We went through London to drop Lucie back home to her flat, and then headed out through Crystal Palace, Croydon and on into Sussex. The architecture of London fascinates me. South of the river, it’s never quite the same as my childhood roaming grounds, but still tells the stories of expansion and development, speculation and exploitation. The Victorians were really so plumptious and proud of what the achieved and seemingly made attempts to include everyone in the feeling of wealth….
The obsession with a glorious past is everywhere - the endlessly reiterated story of the Golden Elizabethan Age appears in almost every street… gable ends, black-and-white, Tudorbethan… It defines the 19th and 20th century suburbs and indeed is still reigning supreme in the newbuild estates throughout the south. All mouth and no trousers, these days. The developers spend money on the facades and leave the house itself poorly furnished in terms of sustainability, flexibility, use. We look in vain for cellars, storage space, gardens, fireproofing…
Still the Victorians knew what worked best and built - even in poorer districts - with confidence and quality. The brickwork and ornamentation is still really attractive. The contrast, when you hit Croydon is astonishing. Here every single domestic value has been junked in favour of glittering glass-faced towers with fantastic competitive styling and glitz. Since this is the year of lockdown and zoom, we wonder if these towers will ever really be wanted. They look magnificently wicked but they may well be much less use than the Victorian streets which they replace.
So much of England is hopelessly out of date. Main A-roads wind along narrow country lanes… with hedges and fields. There is some glory in seeing how ancient landuse still prevails according to the geology… so in a remote outer suburb where clearly building values would be very high, nonetheless, on a one-mile strip of road across sandy soil, there are nine or ten market-gardens, a lavender farm (with flocks of families of African descent wandering among the rows of purple). The market gardens - some open to the public as garden centres, some with poly tunnels, some much more pre-war in appearance - must still be earning enough money to resist selling up for housing. You get this tenacious little patch of medieval landworking, in strips, with the Great Wen nearly surrounding it.
Our campsite is past Pulborough, not far from the Roman villa a Bignor. The lanes approaching are pretty well free of traffic but the edges of the road are well-worn and beaten down, from constant parking over a long period of time. Not this year, presumably.
We drive in past a rising field with one or two caravans or tents tucked into the edges of an open sunny field, and up a driveway to a huddle of pretty ropey old huts and sheds. We are asked - did you get the email? Our card machine isn’t working…… Are you electric or…..? We say we are electric (true!), and are directed to a long mown strip cut through some tall old woodland… pines and oaks. There is a double electricity supply cable slung above it, all the way. Cars and tents are lined up down one edge, very very very close together. Despite our fears, it seems there is a toilet and a shower facility set up in those sheds. We have never ever camped so close to other people. I am thinking of Glastonbury … Social distancing is nowhere near this. The owner looks like the Landlord on telly - a bruiser, in a golf buggy. He’s affable but wants to know how and when we can pay.
He says he used to come here w his grandad when he was little, to buy eggs. The grandad and the guy who owned the land had both been in the RAF, so they did business… He came back to visit and found the sons/family of the owner were selling it, so he bought it, though he is in reality a building in London. Andrew said, we had often thought of running a campsite and quick as a flash he said ‘Wanna buy this?’ He’s only had it a few months, and seems to be regretting his decision. He has a full-time business on his hands already.
It clearly has potential, but needs so much done to it… the whole thing is under-invested. The woods are lovely, but it needs opening up to offer more pitches, and it needs proper facilities such as water, rubbish disposal… etc etc. In some ways it’s like a campsite in the 1970s - if you remember that Mike Leigh film Nuts in May…. which was filmed at the wonderful campsite near Corfe Castle, where we went to stay several times. Trouble is, we are older now, and expect more. We have done our rough camping. We have been to France and Spain where the campsites are properly funded and are very civilised….. This is Britain in 2020. A wilful cheerful ignorance prevails. ‘We are inadequate and we like it like this. We don’t want to join in, or be up to date. We like bodges … We expect people to put up with things…… Yes, the pitches ARE that close together…….’ Our man has a lot to do. Will he do it? If someone wants a really good project, this could be it. The Brits will not be flying off to Spain or Italy for a while. They will seek out home-grown holidays. Happy camping!
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