A Soundscape

Early morning in a northern market town

Our senses flow through us like rivers. We think we own them. As if the title deeds to the fields and trees of the river bank could grant us dominion over flowing water. But each torrent of perception is its own master. They cut their chosen channels through the soft clay of our lives, gouging out the bedrock of our comprehension. The overlord of them all is sight. His rule is not always kind or wise.

Stand here a moment, if you will, where a narrow arched walkway meets the medieval marketplace off Kirkby Stephen high street. Population two thousand but boasting an emphatic Norman church as large as any in the county. Fit for a bishop. Power and influence flowed through here once. Wool and hides and men-at-arms passed this way. Touch the rounded red sandstone, worn smooth. Feel history stir in its sleep. On the war memorial, rising out of the cobbles, municipal brass plaques list the broad smiles of men who left the fields and, their shining eyes closed, were buried in others.  

Now close your eyes. You’ll be fine. This is a small market town in the north of England. Five pubs and two butchers. We are a ways off the beaten track. Nobody will take advantage. No one will be perturbed. Each to his own, they say. Besides, it is fearsome early in the morning. The heavy July air still carries the sticky dew which it failed to sell to the restless night fields, bereft of their flower-rich hay. Listen. Neighbours rising early exchange the beautiful vowels that grew up here and have never really left. Conversation by barter. Money does not change hands. A few  dialect words of old Cumbria cling to the everyday and many more linger on the fringes of living memory. But over garden walls and round the corners of alleyways you hear only the murmured music of their speech, stripped of content, shorn of syntax. The tune alone, yet the tune itself sufficient for touching the heart of it.

Wait. Don’t open your eyes yet. There is more. Cack … chack, opine the Jackdaws, two by two, paired for life, peering down like judges from the gutters. The owners of chimney stacks and churchyard downpipes. They’ll never sell, no matter the crazy southern money that’s on offer. They were granted charters and instruments back in the sixteenth century and have worked them since, for all they are worth. Their blue eyes pierced the wrinkles of property law on which they have built a monopoly of roofs and spires. Down on the streets below, we are their vassals, paying our tithes.

Rising above the jackdaws’ learned discourse there can only be swifts. More gods than birds, their screech is everywhere and always. During the day our ears tune them out like tinnitus. Our busy eyes insist they need the bandwidth. Then with each new sunrise the rip and shred of swift-song takes us by surprise again. All the great travelling players who performed in the marketplace had a backcloth of swift. The Grade 1 listed cavities in which they nest have not seen the light of day for centuries. The feathers which they have accumulated are a world library of manuscripts that would fall to dust if you were to reach for them. Best not to try. Better just to know that they are there, behind the guttering, through the narrow slits in the stonework.

These are the sounds and textures of one small town, early on a July morning. But doesn’t every story have two sides? Open your eyes now and see another version. The bold, familiar logo of an international coffee shop brand. An outdoor outlet that will sell you an airbrushed whisper of wilderness, shower proofed. Fast food and SUVs. The creeping vine of wires that set the whole world on a stage. Two towns, then, and one of them an imposter. Perhaps to see the truth, we must sometimes close our eyes.

---

Elvers by Moonlight will be taking a short break - to do some listening and, hopefully, a bit of learning. I’ll be back in early September. Hope you can join me then. Thank you all so much for your insights and encouragement in the first few months of my time here on Substack.

---