Richard Jones
I live in Upton, Nottinghamshire. Last week the Upton Tonic dropped through my door. This monthly newsletter does not claim to be
a parish magazine, but that is what it is.
It reports on activities across the parish, includes the minutes of the
Parish Council meetings, and is delivered to all villagers and occupants of
outlying farms and houses within the confines of the parochial boundaries. For the last couple of years, a second
separate flier entitled The Four Ton Tattler
has been inserted into the newsletter. This provides church news including the orders
of service in the churches of Upton, and the three neighbouring parishes of
Rolleston, Fiskerton, and Morton (hence the four tons). These churches constitute a single benefice. On the recent appointment of a new vicar, the
Four Ton Benefice was united with the Trent Group Benefice covering the
parishes of Bleasby, Thurgarton, Halloughton, and Hoveringham. Eight
churches and their parishes are now served by a single vicar.
These changes, and the quiet rebranding of a parish magazine
as a newsletter, should interest local historians. First, we might point to the fact that slowly,
insidiously, stage-by-stage in piecemeal fashion, parochial identities and
allegiances are being dismantled and replaced by larger spatial units. We are witnessing nothing short of a
fundamental change in both the way that the landscape of England is organized
and how it is now perceived by its occupants.
These changes demand to be recorded if the death of parishes is not to
be veiled in the same silence that accompanied their original constitution
during the tenth to twelfth centuries.
Secondly, those who
know their early history will recognize that we appear to be returning, in
purely spatial terms at least, to the kinds of arrangements that preceded the
formation of parishes, an England made up of greater and lesser ‘estates’
characteristic of the Anglo-Saxon period.
This emphasis on medium-scale territories is further reinforced by the
formation of modern council districts. What
is fascinating is that these new
groupings are not based on historical precedents, but are carving up the
landscape along different lines. To take
Upton as an example. Upton’s history is
closely associated with the minster estate of Southwell. Recorded from the mid-tenth century, this comprised
Southwell and eleven members or outliers.
Upton, Fiskerton and Morton were part of this estate family, but never
Rolleston; likewise Bleasby and Halloughton were included in the estate, but Thurgarton
or Hoveringham always lay beyond. Even
today, relations between Rolleston and Upton remain remote, despite being only
two miles apart as the crow flies, while affinities with Fiskerton and Morton are
stronger despite the two villages being geographically more distant. The new landscape thus comprises new
territorial units, while at the same time and perhaps more significantly
destroys the older units from which it has formed.
As a local historian this situation intrigues me. I ask myself, are there any lessons to be
drawn from the current reorganization of the countryside that might help inform
on the processes that must have been at play in the early medieval period? Do new times always demand new
solutions? Why are historical
arrangements apparently no longer relevant and what does this say about
constitution of communities past and present?
Are we currently creating artificial, ill-fitting, internally incoherent
territorial units and social groupings which will be inherently unstable, or
are we creating new and appropriate territories which will shape the
countryside for the next millennium? And
what role should I play, as a landscape and local historian, in helping to
define these new territorial arrangements?
Thirdly, there is the issue that gets to the heart of local
history. Since the nineteenth century, no
other spatial or administrative unit has exerted so much influence over the
practice of English local history than the parish. The scholarly template was firmly established
when parochial histories became the principal organizational device of The Victoria History of the Counties of
England. Across the country a
constellation of groups continue to meet to discuss and research their parish resulting
in the publication of hundreds of parish histories. But what shape will local history take in the
post-parish era? Younger generations no
longer share the sense of parish belonging which has been the foundation of the
local history society. Even now, most people
when asked would be unable to tell you where their parish boundaries lie. Few
families enjoy a multi-generational connection with a single place. This lack of rootedness will only be further
eroded as the idea of the parish fades into the distance: as the parish
magazine becomes a newsletter, the parish a benefice, the village simply a part
of a planning district.
My feeling, for what it is worth, is that local historians
should not just sit back to observe and record what is happening (they must
continue to do this of course). Far less
should they present a conservative voice that harks back to the golden age of the
parish and condemn the ahistoricity of modern life (after all, while the parish
has a long and noble pedigree, there was a time before the parish existed). Rather they should be taking the lead. They should ensure that the lessons of
history that tell us that communities have continually organized and
reorganized themselves according to particular circumstances are conveyed to
the widest possible audience. They
should stress that there are many solutions not one, while at the same time
demonstrating that some things work and others do not. It is only when the long-term appreciation of
the development of the English landscape is effectively communicated to all
those responsible for or who must live with inevitable change that we will find
the means avoiding the many pitfalls that lie in wait, and be able to develop
new sustainable and resilient ways of living together. The parish is dead (or at least dying), its
raison d’être
largely defunct in a multi-cultural society.
Local history must change as a consequence, in its scales of operation,
in its horizons, and in its themes, if it too is not to become a historical irrelevance.
What does local history mean, and how do we practice it in an increasingly global society? The ethos of the Centre is simple enough. Broader studies of the past tend to rely on one particular method, but the ethos of the ‘local’ encourages the holistic study of lived communities. From economic, social and cultural perspectives, to the history of the landscape, politics and piety, this approach is profoundly interdisciplinary, examining localities from a variety of angles. This mode of history allows us to make observations that revise our understanding of wider national and international issues.
From reflections on the value of using local history, to the insights of anthropologists or social psychologists, this blog offers a forum for debate and discussion. We hope you will enjoy reading and participating in our posts. If you would like to join in or have a piece to contribute yourself, please do get in touch.