A couple of years ago, my writing friends and I went away for a few days and visited the St Endellion North Cornwall Book Festival, and we were very fortunate to attend a writing workshop with the amazing Natasha Carthew. Her book that she discussed then was ‘Undercurrent’, a wonderful book, incredible writing. Natasha introduced us to the idea of wild writing, which is as it sounds, getting out in nature, whatever the weather, and writing.
Today, for the first time, after a couple of years of talking about it – we did! We went to the disused quarry in Sandford. This is an abbreviated version of its history:
Archaeological evidence shows that mining has taken place in the area since at least the Roman period… the extraction of lead ore in neighbouring Winscombe was from the late 16th century. In 1650 specific reference was made to 100 tons of lead ore being extracted from Woodborough Green during a 12 week period. There are still ‘bell-pits’ on Sandford Hill which probably relate to ochre mining there in early times. The Quarry has been in existence since the mid 1800s., the carboniferous limestone of Sandford Hill was used in the construction of large building projects such as Avonmouth Docks and railway stations including Temple Meads, Bristol.
Winscombe and Sandford Parish Council
We followed a narrow woodland path a short way up a hill and emerged onto a road which led us into the vast space of the quarry. The quarry is now used for such outdoor pursuits as abseiling and archery, and no doubt much more. We emerged into the stone arena, a quarried amphitheatre, a flat empty area like a vacant circus ring, circled round with vividly green tree-lings, shrubs, bushes and small grassy areas. We wandered a little, marvelling at the space, the emptiness, the circle of sky above. We gravitated towards a small wooded area and went up to look at the sheer cliff, skewered by climbing equipment, metal things piercing the vertical cliff face, metal lines hanging down, pinioned in place. These were some part of the climbing and abseiling activities.
There was a handy tree trunk, felled and supine, which invited me to sit, and sit I did. Opposite, a dozen yards away, was a handy rock, and Fen perched like a pixie and took out her notebook. Mac disappeared to ensconce himself in some other writing nook. I took out my note book and discovered that my flask had leaked. I spent a little time dealing with damp, and then ignoring the soggy corner of my book, began to write.
After some time, I’m not sure exactly how much time, this place bent minutes, squeezed seconds, stretched hours, I put my notebook to one side and taking up my iPad continued the task of editing my next novel. It was some time later that Fen mooched off, and some time later than that, I closed my iPad, stood up, stretched and returned to the arena.
Mac joined us and we gossiped about our lovely and productive morning, deciding that coffee was seriously needed as we were ultra caffeine deficient. We gathered our things, we gathered ourselves, and left the quarry and wandered down the hill, to find a pub.
Lois Elsden 