Carlton Marshes - the walk, the writing, the banner
Last year as part of Marsh, Arts and Us we visited Carlton Marshes.
The banner was inspired by our trip accompanied by artist Ian Brownlie and writer Belona Greenwood. Together, we developed the artwork in a series of workshops held at PrimeYarc.
The project is part of the Norfolk and Suffolk Broads Authority’s Marsh, Arts and Us community arts engagement project and part of the wider Water, Mills and Marshes Broads Landscape Partnership scheme funded by the Heritage Lottery Fund.
Below is some of the writing that came out of the walking. It is beautiful and profound, humble and life-enhancing. Take a walk with our words.
***
Carlton
Marshes
Sleeping
water dragons
Lazy path
Following the
lazy path along the stream, the birds were singing in the background. I had
decided to take a less travelled path today. The grass only slightly trampled
from the marsh creatures frolicking in the night. I stumbled over something
that was partially buried on the path. Turning around after I gained my
footing, I saw what looked like an old rusty piece of iron. Curiosity got the
better of me, so I brushed some of the dirt away, revealing the top of a box.
Had I just found a lost treasure? Pulling the box out of the ground was a task.
It was as if the earth didn’t want to let go. After a few minutes of struggle,
the box came free. It was heavy. The padlock was rusted and fell off easily.
Opening the box, a golden light flooded the air around me.
Russell
Today I am visiting a lovely place down on Carlton Marshes. I am following a trail, and, near a bench, I found a small piece of charcoal. It was dropped by an artist. She had been sitting on the bench, making a landscape drawing of the dyke and the reeds as they snake through the landscape. Like a lot of her drawings, I am sure it will become famous.
Martyn
***
I used to go carp fishing at the weekend with my brother-in-law. At around 3am you would hear a rustling in the bushes next to you. It would be water voles, field mice and rats, etc. Then you would hear the bleeping of bite alarms going off – if you were lucky.
In the early morning, as the sun was rising, you would get the dawn chorus coming from above you.
In the evening, you would get a lovely sunset which would turn the sky into an amber colour.
In Burgh Castle the place had a lot of weeds and bull rushes. When I lived on Marine Parade I would often go across the road to the beach at one am, where I would go paddling. It was lovely, with no people around and the cool sand under your feet till you get to the water’s edge. In summer, with the bedroom window open, you could hear the crashing of the waves, which was very relaxing.
I am often amazed how the Romans built their walls and forts with primitive tools. The same as the Great Wall of China.
Alan
The land you created yourself
You chose to
form yourself
Your blood
runs through your rivers
You give us
life
You breathe
for us
You feed us
And you let
us enjoy you.
The sand was
cool on my bare feet. Soft, slippy and very dry. Then, only 10 yards away, the
sea was lightly lapping the water’s edge and hitting the shingle stones, moving
them back and forth like stones in a sieve. A slight noise but soothing to
hear. Then, as I walked to the edges, I
felt the hardness of the stones and the cold of the sea, covering my feet, then
gone again.
Simon
How to read
water
Every 7th
wave is a big one.
Is it sad
when cold?
Where does
it come from?
Jumping from
the diving board, the water looks inviting, but becomes Newtonian. The further
you fall, the harder the water is when you land.
It can
nourish the plants. At the same time it washes away the soil beneath it.
Does water
feel all powerful or is it humble in its role in the world?
Across a
lake you can read the wind. Beneath its surface its movement is hidden, as is
the world it contains. Sometimes clear enough to let us peek in and see its
beauty. Other times, dark and cloudy to manifest your deepest fears, while
simultaneously peeking curiosity of the unknown beneath.
Russell
***
I should
have listened.
The signs
were there.
The birdsong
is gone.
The fields
are bare.
If I would
have looked
I would have
been aware.
The white on
the mountains
Creeps down
its face.
The slow
tide has risen, it snuck in unseen.
Riding on
its war waves
Is old man
Winter and his wrath.
Russell
Lost in the woods
The mist rolls across the field, pushed from behind by the rising sun. Gradually fading as the sun warms, revealing a city of green. The trunks of the trees standing guard at the edge of the forest, protecting its inhabitants within. Bramble intertwines at the feet of the sentries, further restricting the entrance to this paradise. Camouflaged within the barricade are hidden passages so the woodland creatures can pass. There is one path though, its entrance inviting, beckoning to be walked on and not stayed from, the shade within promising cool relief from the heat above. The path lazily meanders through the forest, its entrance disappearing behind the twists and bends, eventually opening onto a beautiful meadow, filled with colour. Its vibrant reds and blues, deep greens and bright yellows, creating a lost, forgotten and undisturbed land.
Russell
The sun on
my face is the best feeling.
Looking at
the vibrant colours of nature
Blues,
greens, flowers blooming
The
viciousness and power, the stillness and peace.
Always a
different experience
Never the
same, ever-changing theatre
Looking up
into the sky there is still a blueness streaking through, but it is slowly
being engulfed by the greys of the darkening sky.
One singular
cloud, fluffy and white, drifts slowly across; ambling as if being blown gently
by the breeze.
Suddenly a
flash of light from the inside of the cloud. What was it?
Sue
Group Poem
Following the lazy path along the stream down on Carlton Marshes
Where reeds snake through the landscape like a drawing.
The path less travelled, grass only slightly trampled from marsh creatures frolicking in the night.
A small piece of charcoal, a coin, a book, a slip of time.
Everything bathed in a golden light.
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