Becoming Historic
TUESDAY: Lunch is one of my usuals: basil marinated tofu and cream cheese on one of my local bakery's breadcakes. I watched a bit of a documentary last night on Richard Burton -- the Victorian explorer, not Liz' ex. I remember my father becoming fascinated with Burton's travels after reading a book on the subject while on a business trip. Sadly I didn't pay much attention as I was still at the point in my life where I had very little interest in the subject of history.
I attribute this lack of interest in history to the fact that I grew up in suburban Long Beach, California, in a house built in the 1950s and kitted out in Danish Modern. My neighbourhood was devoid of social history, being a brand new residential area in what was once soybean fields. It wasn't until I was well into my twenties that I first visited Rancho Los Alamitos, an early 19th century Spanish adobe ranch house which is today surrounded by my alma mater, the 1950s-built California State University at Long Beach. Soon after this awakening I learned about the Tongva tribe who lived in Long Beach centuries before my childhood home was built, and long before Los Angeles's freeways began to spread across the landscape.
But this was local history. I still felt no connection to or interest in standard American history, eg. Revolutionary officers crossing rivers in their tights and fancy hats while making grand poetic statements. I mean, coming on! Growing up in 1950s California suburbia, spending the summer barefoot at the beach, and spending my allowance on rock concerts and records, why would I give a toss about Abe Lincoln growing up in a log cabin or Betsy Ross sewing a flag?
When I started travelling to Europe I gained more of an appreciation for history, as the history over here is just so much, well, longer than the history of the United States. You've got so many different eras and ages, and the range of architectural styles left behind is staggering. My real epiphany came when I was working in Sheffield as a photographer of antiques and I was looking at an old tablespoon. The tablespoon was manufactured in 1764; and I suddenly realised that this spoon I was holding in my hand was being utilised most probably by a family for daily meals, just like we use our tablespoons today for soup or cereal or Marmite. But this was happening 12 years before the nation where I was born even existed!
It's this personal aspect that makes history real for me. I mean, I've seen lots of historic sites like Canterbury and Salisbury Cathedrals and Notre Dame in Paris and even the Skara Brae Neolithic Village in Orkney. But shortly after I moved to Sheffield a friend loaned me a video of Sheffield during the Blitz; and that's when I realised just how historic my adopted city is by the fact that much of it was blown away by World War II bombs. That's why so much of Sheffield looks relatively recent, with very few buildings dating back before the Victorian era. It makes one wonder what the city looked like before it was all blown to smithereens. Having worked on a research project on the Sheffield Flood of 1864 I am now really curious to find out even more about the city's history.
My god, what's happening to me? Why am I gaining this respect for history? Is it became I'm becoming a bit historic myself? Uh oh…
