Rewild & Slow
Day 8: Corinne Marbrow
Stories, Place and Belonging
Stories surround every part of our lives. We are each made of stories and we tell others those stories in a hundred different ways, every day of our lives. The clothes we wear and the music we listen to, the books we read and the art we make, can all be considered ways in which we choose to express our experiences of the world around us, and our place within it.
We can think of these expressions as forms of communication; containing within their essence a form of storytelling that helps others to see us as we would like to be seen and understood. Some of the stories we tell in this way are gentle whispers, and some are tales that carry a fearsome yell. Fundamentally, these are stories about who we are, and where we have come from - and even who we may hope to be in the future.
And then there are family stories, the kind we hear as children, and in turn pass on to children of our own. These stories inform us of our intimate heritage; stories that are passed on through the generations about people we are descended from, and the landscape and places within which those relatives and ancestors lived. Through these stories we are given glimpses into a past that has played its part in defining each of us. Bringing us an intimacy with people, places and landscapes from a time other than our own.
And what of the larger, collective stories that we all share?
What about the stories that connect us to each other, not by the families we belong to, but by the landscapes we live within? Folk stories, myths and legends, ghost stories and local folklore are brought alive by the landscapes within which those stories are rooted. Indeed, each story is arguably about the landscape it inhabits.
And, at this time of year, deep within the cradle nest of winter, we find ourselves searching for signs of spring and wait in contemplative patience for it to arrive. But it can be hard to find immediate inspiration in our natural environment when all seems so underground and still. Yet what if we turned to those stories, on those colder darker days and nights, telling them to ourselves and to one another, and in doing so magically breathing life into the wintry landscape around us?
What if we all became storytellers of our local areas and rediscovered our environment and ourselves in doing so?
When I was in my early twenties I lived in Nottingham, and used to go to a monthly storytelling night, held in what is thought to be the oldest pub in England. Gorgeously named Ye Olde Trip to Jerusalem, it was built into the back of old caves, which themselves were carved into the base of the sandstone cliff upon which Nottingham Castle stood. It was a place that was perfect for storytelling and gathering together. Old men with beards held tankards and smoked roll ups, sitting convivially beside students who themselves sat beside professionals in suits and ties. People came, and were united, by a longing to hear a good story, or to tell one to others. And that sense of need for communal storytelling is something enduring and timeless.
So, let us venture out and find those stories. Collecting and discovering stories to share and bring us together. They lie hidden everywhere waiting to be found; each a little spell able to conjure portals into other worlds full of momentary magic, wonder and merriment. And on those days when we are tempted to stay in, draw the curtains and forget the outside; what if we went in search of those stories, and the places that lie right on our doorsteps? What if we gathered our friends, our families and children - or adventured by ourselves with just a map, a story, a flask of tea and our imaginations to keep us warm? What if we went outdoors and searched for those stories within the heart of the places they are set, and walked amongst them, imagining ourselves within those stories too?
Let’s learn the stories rooted in the landscape of where we live and pass them on, becoming guardians of local lore and myth, custodians of the storytellers that came before us. In doing so we are establishing an intimacy with our regional landscapes in a whole new way, be them a rural or urban environment. And by seeking out and sharing these stories, we are also connecting with others. After all, stories bring us together by showing us the unity, rather than the separateness, of the collective human experience.
And in today’s world, I truly believe we need that more than ever.