There’s a parody sketch by that vintage English comic, Peter Sellers, which refers to Balham as ‘the Gateway to the South.’ In grand terms the announcer presents the ancient crafts of this not especially distinguished London suburb, one of which is ‘to carve the little holes in the top of toothbrushes’.
If there is doubt cast on Balham’s claim to fame as a ‘gateway’ then there is no such uncertainty regarding Gravesend, the river-side town to the south-east of London. For much of its history it has been the gateway to London itself and, after a period of decline when the port moved down stream, Gravesend has now become a key location for the Thames Gatewayproject which aims at developing the economy of the Thames estuary region.
A part of this regeneration has been to restore Gravesend’s historic centre which, as I remember, had become woefully rundown.
The old town’s high street has a number of characteristic clapper-board buildings with specialist shops and restaurants.
The street ends with the restored pier from which one embarks on a passenger ferry to Tilbury across the Thames.
When I took the ferry last month it was a dour and very windy day and the Thames became a little choppy.
We have disembarked before at Tilbury, on the ‘Waverley’, the last ocean-going paddle steamer in the world.
This memorable journey produced the following poem:
WAVERLEY
The pistons pursue their unceasing act
of love and the steamer’s bold prow furrows
through grey-green waters while an east wind blows;
stork-like forts loom ahead: the deck is packed.
Side-paddles ruffle estuary water
in flecks and glints; flat Essex horizon
combines with sea in leaden unison.
You are the River’s beautiful daughter
and come from a truer age and sea-lochs
bordered by lush hills and craggy ridges.
The City is now your servant: bridges
open to you above the shuttered docks.
All hail with blasts and cheers in one consent
for through you we re-live childhood content.
This time I looked up at a gigantic cruise liner moored there. No sign of any passengers, however. I wonder where they had all gone.
Along the riverside, but hidden by an embankment wall, was Tilbury fort the location for Queen Elizabeth I’s stirring speech against the Spanish Armada:
“I know I have the body of a weak and feeble woman; but I have the heart and stomach of a king, and of a king of England too, and think foul scorn that Parma or Spain, or any prince of Europe, should dare to invade the borders of my realm”.
I returned to Gravesend and walked to the railway station passing the elegant eighteenth century church of Saint George.
It contains the burial place of iconic native American princess Pocahontas of the Powhatan people who saved the life of John Smith the founder of the colony of Virginia.
Pocahontas later married John Rolfe and sailed to the UK where she was presented to the Royal Court with much pomp and interest.
On her return to her native land Pocahontas became ill at Gravesend and sadly died there at the age of just twenty one
The statue of the princess is a cast copy of the original in Jamestown, Virginia by William Partridge and was presented to Gravesend as a token of anglo-american friendship in 1957.
Thinking about all those statues which have recently raised disputes about whether they should still be standing I thought that Pocahontas will be there in front of Saint George’s church for as long as freedom and equality are prized. She was a person who valued all humans whether they be red, white or black. However, I wonder what Pocahontas would have thought of her nation today.
This week-end promises fine weather. What places to visit then, what walks to relish, what friends to meet and what events to enjoy? Only except that now any step outside our semi-detached must be ‘strictly necessary’: a weekly shop (pharmacies, food and hardware shops still remain open), an essential walk with the dog or a stroll only for exercise and that to be conducted at a short distance from one’s home – no excursions to anywhere further than the local park – else a ticking off, or worse, a fine from the police.
The Grand Union Canal passes nearby where we stay; at 137 miles in length England’s longest artificial waterway, it was constructed to join London with Birmingham during the heady days of the industrial revolution. Superseded by the railways and the motorways, and with commercial traffic disappearing in the 1980’s, when the transport of Lime Juice from Brentford to Boxmoor ended, this placid stretch of water in London is now dedicated to pleasure trips on the characteristic canal longboats and to leisure walks along its towpath..
We walked a stretch of the canal that passes through Brent and it was a truly emancipating experience. I suffer badly from cabin fever at the best of times and ours was more than a walk: it was liberation.
There is little pretense at picturesqueness in this part of the canal: it passes through the backs of industrial estates with their factories and warehouses and quite often there is an unacceptable load of trash, mainly discarded beer cans, lining the towpath. Yet it’s possible to enjoy the placid and remarkably clean waters and the moorhens, ducks and Canada geese that paddle on them.
There are a few longboats moored up, some for sale. I’ve rarely been on one – most memorably along the Regent’s canal part of the waterway – and it is truly relaxing.
We emerged from our walk along the canal near a Hindu temple. As the sun bathed on the shrine’s mellow carved stones we felt for a short instance we were nearer to Rajasthan that to Rayner’s Lane.
The canal pubs may be closed, and whenever we pass someone on the tow paths we must maintain social distance (which doesn’t mean we can’t be social with them) but no one can take away from us the sublime pleasure of a sunny week-end in a London now, with no traffic and few airplanes flying over it, miraculously transmuted into a remarkably silent city.
PS If you can read Italian I’ve written more on London’s canals at
Rain, rain and yet more rain. If that’s the picture in flooded England then its even more so in flooded Italy. The high tide in Venice has never been higher and people are encouraged to stay away even from the seafront of Viareggio.
There is no doubt that climate change is at play here; I’ve been long enough in these parts to realise that.
All the streams and rivulets around our village are bursting their banks:
Meanwhile, there’s little chance of doing much gardening and the leaves have hardly begun to fall.
This is clearly the weather to stay indoors and read a book or watch a video. One thing might drag me out today, however, and that is the concert at san Francesco monastery at Borgo di Mozzano.
It is given on that virtuoso instrument of the 17th and 18th centuries, the seven stringed Viola da Gamba. Francesco Tomei is the player in the third event of “Music Encounters – the places of beauty and Culture” organised by the “Salotti” music school and the Comune di Borgo a Mozzano under the artistic direction of Giacomo Brunini.
The Viola da Gamba concert, held this Sunday 17 November, at 5.15 pm, will feature music by Monsieur de Sainte Colombe, Captain Tobias Hume (the Scottish viol virtuoso and mercenary with the Swedish and Russian armies), Telemann, and Marin Marais.
All these concerts are free admission and further information on them may be had at
While visiting friends in North East Italy, yesterday, on a beautifully gold-hued autumn afternoon we explored the Caglieron caves, located in the municipality of Fregona, province of Treviso. Strictly speaking they are not caves but rather a series of cavities created partly by natural erosion activities and partly by human action.
The natural erosion part consists of a deep gorge carved by the Caglieron stream through alternating layers of limestone, sandstone and marl laid down in the Miocene. One can admire numerous waterfalls, some over thirty feet high. In the deepest part of the gorge one can observe large calcareous concentrations which, closing part of the vault, give the whole the appearance of a cave.
The artificial formations are due to the extraction of sandstone blocks which provided the material for the construction of jambs and architraves adorning many buildings in the surrounding area thanks to the stone’s easily workable nature. The particular method of extraction included the creation of inclined columns to support the vault that otherwise would have collapsed. The result is a collection of picturesque artificial cavities, below which the Caglieron stream flows.
The whole area can be visited thanks to the creation of a slightly hair-raising path which seems to fly across the gorge and its cavities. We visited after a night of heavy rains so the sound of the caves’ cataracts was especially impressive.
At the end of the trail there’s an old mill converted into a restaurant bar where, on a previous visit to this site we enjoyed delicious wild boar.
The caves are free and always open, although I would hesitate to visit them by night. Watch out for summer events including theatre and parties!
L’età d’oro del lido (che, in inglese, significa una piscina all’aperto) nel Regno Unito fu negli anni trenta, quando il nuoto all’aperto divenne di moda. Quasi duecento ‘lidos’ furono costruiti in tutto il paese dai comuni come strutture ricreative.
Ebbe anche, nel 1927, gran successo una commedia musical, ‘Lido Lady’, di Rodgers and Hart basata sulla moda di andare al Lido. Ecco una sua registrazione (tra i miei dischi):
Molti lidi chiusero o furono abbandonati quando le vacanze all’estero, specialmente al mediterraneo, diventarono meno costose nei anni ‘60. Nell’ultimo decennio, però, nuovi investimenti e la rinnovata enfasi sulla salute e l’agonismo hanno riaperto molti di questi luoghi che, in parecchi casi, sono ubicati in piacentissimi parchi e costruiti in elegante stile ‘art déco’. Un pensiero speciale è dovuto ai devoti del ‘lido’ che hanno lottato tanto per fargli riaprire.
Come scolaro, amavo andare al lido di Peckham Rye situato nell’omonimo parco. Purtroppo, fu abbandonato degli anni ’80 e pressoché demolito. La piscina, pero’, rimane sempre lì sebbene sia coperta di terra. Anche qui i devoti del Lido di Peckham Rye stanno combattendo per ripristinarla com’era una volta.
In queste ultime settimane Londra sta godendo/patendo una ‘heat wave’ (ondata di caldo) eccezionale e gli abitanti della metropoli stanno assalendo i ‘Lidos’ Infatti, il giovedì scorso, al Lido di Brockwell hanno dovuto chiamare la polizia perché certe persone hanno perso la calma dopo aver aspettato in coda per più di tre ore in temperature che toccavano i quaranta gradi.
Certo, col riscaldamento globale, ci sarà un lato positivo per incoraggiare i ‘Lidos’ defunti a ripristinarsi. Poi, dopo la Brexit (se accadrà mai), quale inglese potrà permettersi una vacanza, se non a Margate or Bognor Regis invece di Viareggio o Rimini?
Un ammonimento per certi non abituati a nuotare nelle acque del fiume di Bagni di Lucca, il Lima: le acque dei ‘lidos’ non sono delle più tiepide. In certi casi di rispristino però, l’acqua è gentilmente riscaldata e raramente scende sotto i venti gradi.
Prima un po’ di storia: il ‘Lido’ (pronunciato ‘Làido’) inglese è nato in un’epoca dove l’aria fresca e l’acqua pulita furono considerate le migliori cure contro la tisi (tubercolosi polmonare cronica cavitaria), fino al punto che furono istituite ‘open air schools’, cioè scuole all’aperto. (Che fortuna per certi alunni, quando cominciava a piovere…). La prima di queste scuole fu inaugurata a Londra a Bostall woods, Plumstead nel 1907.
La prima piscina all’aperto che fu ufficialmente chiamata ‘lido’ fu a Edmonton Lido nel 1935. Il ‘Tottenham Lido’ fu aperto nel 1937, come il ‘West Ham’ Municipal Lido. Purtroppo nessuna di queste ha sopravvissuto quella moda degli inglesi di andare a nuotare sulle spiagge del mediterraneo.
Dovrei distinguere tra ‘lidos’ costruiti appositamente come piscine all’aperto e ‘lidos’ che sono veramente ‘al naturale’ essendo veri e proprio laghetti circondati da boschi e prati (ma sempre con un bagnino, e le attrezzature per cambiarsi, farsi la doccia ecc.)
Quest’anno a Londra e i suoi pressi si possono trovare i seguenti lidos in pieno uso.
Questa è stata recentemente inaugurata, riscavando il bacino del laghetto della nobile villa situata in questo enorme e bellissimo parco di Londra sud.
Il laghetto del Serpentine attraversa Hyde park e Kensington gardens. Non è per i freddolosi e per quelli che hanno paura di essere beccati dai cigni che nuotano nello stesso spazio. Nuotare qui, dove si annego la prima moglie di Percy Bysshe Shelley, è un’esperienza favolosa. Ammetto, però che non ho mai nuotato qui nell’inverno quando una piccola banda di devoti rompe il ghiaccio per godersi la nuotata di capodanno.
Hampstead Heath Swimming Ponds
Classico luogo con laghetti, incluso uno dove le donne possono nuotare ‘au naturel’ (proibito questo agli uomini ma non ai LGBT).
Oasis Sports Centre
Bella piscina in centro di Londra.
Tooting Bec Lido.
Il più grande dei lidi piscine di Londra. Favoloso per chi vuol fare delle maratone di nuoto.
Buona piscina, riscaldata e con ristori ben attrezzati. Ha anche una piscina coperta.
Brockwell Lido.
Il più magnifico esemplare di Lido ‘art déco’ di Londra, ubicato ai bordi del incantevole parco di Brockwell. Può essere molto affollato quando fa caldo.
Il mio preferito. Una volta trasandato e poi chiuso. Furono spesi due milioni di sterline per rimetterlo a sesto per riaprirlo nel 2013. L’acqua non è mai sotto i venti gradi di temperatura. Mai troppo affollato. Accanto c’è una palestra. Bel bar con terrazza al sole. Circondato da giardini infiorati caratteristici.
Di questo Lido scrissi la seguente poesia che si riferisce agli anni trenta quando erano appena apparse le nubi scure della Seconda Guerra. La gente allora non poteva ancora crederci e pensavano di godersi di una qualità di vita sempre migliore con una tecnologia che includeva il primo servizio televisivo al mondo, quella della BBC, che cominciò a trasmettere da Alexandra Palace nel 1936. Fu un periodo dove molti potevano finalmente comprarsi una tipica casa ‘semi-detached’ con bagno interno e perfino un garage per la macchina, ormai non più ristretta ai super-ricchi ma alla portata di sempre più persone. Era un’epoca piena di speranze, piena d’illusioni di un tenore di vita sempre più elevato, di apparenza di pace dopo il carnefice del 1914-18.
Che inganno! Che peccato assoluto! Che crimine contro l’umanità perpetuato da politici senza scrupoli e certamente non per il benessere degli abitanti della loro nazione.
E adesso in Inghilterra …. Ma non cominciamo a parlare di quella persona con il tetto di paglia sulla testa.
Ritornando alla poesia: prima viene il testo originale inglese. Poi segue una mia traduzione letterale.
THE LIDO
In summer’s light the lido elongates
fresh turquoise-dappled water to high sun.
Liquidity of wavelets captivates
and melts a splash of swimmers into one.
Ideals of expired years, young nature’s skin
unsheathed, pretended a new age of health
while war-clouds hung and hid mad fiend within
and river maidens lost their golden wealth.
Lank flowered dresses are undraped and breasts
and seaside conversations dream away
for secret gardens, lonely sands and quests
in search of that which stays pale flesh’s decay.
Entowelled by suburban rose-flanked wall
star-glinted water clasps me in its thrall.
IL LIDO
Nella luce dell’estate il lido allunga
una fresca acqua di color turchese all’alto sole.
La liquidità delle ondine affascina
e fonde una spruzzata di nuotatori in un’unità.
Gli ideali degli anni scaduti, la pelle della giovane natura,
sguainati, fingevano una nuova era di salute
mentre le nuvole di guerra dondolavano e nascondevano dentro un diavolo pazzo
e le fanciulle fluviali persero la loro ricchezza d’oro.
Gli abiti a fiori lisci sono svelati e i seni
e le conversazioni al mare sognano
di giardini segreti, delle sabbie solitarie e degli studi
sulla ricerca di ciò che fissa il decadere della corpo pallido.
Asciugamanato dalla parete suburbana fiancheggiata dalle rose
L’acqua, luccicante di stelle, mi stringe nel suo flusso.
In 1865 Florence was appointed the capital of the newly unified Italy and it remained so until the capture of Rome in 1871. It was also acknowledged, however, that Florence, though once a great renaissance city, was now considered to be a city unfit as the capital of the new state.
Throughout the second half of the nineteenth century, in a process called by some ‘risanamento’ (restoring to health) and by others, more honestly ‘sventramento’ (disembowelment), large parts of Florence were moulded to satisfy the aspirations of the nouvelle bourgeoisie for a more fitting capital city. The ancient heart, the Jewish ghetto, and the walls north of the Arno were demolished. Indeed, so widespread was the destruction of ancient landmarks that the English ex-pat community of the time complained bitterly to the authorities about the loss of so many of the city’s ancient quarters and managed to halt the annihilation.
Nothing comparable to this urban wrecking occurred until, in 1944, the Nazis blew up the mediaeval areas to the north and south of the Ponte Vecchio in the mistaken belief that it was better to have them blown up and prevent the bridge’s use, blocked by the rubble, than the bridge itself. If only! A bridge can be rebuilt, as were the instances of the historic bridges of Bassano Del Grappa and Pavia, but whole quarters vanish for ever.
The grandiose nineteenth century urbanisation of the city of the lily did, however, produce one positive result: that of planning the sylvan avenues leading up to Florence’s classic view at the Piazzale Michelangelo.
Laid out in gentle gradients so that horse-drawn carriages could easily climb up the city’s southern hills, the ‘viali’ have, at one point, the Piazza Giuseppe Poggi, a series of ramps which once held elaborately cascading waterfalls.
Sadly, for over a century these waterfalls were dry. However, in a spurt of worthy restoration, which included placing the various reservoirs back into operation, the re-planting of the footpath borders and the renovation of the massive buttresses, the whole complex, the brainchild of Poggi, principal designer of the ‘new Florence’, has its waterfalls gushing anew.
Piazza Giuseppe Poggi is located between the Lungarno Benvenuto Cellini, the Lungarno Serristori and Via San Niccolò. Until 1911 it was called ‘piazza delle mulina’, which means ‘water-mills square’.
Here once were mills operated by a canal fed by the river: the canal began near the San Niccolò weir, flowed along the Lungarno Serristori and re-entered the Arno near the Ponte alle Grazie.
The square is dedicated to Giuseppe Poggi, the architect of Piazzale Michelangelo and the Florentine avenues of Circonvallazione, who here designed one of his most daring creations, with the series of neo-mannerist style ramps leading up to the Piazzale’s viewpoint.
We were lucky last week-end to be in Piazzale Poggi when Florence’s mayor turned on the taps. It was slightly ironic that everyone actually wished there was less water on that day as it had been raining since the morning and the planned celebrations, which included a concert and children’s activities, had to be postponed. However, we did manage to enjoy this wonderful reinstatement of one of Florence’s most spectacular features.
Let our photos of the occasion tell the tale. (Note the ancient San Niccolò gate in the middle of the square).
I return to Bagni di Lucca with some sadness at two events that have recently hit it during my absence in London.
One is the devastating fire last Sunday that burnt down the Mirafiume, tennis club. We are clearly not only talking just about the structure but its equipment, which included rafting that is used in the highly successful white water courses on our Lima River.
The other is the closing down of the ‘Borgo degli Artisti’, a cultural association founded in 2005 in Ponte a Serraglio. This, too, is quite devastating. The Borgo was responsible for two major events in Bagni di Lucca: the extempore painting competition in the summer and the women’s week in the spring.
The events for the women’s week will continue, but in all likelihood ‘Colori e Sapori’ – the extemporaneous painting competition, attracting artists from all over Italy in the summer – will be no more.
“It has been decided with regret to close on January 15th”, states 76 year old Pilade Togneri, president for eleven years of the ‘Borgo degli artisti’, “since there were no positive answers from other associations we had asked to collaborate to ensure the continuation of the ‘Borgo’. The board was composed of eight people, while its members were more than sixty. It is with great regret that we are closing but organizing the events is difficult and tiring”.
The association’s honorary president was Mario Lena the former mayor and wonderful poet, and the Borgo was based in via Serraglia at the start of the bridge that crosses the Lima stream. Its founders included Damiano Marino Merlo, hotelier, Candido Martinelli, photographer, Morena Guarnaschelli, painter and several volunteers. The vice-president was the writer and local historian, Natalia Sereni.
Clearly, the real reason, in my opinion, for the Borgo’s demise was the fact that there were insufficient younger people willing to take over its running. A volunteer is worth ten pressed persons and sadly there weren’t enough of them.
It is incredibly sad to re-read my posts on the extempore painting competition, in which Alexandra Cipriani, my wife, was a keen participant.
Here are my main posts to show what Bagni di Lucca has lost:
All things must pass. Last year, among other things, we lost ‘Shelley House’, that exceptional bookshop and meeting place for writers and artists at Bagni di Lucca Villa. This year has started badly with the loss of two prestigious and loved centres.
Like the phoenix from the ashes let us truly believe that Bagni di Lucca will have new, good things happening to it this year.
Meanwhile let me regale you with the magical snowfall we have recently had over our valley.
Italian ‘presepi’, or nativity cribs, may be of three main types.
First, are the various displays of nativity scenes laid out as an exhibition or as an itinerary. In our ‘Valle dei presepi’ there are two especially beautiful examples.
There are the highly creative and inventive ones at Pieve Fosciana, in the upper Serchio valley, which I’ve described at:
Second, are the ‘presepi viventi’ (living cribs) where people re-enact the nativity scene with traditional arts and crafts surrounding the birth of Jesus Christ, and the arrival of the Three Wise Men.
I’ve described this type of presepe’ in various posts, the latest of which is at:
Third, are those nativity scenes which particularly intrigue me: large-scale mechanical cribs where the figurines move and there are waterfalls, mill wheels turning, saws cutting and olive picking.
I first saw this kind of nativity scene as a small child at the church of san Camillo in Milan. (San Camillo is, incidentally, a fine example of fin-de-siècle eclectic gothicky architecture. I’ve described it at https://longoio2.wordpress.com/2015/09/04/milans-san-camillo/ )
A very fine example of a mechanical Christmas crib is near us at the start of the road that leads to Gioviano at Pian di Gioviano in the comune of Borgo a Mozzano. It is among the most beautiful in the whole province of Lucca and has its origin twenty five years ago, the brain-wave of a couple engaged to be married. Sadly, Manuela Motroni lost her life in 1999 in a traffic accident and the creation of the crib is also a way of remembering her who died so sadly young.
Manuela’s brother Manuel with Angelo Cipriani and other volunteers have continued to re-create the crib every year. As you’ll see from my video below a lot of love and time has gone into making this delightful nativity scene. It’s also interesting to note that many of the movements are propelled by water power.
Trust you’ll enjoy my video of this enchanting nativity scene!
Se uno pensa a Londra e il suo fiume, il nome ‘Tamigi’ entra subito in mente. Quello che non è immediatamente evidente è che Londra è una città di molti affluenti del Tamigi e, cioè, di molti fiumi.
(Gli affluenti più importanti del Tamigi)
Da piccolo mi ricordo che la mia ambizione era di arrivare con la mia bicicletta dalla zona di Londra del Sud dove abitavo (Forest Hill) e toccare le sponde del grande fiume. L’ho toccato, finalmente a Deptford seguendo il Ravensbourne, uno dei più lunghi degli affluenti del Tamigi.
(Il fiume Ravensbourne a Beckenham)
Purtroppo, nel centro di Londra parecchi affluenti sono stati canalizzati o addirittura convertiti in fogne (nel medioevo servivano già come cloache aperte, e la puzza degli scarti di macellai, di pelle, di ossa, di cani deceduti, e perfino delle teste decapitate dei criminali, doveva essere veramente insopportabile.)
Tra i fiumi scomparsi sotto terra nelle tubature, è il Fleet (che corre sotto Fleet Street), il Walbrook, principale affluente della Londra Romana, il Silk, il Moselle, il Tyburn, il Serpentine, l’Effra, il Westbourne, il Peck (da dove si deriva il nome della zona di Peckham), il Wandle (di Wandsworth) e il Quaggy, parte del quale si può vedere a Catford, il quale nome è tradotto come ‘guado di gatto. ‘)
(Scultura rapresentante il fiume Walbrook, ora intubato sotto Londra)
Derivo tuttora grande piacere a seguire gli affluenti del Tamigi. Non tutti sapranno che il bel lago del Serpentine che attraversa Kensington Gardens e Hyde Park, (e dove si tolse la vita Harriet, la prima moglie del poeta Shelley, nel 1816 all’età di ventun anni) non è altro che il fiume Serpentine arginato da una diga per poi scomparire sotto terra nei tubi.
Certamente il più grande e bello degli affluenti del ‘Father Thames’ è il fiume Lea che sorge nella campagna idillica delle colline Chiltern a nord della capitale per poi sboccare in mezzo della zona industriale del Docklands. Il Lea è famoso per la sua associazione col grande scrittore del seicento, Izaak Walton, che scrisse ‘The Compleat Angler’ nel 1653, il classico testo sulla pesca.
Nel diciannovesimo secolo c’è stata una grande bonifica dopo il ‘great stink’ – la ‘grande puzza’ – che, nel 1858, fermò persino il lavoro del parlamento britannico. Grazie all’ingegner Bazalgette due enormi fogne furono costruite, il ‘Northern e il Southern outfall sewers’. Le stazioni di pompaggio ad Abbey Mills e Crossness sono capolavori d’ingegneria e arte vittoriana e sono monumenti protetti. Di recente, volontari si sono messi a rimettere a posto le pompe originali d’epoca e di ridipingere le elaborate costruzioni ferree nei loro colori originali.
La bonifica di Bazalgette fermò anche le epidemie del ‘Re Colera’, l’ultima della quale ebbe luogo nel 1866, uccidendo decine di migliaia di abitanti.
Chiamerei il sistema di fogne di Crossness e Abbey Mills le cattedrali Londinesi dedicate alla salute corporea come Westminster e Saint Paul’s sono le cattedrali che curano la salute spirituale della città.
Ho già scritto del vasto kilometraggio di canali Londinesi che, prima dell’invenzione delle ferrovie, erano il mezzo di trasporto più importante dell’Inghilterra (esistono ancora più di 3,500 kilometri di canali in Gran Bretagna oggi) ma che ora servano più per svago e turismo. (Non lasciate Londra prima di fare un bel giretto sul Regent’s canal in una tipica long boat!)
I canali avevano bisogno di fiumi e laghi per riempirli. Quest’acqua viene tuttora dai fiumi. Nella zona di Wembley, per esempio, scorre il Grand Union Canal che congiunge Londra a Birmingham e che è riempito in parte dal fiume Brent che dona il nome all’attiguo comune.
A pochi passi dall’autostrada M4, che scorre all’aeroporto di Heathrow per arrivare a Bristol e il Galles, si può entrare in una zona di pace e tranquillità che circonda l’antico maniero di Boston manor. E’ qui che si possono intravedere due corsi d’acqua, il fiume Brent che dona le sue acque al Grand Union canal.
Il generoso fiume Brent contribuisce al Grand Union canal anche vicino a Horsenden Hill nello stesso comune. Qui, a pochi passi dalle zone industriali, si entra in un’oasi silvestra di pace, dove esiste ancora una fattoria, un antico bosco collinoso anticamente abitato dai Celti: un rifugio, dove si può facilmente dimenticare che siamo in una megalopoli mondiale con una popolazione di più di dieci milioni di abitanti.
Come scrisse Joseph Conrad del Tamigi in quel romanzo ‘Cuore di Tenebra’ , che, per me, è l’unico libro che porterei sulla mia isola deserta: ‘stavo pensando a quei tempi lontani quando i Romani vennero qui per la prima volta millenovecento anni fa.’
Tale è la straordinaria varietà di ambienti che ci presenta Londra!
Every village in the Val di Lima has its own special characteristic. It would be quite wrong to single any one out as the prettiest in the valley. However, for me Casoli (not to be confused with the Casoli above Camaiore) has some very special features including the remains of a castle, a prehistoric observatory, stupendous views and beautiful surroundings.
Looking towards Limano
(Looking towards Limano from Casoli)
When I first arrived here twelve (!) year ago Casoli, together with Lucchio and Gombereto held a medieval festa. Indeed, they cooperated in the publicity of each other’s events issuing one leaflet with all three names on it. Through the years Casoli’s and Lucchio’s festa dropped out and this year sadly, Gombereto decided to hold no medieval festa. I wonder why?
Last week I decided to look around Casoli’s environs. The area is rich with chestnut trees and the sound of the constantly dropping fruit is ever present.
I headed for the chapel known as the Chiesina della Madonnina di Colle a Piano which dates from the sixteenth century and is around twenty minutes’ walk from the centre of Casoli.
Last time I was here the chiesina looked very derelict with a collapsing roof. This time happily the roof had been completely rebuilt in the old style and the walls had been consolidated and plastered. A local I met there, however, told me that the work, begun a few years back, had not been completed. In particular, the portico walls needed to be covered with stone slabs and the two seats on either side of the entrance had been stolen some time ago and only their supports remained. Note the heraldic carvings in the chapel arch, pointed out by local expert Virgilio Contrucci as belonging to a noble family in Casoli.
The chapel was locked but I was able to take this shot which shows the remaining fresco fragment of a Madonna and child. Unfortunately, since the chapel is deconsecrated and not used for any local religious rites (formerly there used to be annual processions to it) it now seems to be used for storing building material and a ladder had been placed right against the fresco. Surely it could have been put to one side!
From the chapel various enticing paths lead to other villages in this, the north facing part of the Val di Lima. Unlike the south-facing side, where we live, which is called the ‘Controneria’ and has all its villages connected by a metalled road, the north-facing part has fewer, larger, villages and to go from one village to the other one must descend to the valley floor and drive up again to the next. That’s when the footpaths come in useful. From Casoli to Casabasciana, for instance, there is a beautiful path through gorgeous forests.
Casoli’s lake, grandly called ‘Lago’, is really a large pond or ‘laghetto’. It fills a depression rather like a Welsh cwm and is clearly glacial in origin. It’s the only significant lake in our valley. To see other lakes one has to go over the Apennines at Fonte di Giovo where the Lago Santo is situated. Casoli Lake must surely have been much larger once. Approaching the ‘laghetto’ across flower-bestrewn meadows one reaches an area of characteristic wetland plants. I especially like the bulrushes. There was no sighting of water fowl, however. Perhaps I should return rather earlier in the year to spot them.
While there a posse of mountain bikers passed me. They were coming down to the village after having done a ridge route over the Pizzorne hills. So Casoli’s surroundings must be very appealing for them too.
With many of the northern Italian cities choked with smog because of the continuing high pressure zone and lack of wind, autumn is a great time for walking in such rural areas as this. If you’re here take advantage of it!
