Two books about wide open spaces

I can't be certain but I think I must have been around three or four when I first stood on  a mountain top. It would have been Mynydd Crug just up from where we were living. Even back then I sensed there was something special about such places. It is this sense of the numinous that I find in many of our walks on Dartmoor: the notion that there are places which chime mysteriously with the human spirit and which drew our ancestors to them just as we are drawn there now. Some call it the 'Spirit of Place' and, in my experience, they can't be sought out - you just know when you've come across one. They can spring up in the most unexpected places and at unexpected times. I expect we all have them.

I carried my thoughts on the 'Spirit of Place' into two books I've read recently. From their reviews, it sounded as if both authors had captured the essence of their subjects and I was keen to find out how they did it. After completing both, I think one did and the other didn't.

The first one, entitled 'The Moor', was written by William Atkins and purports to explore the lives, landscape and literature of England's moorland areas. I know two of these (Bodmin Moor and Dartmoor) pretty well and one (Exmoor) reasonably well.  His descriptions of these I found unconvincing and they came across as a travel guide more than anything else. If he couldn't convince me that he'd captured the spirit of the places I knew, how could I believe him when he ventured further north to Yorkshire and Northumberland? A disappointing book and not one that I'd recommend to anyone who loves the wide open spaces.

The second book was a complete contrast. Written by Nan Shepherd, it is almost elegiac when compared to the first. In 'The Living Mountain' Nan details her walks, hikes and climbs in the Cairngorms. She clearly loves the terrain and her writing resounds with the 'Spirit of Place' time and time again. There is an anonymous quote on the back of my copy: "The finest book ever written on nature and landscape in Britain."  Ho, ho, publisher's hyperbole, I thought. After about three pages, I began to see why those words had been written. After about 11 pages, I was hooked. Quite simply, it's a masterpiece. £10 might seem a lot for a book barely over 100 pages long. But it's not: it's over 1,000 pages long, because I know that I'm going to read it at least 10 times – and find something different in it each time. She says of the Cairngorms exactly how I feel about Dartmoor: "However often I walk on them, these hills hold astonishment for me. There is no getting accustomed to them." She understands the 'Spirit of Place': a kindred soul. Read it and be captivated.

If a tree falls in the forest...

If a tree falls in the forest and there is no one around to hear it, does it even make a sound? Wishy washy philosophical twaddle: or so I used to think. But as I get older I realise that philosophy isn’t about finding answers, but it is about making you think. The tree thing? Of course it makes a sound. Tree, land, impact, sound…has to happen.

Except, suppose in this one case the impact made no sound at all?  If there was no one around, how do we know? There is no answer, but it makes you think.

It makes me think about blogging.

If you submit a post on the internet and no one ever reads it, did you have any impact? Did you even make a sound?

It makes me think about life.

If you pass away and leave nothing behind, no memories, no ideas, no children, no friends, did you have any impact? Did you make a sound?

That is why I blog. In addition to enjoying the freedom of writing, it is my way of having some impact. It is my way of making a sound.

I have a fantastic wife, two terrific children (plus their partners) and 6/7 amazing grandchildren. I expect they will have an impact, they will be my sound, but for much of my own life I have been relatively quiet. I did all the things you are supposed to do. I went to school and earned my degrees.  I raised a family. I put food on the table and a roof over heads, but in the great scheme of things I've been quiet. 

So I blog.

It is fun. It is rewarding. I meet people in cyber-space. I exchange ideas and opinions. I hear what others have to say. That means they make a sound.

If you read this: I made a sound.

If you want answers, look elsewhere...............

Modern communications and social media mean that we are better informed than ever about what's going on in the world. And, depressingly, we seem to know more than ever what a terrible world it can be for so many of us, what a horrible species we can be and what horrors we can inflict on each other and on ourselves. But, in amongst all this, most of us retain our basic humanity and our basic decency. Most of us still believe in goodness, in justice and the fact that right can and must win. Most of us feel that "something must be done" about so many issues.

But there is a problem with thinking that something must be done because it is not always clear what that something is. Something is hard. Something is complicated. Something has consequences and we know from bitter experiences that sometimes the something we do is the wrong thing. So do we freeze? Petrified into inaction? Or do we charge ahead? Gung ho, thinking that our something, indeed anything, is better than nothing?

I don’t know the answers to any of the current big international problems facing us. Lest you think otherwise, this is not a blog with answers. It strikes me that every other column I read by every other writer I admire, has answers. How I envy them. I look at the horrors of war and I want to act. I want to march in front of the guns. I want to stand between the messianic maniacs with machetes and their victims. I want to rip the rockets from the hands of those bombing schools and killing children. But I’m not going to. I am a coward. I am too comfortable in my life. I do not have the right stuff. My morality is that of an armchair general, an armchair tactician and, perish the thought, an armchair politician.

I'm glad that I don't have to take these life and death decisions. And knowing this of myself, I can’t come to an easy position that always believes in British intervention. I can’t have that as my first option every time something happens that is hideous and brutish elsewhere. But I can’t always rule it out either. I can’t rule out sending into danger the younger and braver people of this country who volunteer to protect us and to police our world. I don’t have a singular rule that says we should always or never take action. In some ways, I think that those who do are possibly more comfortable than me. Their certainty is their comfort blanket. But perhaps that is me passing off my responsibilities again, passing off my own guilts for the results of the positions I do and don’t support. This is not a blog with answers. How I wish I did have answers.

So no, I don’t have answers. But maybe, just maybe it’s OK to admit that. To say – as someone privileged enough to have some sort of public platform – that I don’t know what to say. To admit that I am winging it. Because we all are. Many with better information than me. Many with better understanding than me. But we are human. And as we face the worst of what that means, we need to allow ourselves to be as open and human with each other about how we reach consensus on what must be done. Because let’s face it: Something must be done.

And to lighten the gloom, why not listen to this excellent version of 'Somewhere over the Rainbow' by the Hawaiian singer/ukulele player Israel "IZ" Kamakawiwoʻole? Am I the only person who finds an optimistic undertone in the lyrics?