something she had done. Her partner then proceeded to take off his t-shirt, flap it out as if shaking sand from a beach towel, before leaving it on the seat in front of him. There he sat in all his glory; no top, flabby, hairy and covered with tattoos. If this wasn’t bad enough (and believe me it was) he then proceeded to comment on the magazine he was reading. “You can see he’s a Beckham!” he kept on. “He’s just like his Dad.” Imbecile.

I moved upstairs and enjoyed a peaceful rest of the journey. Something I like about Australian train carriages is the way you can move the seat-backs, so that where you have two seats facing each other, you can flip the back of one so they become two seats facing the same way; very natty.

The journey to Newcastle takes one through some lovely scenery as well as that which isn’t quite as nice. Many of the towns we passed through seemed rather down at heel to say the very least, comprising a hotch-potch of painted sheds and shacks. Newcastle however, appears to be a very pleasant town which I will explore shortly.

The residency itself is at the Lock Up Cultural Centre which was once a police station. The Lock Up refers to the cells (including a very rare padded cell) and exercise yard which I will document later. My apartment and study is on the first floor and is very pleasant as can be seen in the photographs below:

The study.

The lounge area.

The kitchenette.

The bedroom.

Arriving in Port Jackson

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On 28th October 1828, the Marquis of Hastings sailed into Port Jackson after a 4 month journey from Portsmouth, England. Aboard was Stephen Hedges, the brother of my great-great-great-grandfather, Richard. Today, 172 years later, I took the Manly Ferry to Circular Quay in Sydney, sailing into Port Jackson also on October 28th. Quite unplanned, it was an interesting coincidence. Of course, the manner of our arrivals couldn’t have been more different. Economy class cabins may offer less legroom than business, but 22 hours on a plane with meals and entertainment certainly beats 104 days in a stinking hold fettered in chains.

As we travelled out of Manly, I noticed the clouds, one of the few things which, even though they’re ephemeral, are nevertheless, consistent over centuries. Clouds have interested me in relation to the story of Stephen Hedges ever since I read the meteorological charts of William Rae, the ship’s surgeon. The immediate landscape may also have changed (to say the very least) but the sky and the water below are little different to all those years ago.

To reach the Manly Ferry I had to walk along the Manly Coastal Walk as well as a few suburban streets, and it was whilst walking down those streets that I realised how different the birds sounded. Certain things weren’t so different as regards comparison with England, but the sonic suburban landscape was quite alien; birds seemed to make noises like someone twiddling knobs on an old analogue synthesizer. That’s not to denigrate Australian birdsong – just an interesting difference.

Also, as I walked down the road, I found myself experiencing a part of my past – not a specific part, but a sense of what a part of my past was like. I have very strong sense impressions of the summer holidays when I was about 6 or 7 years old; dry sand in the sandpit, the pattern of dappled sunlight on the pavement leading to the shops and the smell of creosote on the fence. In this far-flung street on the other side of the world, I found myself walking within that sensation, as if somehow, I was physically experiencing a memory.

Strolling along the Manly Coastal Walk, I saw and heard the sea lapping at the rocks and on the beaches, and I thought – as I’ve often thought before – how that very sound has remained unchanged for millions of years; a sound which, given the way that it’s inspired and beguiled humankind for centuries, seems intimately bound up with man, rather than something which existed long before Man had even evolved. I thought too how this place had for so long evaded explorers and yet it had always been there in all its vastness – the past as a foreign country; there but out of sight and almost unreachable.

Like many people around the world I have seen countless images of Sydney Opera House and the Harbour Bridge and yet, despite their status, I felt a small shiver as we sailed up and saw them appear in the flesh. I have seen them, but i hadn’t until today experienced them. The iconic shape of the Opera House defined the ‘presentness’of that moment in time, a ‘presentness’ shared by all those aboard the Marquis of Hastings in October 1828.

Although everything looked entirely different, the ‘presentness’ of that lived moment in time was just the same. I was arriving in Port Jackson, carrying with me all that had gone before, just as everyone onboard had done. Today they are names on lists and often very little more – lines drawn in water. But by following the line of the Marquis of Hastings and drawing our own, we come a little closer to making the men more than just names. They cease to be outlines, and instead become like countries.

The Road to New South Wales

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On Monday 28th January 1828, a sawyer by the name of Richard Burgess was travelling from Abingdon to Oxford with a cartload of bone for sale in town. On the road to Oxford, Burgess met with three men; Stephen Hedges – a young Abingdon man in his late teens, Henry Stockwell, originally from Aberdeen and a few years older than Hedges, and a man called John Harper. Hedges – described later by Stockwell as the ‘captain’ as regards the events about to follow – asked Burgess if he was going to Oxford and whether he’d carry a parcel for them. Burgess agreed, at which point Harper left the group, while Hedges and Stockwell continued on towards Oxford with the cart.

1875 Map of Radley showing Radley House

Radley House as painted by Turner in 1789

On the Oxford Road, near the lodge of what was then Radley House, Burgess was asked to stop. At first Burgess refused, but relented, stopping as he said later for about five minutes. At that time the house was owned by Sir George Bowyer (who in 1815 had been forced to sell its contents to help his struggling finances) and rented from him by a Mr. Benjamin Kent. When Harper arrived back on the scene with a bag, the three men went off into the gardens.

1875 Map of Radley showing the Lodge and Driveway of Radley House

After five minutes the men returned carrying the bag which Burgess described as being very heavy. What was in the bag, Burgess didn’t know, but given that Stockwell was carrying a piece of lead on his shoulder, it must have been obvious.

The road from Abingdon to Oxford. The parked car on the right marks the spot where Burgess stopped the cart.

A path next to the Oxford Road showing the parked car.

On the way into Oxford, the men – still travelling with Burgess –  met a Charles Jones whereupon, according to Burgess, they engaged in conversation. Burgess went on into Oxford, to Mr. Round’s wharf and near the gates set down the lead and delivered his cargo of bone for weighing. Half an hour later, Stockwell and Jones reappeared and put the lead back on the cart. Burgess asked him where they were going to take it, to which he was told to follow Jones.

Burgess followed Jones up the ‘City Road’ and near the Castle met with Hedges and Harper. They turned back through Butcher Row to the place where the lead was to be delivered, and here, for his trouble Burgess was paid sixpence.

The next day, on Tuesday 29th January, James Smith, servant to Benjamin Kent, discovered three ‘hips’ of the larder roof had been stripped of their lead. Two weeks later, on Wednesday, 13th February, Stephen Hedges appeared in Abingdon before the mayor  T. Knight Esq. on suspicion of stealing lead from an outhouse belonging to B. Morland Esq. (I’m assuming here that B Morland and B. Kent are in fact the same person). He was fully committed to the Bridewell whereas Stockwell and Harper were, at that point, still on the run.

Jackson’s Oxford Journal, Saturday 16th February 1828

Justice however soon caught up with them, and together with Hedges they were tried at the Berkshire Easter Sessions on Tuesday, 15th April. Stephen Hedges and Henry Stockwell were found guilty of stealing 154 lbs of lead. The sentence passed was transportation for a period of 7 years. The report in Jackson’s Oxford Journal makes no mention of Harper’s fate. Charles Jones was acquitted.

Jackson’s Oxford Journal, Saturday 19th April 1828

Having been convicted and sentenced, Hedges and Stockwell were taken to Portsmouth, and on Monday 28th April, received aboard the prison hulk York.

The system of prison hulks had been established by an act of Parliament in 1776 (following the declaration of American Independence which meant the loss of penal colonies there) to ease overcrowding in British prisons. Old warships moored on the Thames and those in other ports, were converted into prisons, and despite the terrible conditions suffered by the prisoners within, the system remained in place for another 80 years.

The prison hulk York from an engraving by E.W. Cooke. The National Maritime Museum, London.

The York, in which Hedges and Stockwell were incarcerated, was the eighth ship in the Navy to bear the name and had once been a 74-gun, third rate of 1,743 tons. Launched in 1807, she’d been posted to the West Indies where she was involved in the capture of the island stronghold of Martinique. She continued the war in the Mediterranean Squadron off Toulon and in 1819, returned to Portsmouth to serve as a prison hulk – home to some 500 inmates.

Entering a hulk was demoralising to say the very least. Prisoners were stripped of their clothes,  after which cold buckets of water were thrown over them. They received their slops and looked on as their own clothes were thrown into the sea – a baptism of their status as a convict and a ‘ceremonial drowning’ of their lives before that time. Finally, they were led into the darkest, foulest-smelling parts of the ship, to await their transportation – the last stage in the process of being forgotten.

The final column of the York’s Muster reads rather ominously: how disposed of?

And this is just what was being done with all the men and women sentenced in this manner. In this column, next to the names of Stephen Hedges and Henry Stockwell, are the words: 24 Jun ’28 NSW; NSW being their final destination – New South Wales.

The York’s documentation also tells us something – albeit somewhat succinctly –about Stephen Hedges’ character. Whereas other prisoners are described as being badly connected, not known here, orderly or good in gaol, Hedges is described simply as bad. To be fair to him however, he wasn’t described as being very bad, which was a term applied to a certain John Head, who was being shipped abroad for 7 years for receiving stolen goods.

Conditions aboard the York were appalling, and Stephen Hedges and Henry Stockwell had to endure them for 2 months before they left for New South Wales, Australia. Finally, on Sunday, 29th June 1828, they left Portsmouth on the convict ship The Marquis of Hastings never to see England, or their families, again.

List of prisoners embarked on the Marquis of Hastings, bound for New South Wales, 27th June 1828

The journey to New South Wales took them 4 months and onboard the ship, travelling with the crew and the prisoners was the ship’s surgeon William Rae, who, as part of his duties, kept a journal of illnesses and treatments suffered throughout the voyage.

The Journal of William Rae at the National Archives, Kew.

Given the length of the voyage, the appalling conditions and the terrible diet the prisoners (and indeed the crew) had to endure, it’s surprising that so few people passed through William Rae’s sick bay. In total, 17 people were in his care during the course of the voyage, of whom 13 were discharged cured and 3 discharged convalescent in Sydney. Only one person died –  from Hydrocephalus (water on the brain).

During the voyage, Rae made notes on the weather which, even in brief descriptions of the clouds, paints a vivid picture of the journey. For example: July 24th 1828. The ship was located at Latitude 10.2o N and Longitude 23.50o S. The temperature was 80oF with a light West-South-Westerly breeze. ‘Cloudy with rain’ Rae has added, in the column marked ‘weather for the day’.

We might not know how it feels to be fettered by the ankles and the waist, locked inside a cramped, stinking space with dozens of other criminals, but we all know the weather. When we read about the conditions suffered by the convicts, it always seems – so long ago did it happen – comparable to a fiction. Strong breeze, squally with rain however is just as much a part of now. When we look at a cumulus cloud as Rae had done, we can get a little closer to the plight of the convicts in the hold.

Plotting the coordinates of the voyage allows us to see the journey. The following stills are taken from Google Earth, in which I plotted Rae’s longitude and latitude.

Stephen Hedges would have had no idea what to expect in Australia, and the same could be said for most of those onboard. Australia itself had only recently emerged from the world of myth. It was still little more than an outline, a vast oubliette for the convicts on board.

On maps throughout the 18th century, Australia’s outlines slowly emerged, as various explorers happened upon her shores. It seems inconceivable that so vast a landmass could ever have been missed, but it just goes to show how big the oceans are by which it is surrounded.

The contrast between its (then) vague geography, its being a kind of oubliette and the realities of the present along with its unforgiving landscape, is something which interests me a great deal.

A map showing an as yet, unmapped east coast of Australia.

After four months at sea, bound for New South Wales, the prisoners disembarked at Sydney, on Tuesday, October 28th.

Stephen Hedges was assigned to James Bowman who’d been appointed principal surgeon for New South Wales after arriving on the John Barry in 1819. By 1832, Bowman had established a sheep run on more than 11,000 acres of land at Ravensworth, Patrick Plains. Hedges may well have been used to help construct it.

Detail from NSW 1828 Census, showing Stephen Hedges being assigned as a labourer to James Bowman at Patrick’s Plains.

On 24th December 1838, Stephen Hedges, now a free man, married Elizabeth Carter in Parramatta, New South Wales.

He died in Australia in 1885, at the age of 74.

Stephen Hedges

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On Monday 28th January 1828, a sawyer by the name of Richard Burgess was travelling from Abingdon to Oxford with a cartload of bone for sale in town. On the road to Oxford, Burgess met with three men; Stephen Hedges – a young Abingdon man in his late teens, Henry Stockwell, originally from Aberdeen and a few years older than Hedges, and a man called John Harper. Hedges – described later by Stockwell as the ‘captain’ as regards the events about to follow – asked Burgess if he was going to Oxford and whether he’d carry a parcel for them. Burgess agreed, at which point Harper left the group, while Hedges and Stockwell continued on towards Oxford with the cart.
On the Oxford Road, near the lodge of what was then Radley House, Burgess was asked to stop. At first Burgess refused, but relented, stopping as he said later for about five minutes. At that time the house was owned by Sir George Bowyer (who in 1815 had been forced to sell its contents to help his struggling finances) and rented from him by a Mr. Benjamin Kent. When Harper arrived back on the scene with a bag, the three men went off into the gardens.
After five minutes the men returned carrying the bag which Burgess described as being very heavy. What was in the bag, Burgess didn’t know, but given that Stockwell was carrying a piece of lead on his shoulder, it must have been obvious.
On the way into Oxford, the men – still travelling with Burgess –  met a Charles Jones whereupon, according to Burgess, they engaged in conversation. Burgess went on into Oxford, to Mr. Round’s wharf and near the gates set down the lead and delivered his cargo of bone for weighing. Half an hour later, Stockwell and Jones reappeared and put the lead back on the cart. Burgess asked him where they were going to take it, to which he was told to follow Jones.
Burges followed Jones up the ‘City Road’ and near the Castle met with Hedges and Harper. They turned back through Butcher Row to the place where the lead was to be delivered, and here, for his trouble Burgess was paid sixpence.
The next day, on Tuesday 29th January, James Smith, servant to Benjamin Kent, discovered three ‘hips’ of the larder roof had been stripped of their lead. Two weeks later, on Wednesday, 13th February, Stephen Hedges appeared in Abingdon before the mayor  T. Knight Esq. on suspicion of stealing lead from an outhouse belonging to B. Morland Esq. (I’m assuming here that B Morland and B. Kent are in fact the same person). He was fully committed to the Bridewell whereas Stockwell and Harper were, at that point, still on the run.
Justice however soon caught up with them, and together with Hedges they were tried at the Berkshire Easter Sessions on Tuesday, 15th April. Stephen Hedges and Henry Stockwell were found guilty of stealing 154 lbs of lead. The sentence passed was transportation for a period of 7 years. The report in Jackson’s Oxford Journal makes no mention of Harper’s fate. Charles Jones was acquitted.
Having been convicted and sentenced, Hedges and Stockwell were taken to Portsmouth, and on Monday 28th April, received aboard the prison hulk York. The hulk system had been established by an act of Parliament in 1776 (following the declaration of American Independence which meant the loss of penal colonies there) to ease overcrowding in British prisons. Old warships moored on the Thames and those in other ports, were converted into prisons, and despite the terrible conditions suffered by the prisoners within, the system remained in place for another 80 years.
The York, in which Hedges and Stockwell were incarcerated, was the eighth ship to bear the name and had once been a 74-gun, third rate of 1,743 tons. Launched in 1807, she’d been posted to the West Indies where she was involved in the capture of the island stronghold of Martinique. She continued the war in the Mediterranean Squadron off Toulon and in 1819, returned to Portsmouth to serve as a prison hulk – home to some 500 inmates.
Entering a hulk was demoralising to say the very least. Stripped of their clothes, cold buckets of water were thrown over the prisoners. They received their slops and looked on as their own clothes were thrown into the sea – a baptism of their status as a convict and a ‘ceremonial drowning’ of their lives before that time. Finally, they were led into the darkest, foulest-smelling parts of the ship, to await their transportation – the last stage in the process of being forgotten.
The final column on the York’s Muster reads rather ominously: how disposed of? And this is just what was being done with all the men and women sentenced in this manner. And written in this column, next to the names of Stephen Hedges and Henry Stockwell, are the words: 24 Jun ’28 NSW.
Conditions on the York were appalling but Hedges and Stockwell had to endure them for 2 months, until Sunday, 29th June 1828, when ‘at last’ they left England aboard The Marquis of Hastings. After four months at sea, bound for New South Wales, the prisoners disembarked at Sydney, on Tuesday, October 28th.
Stephen Hedges was assigned to James Bowman who’d been appointed principal surgeon for New South Wales after arriving on the John Barry in 1819. By 1832, Bowman had established a sheep run on more than 11,000 acres of land at Ravensworth, Patrick Plains. Hedges may well have been used to help construct it.
On 24th December 1838, Stephen Hedges, now a free man, married Elizabeth Carter in Parramatta, New South Wales.
He died in Australia in 1885, at the age of 74.

Lead Walk – Photos

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The following photographs were taken during a walk I made along the route as described in the previous entry Lead Walk – Maps.

The road from Abingdon, down which Richard Burgess drove with his cart of bones for delivery in Oxford.

It was near here, where the red car is parked – slightly hidden from view – that Stephen Hedges and his accomplices asked Richard Burgess to stop, before heading off to steal the 154 lbs of lead. From that moment on, Hedges’ fate – along with that of Henry Stockwell – was sealed.

The entrance to Radley House where the car is parked on the right hand side.

When there were no cars driving past – which didn’t seem very often – I would find myself imagining Stephen Hedges looking around him, just as I was doing. I’d see a bird against the clouds and for a second I was him, walking down the road with the horse and cart. I could almost hear their conversation, muffled as if I had an ear to the ground.

When I did imagine a moment in 1828, for some reason my mind returned to my childhood, to Risinghurst where my Nana lived. I wondered about Stephen’s past and his childhood.

I’ve no idea of course what the clouds were like above the road that fateful day, but with the document I have recording the clouds on the voyage to Australia, the fairweather clouds above seemed ominous.

It wasn’t the safest walk I’ve ever done. Walking has long been forgotten here. But empathising with individuals long since lost to the past can only be done at that speed.

A bin bag. It reminded me of the heavy bag Burgess describes. Little did he know it was full of lead.

A milestone – one you can see if you’re going slowly enough.

Bagley Wood. The same shape it seems as it was in 1828.

Lead Walk – Maps

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On the trail of my ancestor Stephen Hedges (my great, great, great, great uncle) I wanted to walk the route I think he would have travelled (along with Henry Stockwell, J Harper and the innocent Abingdon Sawyer, Richard Burgess) with the lead stolen from what was then Radley Hall or House. Below is a screenshot from Google Earth, showing the route as recorded on my GPS.

The following image is another screenshot from Google Earth, this time with a map of 1811 overlaid and the same GPS route placed over the top.

I was quite surprised how well they married up and below are the same two images combined. What is interesting is how the shape of Bagley Wood has hardly changed.

© Nicholas Hedges 2024