By Keith Budge, Headmaster, Bedales Schools
Obscurely wandering in an early cloudy dawn after freshening night’s rain, I am thinking about psychogeography. Curious, yes.
Why? A mélange of reasons: here are five. We have a geography conference today and there will, I am sure, be talk of it there. Local poet (and poet’s poet) Edward Thomas, on our minds in the 100th year of his death, played his part in the development of psychogeography, being a rambler-thinker who was intrigued by ancient paths and therefore an inspiration for Robert Macfarlane (The Old Ways: A Journey on Foot). A big Macfarlane fan, I have even been inspired to read his muse, Nan Shepherd, and walk in her steps imaginatively over the Cairngorms. More locally, I have been struck too by the artwork that children in Dunhurst and Dunannie have produced, inspired by Thomas’ poetry. Thanks to a kind birthday gift, I am reading two books that have a psychogeographical flavour, being based on the idea of the flâneur and the flâneuse, and such those moody trampers of urban landscapes as Baudelaire and Jean Rhys. And finally, summer’s lease invites plenty of walking in our dreamy nook of Hampshire– mainly early morning and late evening.
Bringing it all closer to home and to the psychology of space, my driftings around our outdoor spaces remind me how influential our students and other resident mammals have been on our landscape. Yes, so much of this place’s nature was set by its early agricultural life, whether that is the division between its fields or the quasi-agricultural establishment of the Orchard at the school’s heart; but there is a more recent series of shape-shiftings.
My dawn walk along what I think is a familiar path suddenly has me pulling up sharp, aided for once by a cowering black dog whose instincts are better tuned: black mutt the saves day, I think, as I pull up sharp to avoid walking into an electric fence: pigs! Of course, the pigs have been moved – well, their location has been moved; they are distinctly unmoved, I note, observing the gentle rise and fall of a sleeping flitch of sandy and black, cosy in its sty. Pigs clear land of scrub, so their progress around the school’s messier bits of woodland is making those places easier to walk through and more pleasant to be in. We continue down the hill, admiring the view we have through the trees.
Our outdoors affects our indoors: bringing the beauty of the outdoors inside was one of the aspirations of the Orchard building and, more recently, the Art & Design one. I am glad of that as I sit in classes and meetings in rooms where the benefit of outside combines with that of being inside.
This is all in advance of our Parents’ Day this weekend when members of the community – future, present and past – will be celebrating the place we share and which has or will shape us.
Although the Orchard will exert its usual gravitational pull, I trust there will be plenty of what (brace yourself) those psychogeographers called dérive. This means (more or less) drifting, but like many things, sounds better in French.