Final residency day - The Chantry, a river walk, the Gurdwara and a ferry ride

It’s my last day in Gravesend and I’m meeting Lyndsey Thompson in the New Tavern Fort park. Lydney is the  Arts and Heritage Officer for Gravesend Borough Council. It’s a job she’s had for 13 years and she loves it.

In more normal years she supports arts events in the town and is responsible for the care of the historic assets, in particular The Chantry. I used to be a local government arts officer for a county, that also had district level local government. This is often a complex arrangement, with lots of overlap and challenges – but also lots of potential. I worked in local government before the economic crash of 2008, and subsequent austerity. It was a very different world in terms of funding, and support for local authorities. I’m interested in what is happening now, and how Lyndsey works. 

We talk about partnerships with other local authorities, in particular some brilliant projects that happened in the past. Lyndsey recalls a really well received one with artists creating scarecrows, inspired by a Scandinavian festival. The public took these figures to their heart, and there was all sorts of mischief with them, and celebration of them, across North Kent. Another joint initiative seeded the very popular outdoor theatre which has continued to happen in Gravesham, and has become self-sustaining. We talk about the challenges to partnership working in local authorities- changing priorities, political will, resources and personnel changing. I think we are both in agreement that collaboration can always achieve much more – but it needs time, transparency, resources and commitment to flourish. 

I find out about the care of the historic fort, it’s a Sisyphean task. Damp and mould are constantly threatening to overwhelm, resources are scarce. Lyndsey works in partnership with a volunteer organisation who also care for the fort, sometimes negotiating the different priorities and resources can be a challenge. There seems to be a huge amount of pride in this place, and care for it, and that guiding principle helps smooth out differences of opinion around the what and how. 

I reflect on the wide range of skills that Lyndsey, like many cultural workers, has. Planning, strategy and organisation, practical doing, communicating and collaborating. It’s a set of skill that enables people to be constantly responding and adapting. The current prevailing focus from the government is on STEM (Science, Technology, Engineering and Maths) These are vital skills to tackle the sticky and complex problems we face as communities and a species – but without the ability to collaborate, plan and adapt they are fairly redundant. I think of drama and art being stripped out of curriculums, of the summer catch up plans focusing on maths and literacy and it all seems so short sighted and old fashioned. Of course people need to be literate and numerate, but we also need to equip our children and young people to face challenges we can’t even imagine, in community with others. And that requires creativity.

Lyndsey invites me to join her in The Chantry – I’ve walked past this building a few times, dutifully read the interpretation board and if I’m honest it hasn’t really interested me much. It’s a pleasing shape and clearly quite old but that as far as my engagement with it has gone. Well, Gravesend continues to surprise and reveal treasures. Firstly this building has a lot in common with the Tardis, or maybe Hogwarts. There’s a lot more inside than it feels there should be from the outside. This building is really old, and like many old buildings bit have been hacked about, and tagged on and changed to suit whatever it’s currently being used for. 

The oldest building in Gravesend, Kent, Milton Chantry is all that remains of a leper hospital built in 1322 by Aymer de Valence, Earl of Pembroke. It has served in turn as a hospital, Tudor chantry chapel, public house, and Georgian barracks, and its basement was converted for use as a gas decontamination chamber during the Second World War. Although mainly encased in 19th century brick, the building still has its 14th century timber roof.

                                    

The Chantry has been closed to the public for over a year at this point. There’s a sort of sleepy, dusty, slightly damp smell as we go in. The ancient walls are thick and it’s cool inside. Lyndsey is currently working in The Chantry, having a tidy up, refreshing some of the material that’s presented. Without a consistent budget for collections the various exhibits have been developed through a series of project grants and partnerships – there’s lots of incredible objects on display but I sense the Lyndsey would love to re-organise the exhibits and interpretation boards to tell a slightly different, newer story. To be able to use the space in livelier and more animated ways. Some of the things that are in The Chantry are because they need, and deserve, to be kept as part of Gravesend heritage and there’s nowhere else for them to go, so they’ve ended up here. With limited resources to preserve, care for and share them it becomes a blur.  Telling the story of our history is really important, what is told, who gets to tell it are all very live questions right now as we wrestle with colonial pasts and the untold stories that have been buried or ignored.

As we explore I’m absolutely fascinated by the ancient artefacts in one case – jewellery and personal items like combs, from the Anglo -Saxon and roman eras. I’m particularly taken with some Bronze mounts, I’d absolutely wear them now, maybe as earrings?  These objects are traces of creative, connected humans who lived here thousands of years ago. It stops me in my tracks – of course I’d read about the earliest inhabitants of this area but here are the things they made and held and used to decorate themselves. And it appears I have shared taste with at least one of them. Time feels slippery and gently overpowering as I think about all the generations of people who have been here, in this exact place.

                                                        

Also in these cases are a cremation urn, the skull of an anglo-saxon man, and an infant burial. Lyndsey and I chat about how we feel about these ancient remains being on display. It absolutely connects us to who these people were, their human-ness. It’s also a little strange and slightly gruesome.  These were people, loved by family and friends, with their own beliefs and hopes and dreams. What would they, or their loved ones think about this final resting place? I’ve been thinking a lot about colonial practices in arts and culture, and seeing these remains in this place and context gives me more to consider. I think I’ll be writing more about it, this examination of our values and how we work is vital. As we learn and unlearn more we need to be in a process of re-evaluation and critical self-reflection of our values, and the values we are promoting through both what we do, and how we do it.

My exploration of the Chantry is coming to an end, Lyndsey is spending the rest of the day working here – steadily getting it ready for people to return to. Her passion for and pride in the heritage of Gravesham, and in sharing that with people is a real asset. I hope that The Chantry can open soon, and more people can stumble upon and enjoy the treasures and stories it holds.

I’m meeting Lauren and her dog Toto for a walk along the river, she’s Lyndsey’s colleague and in the park they have a quick catch up. Hatching plans to use outdoor spaces to offer free or low cost activities to children and young people. They want to create a space for play and connection to this place, and each other. A Zoom meeting is booked for later in the week and the seeds of the ideas exchanged here will be filled out. There is so much ambition and willing, I also sense that this has its roots in pride and care.

Lauren, Toto and I walk east, along the path that I was scared to go down on one of my first days – unsure that it was open for access. This time its blocked by water and so we loop around and head towards the marshes. We walk along the Medway Canal – a waterway that no longer connects but used to link the Thames and the Medway. Replaced by a railway like so many canals. There are glimmers of spring, buds and insects buzzing. As we walk we chat about the time I’ve spent In Gravesham. I discover that another one of Lauren’s hats is working part time for the Panic Rooms – these are escape rooms. Teams complete puzzles against the clock, it’s a mixture of gaming and immersive performance. Set up by two enterprising people this business is hoping to reopen soon. Lauren has been furloughed and the owners are in conversation with staff about how they can reopen – what the Gravesham community might need and how they can diversify to serve that, and survive as a business.  It’s really exciting. The independent, entrepreneurial spirit of the town flickering back to into action.

                        

As we walk along the canal and then swing back towards the river we have a wide ranging, rambling conversation. Lauren talks about how the new Chief Executive for Gravesham Borough Council is someone who grew up and went to school here. He seems to be both deeply passionate about and proud of this place. She’s excited with the organisational culture changes he’s making, and what that means for the future of the council, and how it serves, supports and challenges the community to flourish. Lauren asks me some really insightful questions- that I don’t have answers to yet. About what I’ve discovered about the place, and how I see Gravesham. We also talk about dogs and partners, and pandemics and courage to make art and live big, and our families and cows and identifying plants and birds (or not) all the stuff of life on our walk through the marshes and along the river. We negotiate an encounter with a small herd of lively, semi-wild ponies that are grazing along the river and have trotted along the path. We explore the fort together.

I notice something I’ve seen on a previous walk along this route – there’s a lot of litter. Some of it has clearly washed down the river, bought and deposited on this corner by the tides. Some of it looks fresher, dropped by people using this space, maybe thrown or washed overboard or out of yards. There’s a huge environmental cost to this – the pollutants that leach into the water system and make their way back to our bodies through food and water, as well as the impact on wildlife. I also notice what it says about care. I think back to Mandi, who started communities litter picking their own streets. During the pandemic, my Mum and Stepdad have joined a local group in the Midlands and litter pick on their daily walks. What would a litter pick here be like? Who might join in? What could it create? Sometimes when I think about changing the world, I overlook things like this, which are also environmental activism. I would love to support a clean-up of this place.

                                                    

As our walk comes to an end I get a call from Jagdev at the Gurdwara. Lauren connected me to him and so it all feels very circular and connected that he calls now. The Gurdwara is one place I had hoped to visit but didn’t think it would happen. I’m delighted to be invited to meet him there in a couple of hours. Lauren and I say our farewells, I’m looking forward to when we next meet.

                                         

I meet Jagdev outside the Gurdwara, where he is General Secretary.  A voluntary post that sees him handle lots of the external relationships the Gurdwara has with different organisations and agencies. He knows Lauren as they both sit on the North Kent Inter Faith Forum. I get the sense his role at the Gurdwara involves lots of practical organising and making stuff happen. We begin by walking alongside the sports facilities, football pitches, a Kabaddi field, an all-weather running track and a newly opened outdoor gym, all being freely used by different members of the Gravesend community.

We walk past a day centre for elders and up to the indoor gym, that is currently closed due to Coronavirus restrictions. All of these facilitates are available to anyone, you do not need to be a member of the Gurdwara. I marvel at the scale and accessibility of green space and sports facilities in the centre of a town, it’s a really practical way of caring for the wellbeing of the community. We meet a group of film students who are making a film about the women’s football team, Jagdev will be joining them later. 

Behind the gym is the Holy Trinity Church of England Primary School. They have an impressive drama and music building that Jagdev tells me the story of. Jagdev is the Chair of Jugnu Bhangra group, and they used to rehearse in the school hall and gym space, but they realised a dedicated space would be much nicer and more practical. So they fundraised, went into partnership with the primary school and built the studio. The school use it during the day, and the Bhangra group have first use of it three evenings a week, the rest of the time the primary school can rent it out. It’s a practical, creative solution – rooted in a generous philosophy. Setting out to improve rehearsal facilities and finding a way to ensure a whole community get resources to improve quality of life. 

As we walk back towards the Gurdwara Jagdev talks to me a little about its construction. The community also came together to fundraise for, and in some instances build, this exquisitely beautiful building with it’s wonderfully carved marble. There are four symbolic entrances to the Gurdwara, emphasising that it is open to anyone. I sense the current Coronavirus restrictions have been spiritually hard for this community that places openness, welcome and sharing as a key part of the practice of their faith.  Having to limit access to the building goes against its very purpose. 

I learn about the Nishan Sahib, the flag and flagpole outside the Gurdwara. It’s a symbol of the Khalsa, the Sikh community that are here. The idea is that when you reach a new place you can easily connect with the Sikh community there.  Each Vaisakhi, the harvest festival in mid-April that also celebrates the founding of this faith, the flag is taken down, the flagpole is cleaned and a fresh flag raised. For the second year this community will not be publicly celebrating Vaisakhi, which is usually a huge event that fills the town with a parade, music and food and is marked by special worship at the Gurdwara. Coronavirus restrictions means that the celebrations will mainly be online, and in people’s homes.

I’m welcomed in and take off my shoes, cover my hair with one of the fresh scarves I’m offered. Temperature taken, and track and trace complete I can soak in the huge and beautiful atrium of this building. You can enjoy a virtual tour on the website https://www.gurunanakdarbar.org//virtual-tour and if you can’t pay it a visit in person I really recommend it.  Jagdev shows me the large community hall spaces – in non-Covid times one provides free food all day from 6am – 7pm. These spaces are also used for weddings, funerals and other life events and community celebrations.  There are two larger halls and one smaller space – on a usual weekend these would all be full – thousands of people gathering to celebrate in community. It’s been quiet for a long time now. Small gatherings have been held when possible – I think how strange it must be to have a small gathering in a building designed to hold so many. As we move around, indoors and out, everyone greets Jagdev and has a smile and a few words for him.

I’m led up to the space where worship happens, a large and beautiful room. From a balcony at the back I notice there are some chairs for those that need them but most worshippers sit on the floor. Stickers are dotted onto the carpet to denote where to sit in a Covid compliant way. There’s a beautiful altar, dressed with flowers and I enjoy listening to the prayers. This place, like so many other places of worship, has a very specific atmosphere. Built by the intentional action of all those who come in. It is an honour to be invited in, and although I am ignorant of the words I appreciate this moment of stillness and reflection.

Sadly, we talk about the losses and deaths that this community, like so many others has faced, from Coronavirus. All at a distance from each other. A traditional Sikh funeral includes the Sehaj Paath, a reading of special prayers which take place in the Gurdwara between someone’s death and the day of their funeral. Usually the family and friends of the deceased, as well as the wider community, would be able to come and listen at any point. All of this had to go online. Jagdev feels they have been as supportive as they can but recognises that so many people have had the grieving process interrupted. The need for community will be even greater when they can come together.

The Gurdwara is also home to priests who come to stay from India.  One of the head chefs who run the phenomenal kitchens also lives in the specially designed accommodation. There are also meeting spaces, a library and study space and a mother-baby feeding room. This truly is a place of care and community – the whole site is designed to nourish and support people physically, emotionally and spiritually. 

Everyone I have spoken to has talked about how the Gurdwara feeds the wider community. And how tasty the food is! Through the pandemic volunteers, funded by donations, have made and delivered thousands and thousands of meals from the Gurdwara. To people who would otherwise go hungry, to nourish healthcare workers, to lorry drivers stuck over Christmas. Jagdev tells me about the Gurdwara receiving a call and three hours later having 800 meals ready to go when drivers first got stopped at Dover because of border issues and Coronavirus just before Christmas. It didn’t end there, they provided over 3,000 meals over the Christmas period. On Christmas Eve the Sikh community came together to make up food bags for stranded lorry drivers, including mince pies and chocolate.  This is just what this community does. It steps up to provide. I am only a visitor here, in so many ways, and yet I feel myself bursting with pride that this happens. 

As my visit draws to a close I ask Jagdev what he’s looking forward to as the Coronavirus restrictions ease. As well as the Gurdwara being able to open fully again he’s looking forward to travel. Jagdev used to be a Deputy Director at the Office for National Statistics and now works freelance part time, supporting countries to use data to solve problems and improve the wellbeing of their citizens, and helping measure their progress towards the UN Sustainable Development Goals. This has taken him all around the world, while he’s enjoyed a gentler pace for a year he’s also keen to get out and explore – and take a family holiday.  We chat about how Coronavirus has changed how people in the UK engage with data and statistics – which are now a regular feature of the evening news. 

Like so many of the community builders I have met on this residency Jagdev is a polymath – general secretary of a huge Gurdwara, family man, statistician, performing arts group leader, a community builder and connector (and I’d say an activist). In the modern social media culture there’s lots of talk of the multi-hyphenate – the person with many / between all the things they do. I notice that Jagdev is proud of and enthused by all the different things he does for what they give him, in community. Not because he needs to be validated externally, but because he enjoys what he does and likes to see things happen. I mull over notions of service and joy. I’m very good at duty, less so at pleasure. And that’s something I want to work on – that I think will make me a more skilful, content human. 

I leave the Gurdwara feeling nourished – the visual beauty, the atmosphere, the practical community building, the care and welcome all fill me up. I’m feeling quite emotional. My time in Gravesham is drawing to a close. I have one last challenge, and if I’m quick I’ll just  about make it. 

I catch the ferry over to Tilbury. I’ve watched this little workhorse of a boat plough it’s way across the Thames, weaving around huge boats, pushing against strong tides, on all my visits to Gravesend. I buy my day return – the ferryman points out there are only two more return trips that day – and go and stand outside on the back of the boat. There’s a mixture of about 8 people on board – some look like they are heading out for the night (where to?), others finishing a day of work. 

I look back at Gravesend as we cross the river, a new perspective. I notice how much of the waterfront is closed off to public access. The hill rising up behind the town and as we get further across, and finally a peek at the rest of Gravesham behind it. 

I’m reminded of the opening of Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness. A book that was opened up to me by an incredible teacher, Ms Henderson, when I was 16. When I read it I’d never visited London, or seen the Thames. She taught me to be curious reader, not to be phased by things I didn’t understand, to spend time exploring words and making connections. On my ferry journey I try to remember some of the opening lines that describe the Thames at Gravesend. There’s connections to the conversation I had with Fraser, and how he sees this place – somewhere shifting and expansive, with a specific, bleak beauty. The tidal reach, the connection between London and the rest of the world, the swirling silt. It’s evening and all is a gentle grey, punctuated with sun beams. When I get home I read the opening pages and this line jumps out at me, ‘the serenity became less brilliant but more profound’ 

I’ve been set the challenge of looking at Eve Wrights ‘Tilbury Bridge Walkway of Memories’, celebrating the Windrush  arrivals who came aboard here, Eve’s own family among them. When I arrive in Tilbury the walkway is shut, maybe because it’s late? Maybe because of Covid? I take a short walk along the riverside, noticing that here too rubbish strews the tide line. I’m surprised by a bus station and buildings behind the river wall – you can’t see them from Gravesend, where it looks like the ferry docks against a wall of nothingness.

There’s a gentle anxiety about missing the final ferry so I make my way back to the jetty, spending some time watching the silt swirl in the river around the metal legs and between the shore. Fascinating, kaleidoscopic patterns in khaki, grey and brown. 

On the jetty a young man is photographing his pristine, car. A  hot hatch, with extra bodywork packs, and a special paint job. He moves it a few times, getting a good angle, with the wheels in different alignments and the river and light in different configurations. I feel a surge of affection. There is such pride and care in this, I recognise it from the town I grew up in. A car means freedom in a place with limited public transport, it’s also a way to express yourself. He’s wearing a branded sweatshirt and the car has stickers promoting SleeperCrewUk, I look it up on Instagram while I wait for the ferry – its’ a car cruising club. People gather and drive, or cruise, in specific locations displaying their cars. It’s often demonised as anti-social behaviour. Sometimes it can be but it’s not always, and it’s about much more than that. It’s also an expression of culture, specifically a male, working class culture with it’s own aesthetic and codes. I think about the work of Commonwealth theatre company, who are creating a show in Bradford, Peaceophobia, that celebrates, profiles and explores this cultural expression among young Muslim men, exploring in the intersection of Islamophobia, race and class I really want to see it, I wonder if it could tour to Gravesend?

I jump back on the ferry and the younger ferryman smiles a hello, I’m not sure many people do a return trip after 6pm on a Wednesday. When we land on the Gravesend side he asks if I enjoyed my trip and I stop and chat and introduce myself and the project. I discover a little about his life, he’s worked on yachts all around the world but has given up a life at sea to get married. His wedding has already been postponed a couple of times because of Coronavirus. He comes from a seafaring family, his Dad a pilot and captain of the largest class of vessels. He’s studying and taking ‘master’ exams, to enable him to become a licenced mariner, able to captain large boats. He muses on whether he’ll go to sea again, doesn’t think its compatible with the sort of family life he would like. He shares that his Dad, now retired spent the previous day doing calculations of what it would take to re-float the Ever Given, currently stuck in the Suez Canal. We both agree that we would not like to be the captain of that ship. He tells me about a club for sailors who’ve made massive mistakes – in order to join you have admit what you’ve done. I love the sound of this, an exclusive club for people who own their biggest mistakes. I imagine they would be a fun and interesting group of people to spend time with. I wave goodbye and head back to the car. 

It feels a fitting way to end my time in Gravesham, a chat with someone who works the river, is from this place has travelled and returned. Someone who is looking to a future here – wondering how to build it.

I’m resisting writing a final reflection. That feels too neat somehow. I have a sense that this experience will keep shifting me and my thinking for some time. Like the silt being moved by the river and the tides, the elements of what I do, why and how, will shift and merge creating new configuration.

PS/ when I ask Lauren to check the blog post she lets me know that she, Jagdev and several other faith community leaders are planning a walk and litter pick in November for everyone with free food at Gurdwara afterwards. They did a small one just before Covid and Lauren reports that it was ‘awesome - such good dialogues and litter pickage’. Information about the next one will be shared via Gravesham Borough Council and faith groups and is open to all.