This page sits somewhere between a blog and a short essay - it is an overview of the project as I see it, but as my vision develops I may make changes and amendments to it; perhaps, in the end, to all of it...

"Weeds and nettles, briers and thorns, have thriven under your shadow..." 

-Cromwell dissolving  1st Protectorial Parliament

Perhaps I should begin by explaining where the idea of making a piece about The Civil War came from: I have never taken a special interest in political history; evolutionary history, the mysterious tree of life has been more important to me. Now, suddenly, I am  researching the painstakingly recorded details of a fifty year period around 400 years ago. One of the greatest pleasures about being an artist are the instrumental journeys that can be taken, when you follow a tempting thread.

Initially, I had a half-baked idea of producing a shadow-show about 'Classic Baddies', which showed them in greater depth, perhaps producing some more poignant level of  understanding. Being someone who takes no interest in newspapers, or for that matter, biographies, my first crude pawns were to be: Pol Pot, Charles Manson and Oliver Cromwell. Please, at least respect my honesty in reciting this list - sometimes an 'idea' has to be first promoted from the rank of 'thought.' As it happens, Cromwell was the first I looked into. Wikepedia'd him. 

Please understand that my vision of Cromwell as some black-hooded, seething torturer of innocents was a product of the worst kind of popular history. I was not taught anything about the Civil Wars in my Scottish education (though why, I cannot say for Scotland can hardly be said to have been bystanders to it. Notice that I avoid even calling it the English Civil War). I had no grounding in the subject besides the Monty Python song about Cromwell, which is, amongst other things, very short. But after all, this was the point of this enquiry - to teach, to myself as well as others, the truth about those who in our minds are nothing but baddies. As though this weren't trouble enough, there are some who would claim to understand the subject well, who would indeed wish to defame Cromwell as an evil man. Some such people teach children on the subject in schools. To them, I say only this: evil men and heroes belong to the tabloids. With the advantage of hindsight, it is easy to criticize. There is nothing in this period of history that distinguishes Cromwell from any of the hundreds of thousands of humans whose ethics and standards were polluted by the brutality of war. I have little doubt that Oliver's intentions were at least initially honourable. Of course when history comes entirely from written accounts, one can never be certain of anyone's heart - hero or villain. Of course, not everyone sees Cromwell as the villain, and hopefully many more avoid such judgements at all. The best kind of historian must be able to understand the motivations of humans and to write off bitter grudges towards the people of the past. There is room for subjectivity, but it should be careful, well-informed, and never disguised as absolute truth - especially when a person is being expressed in a negative light.

So, getting back to the point. I began looking into Cromwell, and was quickly led to the bizarre and macabre story of his head after death. The tale spans over 300 years and ends with Cromwell's head being finally put to rest in Cambridge in 1960. The tale was so unusual, and so tantalizingly conducive to the dark art of shadow theatre, that I suppose at this point my Showcase of Classic Bad-guys was put to death on the scaffold, and Cromwell was throned as my line of enquiry. At the Coronation, my 'thought' was duly promoted to 'idea.'

But herein lay the unforeseen snare of historical research. In order to speak on a piece of history, it is one's ethical and professional duty to frame it, literally, with what came before and after. And so to talk of Cromwell's death, I knew I would have to first understand his life. A month or two of research later, I had come to realise that understanding his life involved a great deal more research into not only his, but many others lives. The lives together represent a period of time. And then of course, the research continues, as there is always a 'before'. Eight months later, I now know why some historians spend decades writing a book, and their whole lives writing several.

I will spare you the expansive details of my research, which I am glad to say is now, after eight months paying off (I have a level of understanding that I consider 'acceptable'). I will say that it hasn't been boring. I cannot wait to tell, in unavoidably incomplete form, the astounding, disturbing story of 17th century Britain. One of the most satisfying things for me now, is that it no longer seems long ago at all. The period is so remarkably well-documented, through diaries and letters and the filed documents of Office, that it is possible to escape to this time, and wear it like a familiar article of clothing. I decided to write a basic summary of the 'whole story' for my own reference, which I have struggled to edit from 30,000 words to 20,000. On reciting the paragraphs to Vicky about Charles Stuart's captivity during 1648-9, I found myself so emotionally  shaken, that I had to stop reading for some time before I could continue. Charles, for any of his faults, left himself so very open to pity. No human should find themselves in a position of such irretrievable desolation. I must also add, that the excellent diary-keeping of the time also gives a vivid insight into the harsh misery of soldiers' lives, during an era known as the Little Ice Age. Battles are not really battles at all,  but small-scale individual experiences tied by circumstance. 

Now to the problem of what to choose and how to present it, not only accurately, but artistically. I am not going for a history lesson here. Or I don't want to people to feel they're getting a history lesson. I want them to feel something of the emotional content of the time. I am not a historian - I don't have it in me to compete with the utterly awe-inspiring writers, to which I am indebted for my knowledge of the subject, in its infinite intricacy. But as an artist, there is something I can do. I can employ original visual and poetic reverie, to encourage others to look inside themselves for meaning. I can be trusted to do so, because I don't believe in heroes or villains, and I don't want to manipulate an audience into hating a non-fictional person.

I struggled, and still do struggle, to imagine a format in which, rather than trying to cover the story in full historical detail (which is - fain! - impossible), I might focus on the lives of a few individual characters, of quite different bearings, to approach the story from different angles. Originally, my imagining of this was quite Tarantine - a kind of series of chapters, each starring a different protagonist - Mr White, Mr Orange, Mr Pink and Nice Guy Eddie. Are heroes okay, if everyone gets a turn at it?

I wrestled around with different practical and aesthetic considerations - how many puppeteers? How many types of puppetry? Any other art-forms? What about sound: live or recorded? A band? A narrator? Voice actors? Should the puppeteers be seen or hidden? Could a puppeteer narrate? First person or third? One screen or several? All of these things affect how it must be written. Or does the unsullied finished writing dictate the practical implications? 

And then, in thinking about formats of historical prose, I was reminded of  Rudyard Kipling's shining novel - 'Puck of Pook's Hill.' In this novel, mistakenly classified as a children's book, the ancient fairy Puck, or Robin Goodfellow, appears to two children on Midsummer's Eve who are re-enacting Shakspeare's play in a meadow. He casts a glamour over them which allows them to meet figures from the distant past, in their familiar landscape, who help them to understand the histories of their homeland. In this novel, and its sequel 'Rewards and Fairies,' we are introduced to, amongst others, a Roman Centurian, Elizabeth I, a fugitive smuggler, a friend of Sir Francis Drake and an iron-age flint-worker.

"Take of English earth as much

As either hand may rightly clutch.

In the taking of it breathe

A prayer for those who lie beneath - 

Not the great nor well-bespoke,

But the mere uncounted folk

Of whose life and death is nought

Of lamentations or report..." 

                                     - Rudyard Kipling,  Rewards and Fairies

Using such a tale as the premise for this period of history, I can not only steer away from the formally educational method of reciting information, but can incorporate studies of the inner worlds that may give context and sympathy to any individual. Archbishop Laud is a perfect example - I imagine, though of course I do not know - that if I had met William Laud, I might not have taken much of a shine to him, but still I don't want to slander his character. It would be much more interesting to be able to view him in his limited, human capacity - insecure,  stubborn and worthy of pity, and perhaps a little warmness.

The magical element of Puck's influence on the story also opens up a lighter, more playful slant on non-fiction. Vicky and I are very interested in the otherworldly sensations of experiencing nature, the joy of magical atmosphere. It is my intention to incorporate this very lightly into the tale - the idea that the Folk of The Hill were present throughout the Civil War, quietly watching the strange affairs of humans. This alludes to another, far more useful purpose of bringing 'faerie' into the tale - the idea of a race far more ancient than humans, with Puck the most ancient of all. Faeries regard the activities of humans to be strange and futile, perceiving the world on a far more geological scale. 

"Cities and Thrones and Powers

Stand in Time's eye,

Almost as long as flowers,

Which daily die.

But as new buds put forth

To glad new men,

Out of the spent and unconsidered Earth

the Cities rise again..." 

                                                      - Rudyard Kipling, Puck of Pook's Hill

For me, this geological timeframe is vital to my perception of human activity, and perhaps my adversion to heaping blame for chaos on our ancestors and humans in general. Puck would not see a human as one who can control the world, but as a creature in the youth of its being, mortally short-sighted, and infinitely limited. The idea of a character who sees the world more clearly than any human is a good narrator to this particular story, brimful of human folly.

But Puck has another meaning in his favour - he will be a reminder to the audience that all of history is a great fairytale of sorts, pieced together from interpretations of the nature and truth of things. Dear old Robin Goodfellow, the spirit of nature, is a testimony from this non-historian, that we can do our best to tell the truth, but that there is always an element of glamour to the way we see and remember things.