I've just been trawling through my iPhoto library uploading pictures and realised there was something I had missed writing about – 'Grace's House'.
I came across Grace's house when out walking with my partner some months ago half a mile from Carn Galva. Its an old tumble down granite one room 'house' that probably I have since found out dates back to the 17th century. What fascinates me about it though is what I came across inside – three pairs of old child sized iron bunk beds!
Steven my mentor asked me what it was that drew me to them… something I've been wondering on… revisiting some missing childhood place, feeling connected to something, recreating story, creating memory? Perhaps creating self… not sure, something to keep wondering on.
Anyway I spent three/four hours up there the other day drawing and taking photographs, in that space where you become so absorbed in what you are doing that you don't notice how cold you are until you stop. I became fascinated by ideas of uncovering story and started playing out the role of archaeologist, the most insignificant pieces of rubbish became embued with significance as I recorded my 'finds'.
What is quite strange is that the more I research, the more I come across about this tiny home. But no where, not in accounts of its grade 2 listed status or recent writings about the history of the hamlet does it ever mention the bunkbeds. Why are they there, where did they come from…. stories of evacuees come to mind, I do know that until comparatively recently it had a 'replacement' tin roof… Something for my enquiries…
As I write I am wondering at the relationship between the unearthing of my stories and the stories of the beds, with the wider story of a landscape that tends to be defined more by what it was, than by what it is to become. It is now part of the Cornish Mining World Heritage Site, ESA, SSSI, AONB etc etc. Where does living tradition in a contemporary world find a voice amongst the initialled designations and picture postcard images?
