Photographs – Copyright Nicola Jones, Heptonstall Museum
This May, Heptonstall artefacts amassed upstairs, in Hebden Bridge Town Hall: glass bottles, books, images of religious relics and ghosts, a century-old photograph album, a Toby Jug, a stone… At least a couple of questions hung in the air, too: how would these objects be storied into action, today? And by whom?
A treasured Toby Jug inspired our writers to think about his history. Read more of the stories our workshop participants created including this curious artefact here
We began the workshop with some observational writing to describe an item that attracted us. What did it look and feel like? What was its use? What surreal associations did it invite?
After sharing these first prose fragments with a partner, and then with the group, we considered character. What kind of person might have held these items? Some bottles could be Victorian, or Edwardian. To hear potential characters’ voices from these periods, I shared mottos, or ‘Flowers of Thought’. These had been offered by Heptonstall village inhabitants, in 1910 and anthologised in a small green pamphlet.
I am not one of those who do not believe in love at first sight – but I believe in taking a second look. Mr J. H. Clegg, Lumb Bank
Rob some men of their conceit, and there would be nothing left. Miss Clegg, Lumb Bank
Had I the power to carve or print Thy future, my dear friend, It would be fair and ever bright, Unclouded to the end. Mr T Greenwood, Slack Cottage, (Heptonstall)
Intelligence and courtesy Not always are combined: Often in a wooden house A golden room we find. Mrs A Collinge, Northfield (Heptonstall)
Look not mournfully into the past: it is gone: Wisely improve the present, it is thine: Go forth to meet the shadowy paths with manly heart. Mr J. A. Walton
Don’t expect too much and you won’t be disappointed. These quotes launched a second writing exercise: namely, to develop a character’s voice. Mrs J.A. Walton
Flowers of Thought, 1910 Publication
The final two voices belong to my (step) great-great grandparents (Mr & Mrs Walton). Though with roots in Heptonstall, they had moved to Hebden Royd.
Our final exercise used a sculptural prompt to set these characters and artefacts in place.
A simple 3-D model of Heptonstall, and a set of questions got us talking about the village’s unique island-like topography, located on an upland plateau, surrounded on three sides by rivers, with moorland on the fourth side.
We also talked about differences in vegetation on the various slopes, and the extremes of weather participants experienced, living on the tops. Oral narratives overspilled at this point. Talk of snows, of cobbles, of the bench at Crown Point and the crags, dropping into the Hell Hole filled the remaining minutes of our two-hour workshop.
Photo Credit: Rachel Nisbet
We closed with a take-home prompt for participants to write more, if they wished. The invitation: to plot a journey or event, involving their artefact and the character(s) they were developing.
In the spirit of sharing in this storytelling alchemy, here is the fragment I crafted in our time together at the town hall. The text is a fictionalised version of Mrs J A Walton, talking about a photograph of her daughter, Glady, who became my grandfather’s mother.
Photo Credit: Rachel Nisbet’s Family Archive
Our Gladys
It was for her fourth birthday that we brought her, to have her picture taken. She was a wriggly worm of a thing to start with, really. Well, as I combed her hair she was. Humming ‘Pussy Down the Well’, too, before the assistant to Mr Westerman got her settled. I don’t know! She went quiet as a mouse, when she saw the camera pointing at her, though. She kept wonderfully still, too. I suppose we just wanted to make the most of her. Show her off a bit. What with having her back from the fever hospital, safe and sound, after all that worry.
Such a sweet little dot, she was, costumed in her black velvet dress with its lace frills and collar. That was Emmeline’s handiwork. Arthur even polished her little shoes the night before. Picture-perfect! Like a little doll.
Afterwards, not long after the lunch siren blew, her aunts came down Cuckoo Steps to see her, all dressed up still. Like she’d been to a party! That’s what they said. She was tired out afterwards, of course, was Gladys. When they left, I gave her an orange, having got them in for advent. Then, I told her to play quietly with her dolly on the rug.
You’ll be asking me when the prints are ready. Well, don’t you worry! You’ll see soon enough. We’ll be gifting one to you, her doting Uncle Nelson, up in Heptonstall!
