W a y m a r k s ~: Wonders of the World

When I was around the age of eleven or twelve years old, a very kind neighbour gave me a set of old books. Published variously around the 1920s and 1930s, they had beautiful bindings. Their titles mostly related to a range of similar topics: archaeology, the natural world, travel. I recall a few them: A History of Roman Britain; The Countryside Companion; and, A Journey through the Holy Land and the Levant. But there was one book in particular which fascinated me – it was a large and weighty tome with warm, antique red-coloured covers. It had an image of the Buddha embossed upon its spine, and a three-quarter view of the Acropolis similarly embossed on its cover, suggesting the words this book contained might combine the twinned qualities of serenity and wisdom. The pages within promised to reveal the knowledge of past ages and far-away places. The book’s title, written in gilt lettering on the spine, hinted that such gnostic notions might in fact be true. From the comforts of an armchair, when stuck indoors on a rainy day, this book was the perfect companion. A book in which to lose oneself while leafing through its pages, yellowed with slow passing time. It was a book to peruse and explore. And it is a book which I still own and which I still enjoy poring over today. Its title is simply: Wonders of the World.

Filled with an encyclopaedic wealth of articles, illustrated with grainy black and white photographs, and the occasional colour-plate, usually a painting of a beautiful view – Wonders of the World describes itself as: “A popular and authentic account of the marvels of nature and of men as they exist to-day.” There is no list of authors next to its table of contents, although I believe other (later?) editions credit the various contributors, some of whom were the most popular travel writers of their day, writers such as Sir Harry Johnston and Perceval Landon. The book’s ‘Foreword’, however, is appended by the signature of Sir Philip Gibbs, KBE. Although now largely forgotten, Gibbs was a prolific and very popular writer during his time. Perhaps best known for his forthright anti-war stance which he expressed in a number of newspaper correspondence pieces and books, such as The Realities of War, which was published in the USA under the title, Now It Can Be Told (1920). Highly critical of modern trench warfare, his journalistic work aimed to expose the full horrors of the First World War, raising the level of public awareness when official Government censorship was finally lifted, and strongly advocating for greater efforts to be made in mediating international confrontations through means of diplomacy. Something which he believed should be the most essential role of the League of Nations.

There is certainly a range of different voices in evidence, but the written tone of the anonymously authored articles collected in Wonders of the World is uniformly neat and clipped, rather like that of a chirpy narrator accompanying an old British Movietone News bulletin or Pathé newsreel. There is no publication date given in the book, but a written inscription dated 1933 in my copy suggests it was published around the late 1920s, or perhaps very early 1930s. It is a book embodying a certain sort of global outlook, a book born of the age of Western imperialism. A book which marvels at the power and spectacle of nature, and a book which takes pride in the ingenuity of mankind and ‘progress’, as much as it values reflecting on the past. Asking where have we come from, where are we now, and where are we going? – Reflecting the times in which the book was made, it is resonant with the kind of voices I heard from my grandparent’s generation. And, by strange coincidence, the book was published by Odhams, who were based in Watford from 1935, and who later merged with Sun Printers, where my grandfather worked until his retirement.

Perhaps it was only natural then, just as now – when reading Wonders of the World, I often hear its words sounding in my head as if spoken in the voice of the elderly neighbour who gifted it to me. Mr and Mrs C., were an elderly couple who lived across the street. They’d taken me under their wing when I’d got to know them at a Christmas gathering in one of our neighbour’s houses. They very kindly gave me an open invitation to pop round whenever I liked to see them, and so, every once in a while, I’d stroll over to their house and ring the doorbell. Welcoming me inside, I’d often help Mr C. tinkering in his garage, where he taught me how to use a soldering iron and other basic metalworking skills. He gave me some of the first few tools I’d ever owned which we’d refurbished together from the rusty old things which we found buried in his garage, tools that had long lain unused and unloved. He always wore an old RAF beret to protect the thin strands of his neatly brylcreemed hair and a brown coat to protect his immaculately clean shirt and tie from the many greasy black marks it had acquired over time. There was a spare brown coat for me to wear too, similarly redolent with the smell of oil and grease, if a little on the large size.

Mr C.’s garage was a veritable Aladdin’s cave of light or model engineering. Precision tools, such as a mini-lathe, which he worked with dexterous hands; enlivened by the sparks struck from fast spinning grinding wheels and the sound of electric motors driving drills, circular saws, and polishing mops. I learnt a lot of the skills from him which I’d later put to good use in making mounts for museum objects. I very fondly remember the fun of afternoons spent pottering away in there with him, working together on some project or other, particularly on a warm, rainy day with the garage doors propped open to keep the place safely aired.

Afterwards, we’d go back indoors, washing the persistent black dirt off our hands and sometimes our faces too! – We’d then sit relaxing in the lounge with Mrs C., looking out over their well-kept garden with its neatly trimmed green lawn and beautiful rose bushes, chatting over a freshly made pot of tea and very generous slices of homemade cake. I loved those long afternoons spent in their company. Sadly I have no photos of Mr and Mrs C., just fond memories and this beautiful old book to remind me of those happy afternoons when I was growing up.

The Buddha at Kamakura, Japan

Leafing through the pages of Wonders of the World when I was younger, I found the twin passions of my future life crystallising there in a longing to know more about the world and its different peoples – its geography, and, in particular, its many varied histories – and the longing to experience both by travelling to such varied and distant places. When I began writing Waymarks, a little over ten years ago, I had a rough idea that I wanted this blog to be a kind of personal recreation of that old compendium with its embossed red covers and its dignified gilt lettering on the spine. In many ways though, the pieces I have written and gathered together here on Waymarks were originally meant to serve as aide memoires to myself (often substitutes for the travel diaries I’d failed either to write or finish writing at the time when I was travelling). But also, I saw them as conversational pieces to share via the open ‘samizdat’ forum of the internet. Posted here in the hope that they might be of interest to others with a similar sense of curiosity and experiences akin to mine. I now realise, however, that these illustrated essays were perhaps also an unconscious means of continuing those afternoon conversations with the old couple who lived across the road.

Temples & Feluccas - Travelling in Egypt

Mr and Mrs C. would often ask me about all the things I’d like to do with my life when I grew up – my dreams of working in museums and travelling the world. In turn, I’d quiz them about all the things they had seen and done, as well as all the places they’d visited and explored when they were younger. Together, we’d discuss the world in wider ways too – ranging through topics such as science, geography, history, current affairs, art and books – in essence encapsulating all the things I’ve continued to do and be interested by ever since; living an inquisitive life of thought and reflection, seeking out my own ‘wonders of the world’, recording and cataloguing my experiences in the photos, short films and essays which I’ve posted here as a kind of electronic scrapbook. In many ways – though far from complete – I’d like to think that Waymarks is my reply to that familiar question which they always used to ask me when I visited them: “What have you been up to lately?” – These are the reminiscences I’d tell them if I were able to sit down once again with Mr and Mrs C. in their living room, overlooking their lovely garden, drinking tea and eating homemade cake, while chatting away the long happy hours of the afternoon together.

Segovia's "El Puente" - Spain

~ Envoi ~

It has been ten years since I began writing Waymarks. Ten years is a long time, but it has passed by very quickly. Ten years is a good innings. Happily, writing this blog has led to some great connections having been made along the way. People have been very generous and unfailingly kind. I’ve tried to keep books as the common thread to all my essays here, which have also roamed through one or more of the other three main tenets upon which the blog was built, namely: history, travel, exhibitions. Examining art, archaeology, anthropology, geography, archives and museums, with the occasional opinion piece, usually erupting in ignominious response to current affairs which have niggled me into noisily clattering my keyboard, thereby “sounding my barbaric yawp.” Apologies for those, especially if they weren’t your chosen cup of tea. On the whole though, I have been very fortunate in that my blog hasn’t attracted much in the way of ire from passing trolls or angry internet warriors with opposing agendas, hurrying by.

A Visit to Teotihuacan, Mexico

It takes a lot of time and effort to put together each blog post. In that sense, ten years is in fact quite a milestone. It has been heartening, though, to receive personal messages from people grateful for some of the information I’ve shared here. And, similarly, it has been disheartening to see some of the personal research which I’ve shared reused in other contexts without any credit. Most depressing of all though has been to see certain ‘travel bloggers’ repost my content whole on their own blogs – presumably appropriating my original writing in order to capitalise on the revenue generated by hosting adverts; something which I very deliberately chose not to do when starting out, and also one of the reasons why I chose to use the Blogger platform rather than the more popular Wordpress one, specifically because it could be ad free. However, it is immensely difficult to combat this and to get my appropriated content removed from these blog thieves. On this platform you can’t speak to anyone on the administrative ‘support’ side directly. You can only report each stolen blog post individually via an on-line form, and when you have over 200 posts pirated that’s an exhausting prospect, and if you do attempt it – which I did – it soon thinks you are a “bot” spamming the system. Life’s too short.

The NW Coast by Rail - USA to Canada

Consequently, after ten years, it is perhaps time to turn my attention to other things – not least, at long last, to the completion of my PhD thesis, the deadline for which is now drawing frighteningly close. I have other writing projects, both academic and non-academic, which I want to work on as well, such as collecting and re-editing some of the essays originally written for Waymarks into a proper book (though maybe not such a lavish one as ‘Wonders of the World’). So while I am drawing a line here and signing off for now, I’m looking at this as a hiatus rather than a farewell. Waymarks may resume at some point, either here or perhaps on some other web forum (but this site will continue to be actively monitored and regularly maintained by me personally). If you have been a regular reader or if you have only popped by occasionally, many thanks for doing so – I’m very glad you have, and I hope you found Waymarks of interest.

Tim Chamberlain