Artifacts #5: Cartography

A dear friend gifted me this collection of early 20th century Ordnance Survey motoring maps in the 1980s. It had been in her family for some time and she knew of my love for all things cartographic. Poring over maps is, indeed, my idea of a good time.

Published in 1929, the kit is a marvel not only of pre-orbital-platform cartography, but also of functionality, durability, and aesthetic.

The collection of 11 maps and an index sheet covers England and Wales and snugs perfectly into its stout leather case. Sigh the hinged lid closed and the springed clasp clicks into a keyed sliding release mechanism. The tidy heft and precision of the whole package would fit nicely alongside a picnic basket for a country outing in one's 1927 Wolseley motocar. 

Each of the maps is made of paper panels affixed to a linen backing. A small gap between each panel means the linen bends for storage, not the paper, and thus the map does not lose information or tear along the fold. The colors are still bright and the although there are no motorways (the first wasn't opened until 1958), this collection could still be used to navigate without difficulty from Dover to Holyhead.

 Just touching these maps, peering closely at carefully drawn topography and tracing the lines of country byways on an imaginary meander from Upper Heyford to Steeple Aston to Great Tew and on to Tadmarton makes me want to eschew motorways altogether, pack a flask of white tea, and putter at single-track speed down lanes crowded by hedgerows. I want to steer by an old square Norman steeple and find myself lunching by the fire at a country pub and talking the weather with new acquaintances over a pint of bitter as a drizzle sets in outside.

Shared Roads

You could say I am a fan of the Canadian band, Rush. I certainly say it. It might help, however, to clarify the word "fan," at least as far as I am concerned. Yes, I own all their major studio releases and live albums and have a couple of esoteric releases as well. But I've only been to two shows and I have only one Rush t-shirt and that no longer fits me. So hard-core fans might balk at my "fan" status.

In any case, I find myself comfortable with them in that weird way that only fans of something can understand. Whether you are a fan of a particular musician or group or painter or writer, you feel there is a metaphysical connection between you and the object of your devotion. If you're crazy, you'll stab and slash at the rational voice that says, "Hey, I get it. The artist has done the job well and your emotional response has made you feel something and feel it quite strongly. Therefore, it's no surprise that you'll extend this feeling from the art to the artist as a person. It is much like falling in love. I get it. But it isn't real."

But if you're not crazy, you can simply enjoy the feeling and the art and occasionally marvel at some coincidental connection between you and the artist. For instance, as a teenager I fantasized that Geddy Lee was singing my name in the nonsense vocals section of "Didacts and Narpets."  And by the way, if you get that reference without looking it up, you count as a Rush fan as well, whether you want to admit it or not.

Today I noticed another interesting coincidence that really isn't all that amazing but does make me feel strangely connected to Neil Peart through a piece he wrote about shunpiking with his motorcycle in the United Kingdom. When you put Peart and the Sceptered Isle together in one article, with pictures, I get a feeling I can only describe at this moment as nostalgically euphoric. When I saw the post on Peart's page, I immediately thought of Hardknott pass, a single-track road that climbs like a rocket and twists like a wounded night crawler. I was so entranced by the idea that Peart must certainly have shunpiked his way through the pass, probably stopping at the ruins of a Roman fort near the top, I didn't read the article at first, I just mouse-wheeled down, scanning the contents and sure enough, Hardnott appeared. I immediately felt a completely irrational sensation that Peart and I were road buddies, asphalt Eskimo brothers, ready to throw up high fives and throw back pints of bitter and the end of the travelling day. So if you're a Rush fan, maybe you'll want to join Neil and me on my delusional road trip:
http://neilpeart.net/index.php/space-for-news-items/drummer-singletrack-mind/