A Head Of Steam 1

School’s out for summer and, after the creative frenzy of recent months, I’m allowing myself a little time to just freewheel and recharge my batteries.  Creatively, I have an outside commission in hand, but my own work is on the back burner while I give some thought to what might come next.  The British weather’s hardly spectacular this year, but benign enough to allow a few relatively spontaneous trips out, such as the one I undertook the other day to Rempstone Steam & Country Show, in Nottinghamshire.

Foster Showman's Engine.  Typical Of The Breed

Foden Seven Ton Steam Truck.

Such quaint, family fun-type events have little connection with my artistic activities, and are hardly part of my normal routine.  However, it’s no secret that I have a marginal enthusiasm for elderly or unusual vehicles of various kinds, and that this is one way in which I can connect with the memory of both my late Father and his Father before him.  For my Dad, vehicles of various kinds were pretty much what Art is for me.  Indeed, some of my earliest memories are of him identifying every car or lorry we passed en route to the sweet shop, or watching him dismantle and rebuild one rusty Morris Minor after another on rainy Sunday afternoons.

1957 Ford Thunderbird

Mk1 E-Type Jaguar.  I'd still have one of these if anyone was giving it away.

In fact, before I got near the steam engines at Rempstone, there were various vintage cars, motorcycles and commercial vehicles to peruse at Rempstone.  Of particular interest was an immaculate 1957 Ford Thunderbird, which was incredibly stylish, and spoke to my interest in classic American vehicles.  I doubt there is a cleaner example on either side of the Atlantic.  It neighboured a stunning early E-Type Jaguar which, if not so rare here, may still be the most beautiful example of sleek automotive styling any company ever produced.

Velocette LE, With Interestingly Enclosed Flat-Twin Engine...

…And An Equally Unusual Little Two-Stroke Sunn

GMC Rat Rod Pickup Truck

Rare BSA Rocket 3 In The Car Park.  A Machine That Symbolises The Early 1970s
Demise Of The British Motorcycle Industry.

My eye was also drawn to an unusual little Velocette LE motorbike, and an equally intriguingly Sunn, with its aerodynamic rear fairing.  A General Motors pickup truck, corroding attractively in a patinated Rat Rod style felt slightly out of context, but regular readers will know I have a weakness for such conceits.  Perhaps most unusual was a beautifully restored ex-BBC outside broadcast van.  Both it, and a splendid bright yellow AEC recovery vehicle, felt like full-sized versions of the Dinky or Matchbox models of commercial vehicles I once spent hours pushing around the living room floor.

'Thumper' The Ex-BBC Austin Outside Broadcast Vehicle.

AEC Recovery Vehicle...

…And Another AEC Of Similar Vintage.

However, as the event’s name implies, the event’s main attraction was the array of even older steam traction engines on display.  In their case, this was an opportunity to connect with the memory of my Grandfather.  George Percy Marwood had been a contractor who owned and worked with steam-powered agricultural machinery on the farms around his home in the North Lincolnshire hamlet of Wickenby. 

Yet more childhood memories involved attending similar steam rallies with him and my father in his later years, and he would occasionally reminisce about his working life.  One story recalled an Italian wartime P.O.W. who, having been pressed into working on the land, grabbed a threshing knife and tried to make a run for it – before being ‘persuaded’ to change his mind. 

Lincoln-Built Engines...

The city of Lincoln, where I grew up, is both physically and psychologically divided into ‘Uphill’ and ‘Downhill’ districts.  If the twin edifices of cathedral and castle dominate the former, the latter was once largely identified by a concentration of metal forging and heavy engineering companies.  Amongst these were several manufacturers of steam traction engines, and my Grandfather once told me he’d been invited at one time to relocate to Australia to represent one of them.  Although he declined, I couldn’t help speculating just how differently things might have been for our family, had he accepted.  Either way, it was pleasing to see numerous Lincoln-built machines at Rempstone, including several Fosters, a Clayton, a Robey, and more than a few Marshalls from elsewhere in Lincolnshire.

…And Another.

I spent a happy afternoon strolling amongst the engines, photographing the mechanical details of what now feels like archaic technology.  There’s a specific and seductive aesthetic tied up with all those heavy castings, multiple rivets, brass and copper embellishments and painted pin lines so beloved of industrial archaeologists, amateur steam enthusiasts, and alt-culture Victoriana buffs alike.  It fascinates me how easily an appreciation of machinery can slip from nuts-and-bolts rationality into a ritualistic form of fetishism.  The Steampunk movement is an obvious example of this, in the context of steam engines, as is the Hot Rod/Drag Racing scene I sampled around this time last summer, in terms of the petrol engine.

Victorian (Aesthetic) Values

Such associations are probably magnified by my own interaction with all these machines being largely aesthetically and sensually driven.  My mechanical prowess doesn’t actually extend much further than tinkering with my bicycle, after all.  Certainly, I’m sure that most of the restorers, and operators of the traction engines would regard such talk with distinct bemusement.  However, even they can’t be immune to the sounds and smells, or the sheer physical presence of their lumbering machines.  It’s a tired cliché to talk of steam engines as being almost alive, but undeniable that there’s something deeply evocative in all that crackling coal, hissing steam, clanking, dripping and sizzling.  The aromas and impressions of heat are very much part of the experience, as is the immense potential energy bound up in those tons of far-from-inert metal.

In the end though, it’s all too easy to over-romaticise all that age-of-steam stuff.  That occurred to me as I watched the picturesque period-costume display of threshing, - a seasonal routine my Grandfather undertook numerous times, and in possibly less quaint conditions.  Slightly more chilling was a demonstration of cutting logs on a huge, completely unguarded, circular saw, driven by an adjacent engine.  It contrasted dramatically with the numerous training courses and Risk Assessments I’ve participated in, in order to legally operate similar modern tools a fraction of its size.  Emergency stop buttons don’t come into it.

Threshing...

…And Sawing Logs.  (Just to clarify, - that circular thing spinning next to the guy's ear
is a large, unguarded saw blade with a steam engine on the end of it).

There are insights into the harsher realities of the Agricultural Contracting life amongst some research undertaken and written up by my cousin’s husband, Paul Hickman.  I read a copy of Paul’s ‘The Marwoods: Wickenby Machine Men’ [1.] last year, learning a lot about the family, and the Marwood contracting concern, in the process.  Despite operating at the heart of one of Britain’s most productive agricultural counties, it seems that making a living from the business was often far from easy.  Local farmers could be particularly reluctant to pay up for work carried out, and there was inevitably a lot of money tied up in the sometimes temperamental and fuel-hungry equipment.  Labouring in the fields was one thing, but keeping the work flowing was something else altogether.  It was often necessary to move the slow-moving machines considerable distances at the end of a tiring day to be ready to start over on another farm the following morning.

Large Fowler Agricultural Engine

It seems that my grandfather was forced into consequent awkward conversations with the bank manager over the years.  His reputation for being a bit tight with money was a cause of some amusement in later years, - not least, his seeming belief that any shopkeeper’s stated price was merely a starting point for negotiation.  However, given his struggles to keep the business afloat in difficult times makes it all pretty understandable.  It’s possibly a little ironic that, despite his lifetime love of all things mechanical, my father actually made a career working for a bank.

That speaks volumes about changing generational aspirations (and opportunities).  My grandfather left school at the age of 14, and walked across the fields to his first farmhand job, early the next morning.  His first wages came in the form of a pair of work boots.  Seemingly, any prosperity he subsequently gained was achieved through pretty relentless graft and always counting the pennies. My father was a Grammar School boy, academic enough to qualify for a career counting other people’s pennies, instead of one in the fields, (and a pension that my mother still lives on quite comfortably).  Perhaps, relegating his love of mechanics to whatever leisure time remained was a deal he did with himself.

My perception is that we never felt either particularly well off, or especially hard up, as I grew up, but perhaps that luxury to not really have to think too much about money was the point.  In reality, there was clearly no material impediment to my own choice to pursue something as idealistic and impractical as an Art School education, (and a subsequent life of day-dreaming, and making the best of whatever modestly-paid work I’ve been able to secure).

Looking at my photos from Rempstone, my other main thoughts are fairly obvious ones about the rapid march of technology.  My grandfather made a living, well into the mid twentieth century, using equipment that Stephenson and Trevithic would have felt comfortable with, and that the local blacksmith could repair.  It was essentially the same Victorian technology that powered the Industrial Revolution and all the social and economic upheaval that accompanied it.

A Pair Of Fowler Agricultural  Engines Filthing The Place Up

I watched thick, black smoke belching from the engines as they winched each other across the parade ring, and reflected that the biggest challenge facing the next generations might be how to survive a physical environment altered irreversibly by all that routine burning of hydrocarbons and voracious consumption of resources.  Perhaps most striking of all, is the technological journey, in three generations of one family, from cast-iron and shovelled coal, via internal combustion and mass-production, to the digital imaging and information technology I'm now using to relate my Sunny afternoon out.

[1.]:  Paul Hickman, 'The Marwoods: Wickenby Machine Men', Branston, Lincolnshire, Private Publication, 2014