Geog-On

Following my previous (brief) post about the Union Jack, I decided to take a step further into understanding our national flag and had the pleasure of speaking to Malcolm Farrow - President of the Flag Institute - about the myriad problems of the symbol. 

We don’t, officially, have a flag

It’s almost impossible to believe, but in official terms, the UK doesn’t have a flag. Of course, we all recognise the Union Jack, (you were alive in 2012, yes?) but according to Malcolm, this is simply “a Royal banner”, designed by James I (also James VI of Scotland) who needed to identify his ships and fortresses. Hence there’s a lot of the blue from the Scottish ensign (because James was primarily Scottish). 

And a Royal banner was all it remained, until World War One - when many people understandably wanted to celebrate national identity, and wrote in to ‘The Times’ newspaper asking what flag to fly; because even at this point, nobody knew. The Home Secretary responded in Parliament by saying that the Union Jack “may be considered” to be the flag of the United Kingdom. And that was it. That’s as official as it gets. To this day there is, bizarrely, nothing statutory that says it’s our flag. It merely exists, as Malcolm says, by “custom and practise”. 

And this is what his team at the flag institute are trying to get corrected. “It’s a bit of a no-brainer isn’t it, your primary symbol of national identity - not to lay it down somewhere - but we don’t. I’ve been trying for a long time to pin this down... but Ministers don’t want the extra responsibility”.

We all know it’s the flag, so who cares?

Well, for one: Malcolm. For two: me. And although that should be enough, frankly you all should care, for the following reasons.

Firstly, there’s the big thorn in the side of both the Union Jack and St George’s Cross: they are frequently hijacked by right wing nationalist groups that distort their symbolism. “In the 1960s, the National front used to parade around with the National flag. Nobody else flew it, and it took some years to get it back from these extremist nutters ... If there was some Ministerial oversight I think that might have prevented the highjacking of the flag”.

The EDL - who ‘highjacked’ the St George’s Cross

The second reason it’s important, according to Malcolm, is uniformity of shape and colour. “Most conform, but not all”. By way of example, after much lobbying, Malcolm managed to get a Union Jack flying daily on the Victoria Tower on the House of Lords (”it used to fly hardly ever, which was stupid”), as well as a flag on the ministry building at Whitehall following much discussion with Gordon Brown. The former is in a ratio of 3:5, and the latter is 1:2. So even the two main bodies of state can’t agree. (Though what else is new, right guys?).

Why don’t we make it official?

There’s an obvious problem here. Four countries make up the United Kingdom, and you have to look extremely hard to find any Wales in the Union Jack. Because there isn’t any. As soon as we try to pin down a national flag, it would cause ceaseless arguments about whether there should be a dragon in top right hand corner, and was it bigger than the shamrock in the bottom left. In an age where devolution is in fashion, discussing the national flag would cause local tensions to “bubble up to the surface”. So we don’t. It’s easier.

What Malcolm and the flag institute would like, is for the Prime Minister to ask the Queen to “give the flag to the nation, like she did with the Maple Leaf of Canada”. The Union Jack is still a Royal banner, but by proclaiming it the flag of the people, it’s borders and boundaries could be officially drawn up, and properly administered by the Government. 

The opposite of a racist symbol

Mo with the flag - albeit upside down...

Ultimately, according to Malcolm, the national flag is the best way of bringing together a hugely diverse society such as our own. “The one thing we all have in common is the ability to develop a sense of unity under the national flag. We all share that equally. It belongs to us all. And that’s what we need Government leadership to help us do ... No matter how different we are, we all share the same territory, and that is what our flag represents.”

For many people around the world hurricanes can cause significant devastation - areas such as the Caribbean, Philippines, or South East USA regularly bare the brunt of their force. However, perversely, here in the UK we actually look forward to a good storm. We are, of course, a nation obsessed with its own weather, so when the winds start to drive, the thunder canons overhead and streaks of untamed electricity jag their way across the skyline, we can be forgiven for going out of our minds. I’m twenty nine years old: if there’s a storm, I’m not going to sleep.

And this week, the met office has given us further reason to look forward to them as they’ve announced the UK will be adopting the US system of naming all our storms. Not just that, they’re even taking suggestions for these names from the public, which will then be used to compile an alphabetised order of our storms to come. 

No need to Panic

Now I don’t want to be glib about the potential negative affects of these major weather events, even the UK has suffered at their hands. Poor Michael Fish will never be allowed to forget when he said this: 

And then this happened. 

But the graceful fact is that up here in the temperate latitudes the sea temperatures don’t get high enough to build too much energy into the system. Indeed, to even be classified as a hurricane/cyclone/typhoon (depends where your from, see map below) you have to have a minimum sea surface temperature of 26.5 degrees Celsius. I’ve been to West Wittering. 26.5, it is not.  So we’re only allowed to call them storms. OR, as is now the case, storm Mark. Storm Mark Cooper-Jones, storm Mark Timothy Cooper-Jones. Take your pick. (Don’t worry guys, I’ve already submitted them to the met office). 

Why Bother?

The Met office are doing this because naming a storm helps raise people’s awareness. Suddenly, the storm becomes a thing, a villain we can remember by name. Like Kaiser Soze… but an easier name than that. Also, once a storm is named, we can then recall it easily, refer to it, compare it to new, upcoming storms. E.g. Kaiser Soze was nowhere near as bad as Moriarty, (something I happen not to believe). 

How can I do it?

I have always prided myself on the extent of my Geographical knowledge. As someone who is not just trained as a Geography Teacher, but frequently displays exaggerated Geography Teacher characteristics for mild comic effect, I understand the importance of 'classic' Geographical knowledge. Which basically means I've spent hours of my life ensuring I know every single country and capital, recognise every national flag, and can even draw a not completely terrible world map blindfolded.

But there is one affliction my boundless enthusiasm for all things 'World' cannot cure, for much as I may be an invaluable pub quiz ally, brimming with Geo-factual arrogance and boasts - unfortunately, I have a terrible sense of direction.

Don't get me wrong - I am EXCELLENT with a map. Extremely proficient. Even those paper ones that don't actually tell you where you are - I could get from here to Cyprus using an A to Z of Scotland I'm that good. But drive me to any unfamiliar village, drive round a slight bend then over a cattlegrid and ask me the way back? I'll be instantly, and totally, confounded. Without hope. I'll turn 540 degrees on the spot and forget my own name. In short, I will be lost.

People who live with Tourettes often find ways to manage and conceal their tics in certain situations, and I've had to do likewise to mask my lack of spatial awareness from those around me. And it's lucky I enjoy reading maps, because that is exactly what I do. I read maps. I don’t mean 'map reading' like on a journey, I'm talking 'reading maps', like in my free time. Reading them until I'm bullet proof in whatever post code I'm soon going to find myself. 

When I first signed up to Mark Cooper-Jones’s one off immersive Geography field trip comedy show in the Lake district, I had no idea what to expect. The booking, by Kendal’s usually reliable Brewery Arts Centre, appeared to be an enormous gamble poised to leave their reputation in tatters. Thankfully for them, this reputation was preserved - though how much of that was down to Cooper-Jones himself is certainly questionable.

Mark, our teacher/ “comedian” for the trip, greeted us as his class of around 30 ‘students’ were assembling beside two minibuses. He seemed both proud and excited by the very presence of these vehicles, feelings not shared by any of his audience. 

Cooper-Jones seemed to sense the crowd’s uncertainty, and attempted to inject fun into proceedings by insisting everyone refer to him as ‘Sir’, asking each individual’s name in turn - which was immensely boring as well as pointless as he failed to remember a single one henceforth, and handing out clipboards with worksheets attached. It was at this point the more savvy among the audience began to realise that this was, quite literally, going to be a Geography field trip; one where the audience were essentially expected to find their own sense of irony in proceedings. It seemed that the mere fact that this event was taking place held some comic currency for Cooper-Jones, although from an audience perspective one could argue the joke was very much on them, seeing as they’d paid not only to go on a walk but also to do some work. In fairness, Cooper-Jones did ably reference this very point, and received a generous laugh in the process. So that was good.

After disembarking the minibus and running the group through a full risk assessment, Cooper-Jones pointed out a weird looking ‘local’, signalling them out as potential stranger danger. This ‘stranger’ then followed the party round all afternoon taking photos and generally making people feel as uncomfortable as possible.

Despite his relentless assurances that he’s a bona fide Geographer, and his boastful reminders about being a Fellow of the Royal Geographic Society, Cooper-Jones did in fact meet his intellectual match in the form of an 11 year old Geography enthusiast called Archie. After young Archie skilfully pointed out some hummocky moraines on the landscape, Cooper-Jones claimed to be pleased with the level of knowledge displayed, but failed to stifle his irritation as he was forced into a bungled explanation of how these same features had formed. 

Despite claiming to have recced the area weeks before, some of the fieldwork itself suffered from a lack of planning. A fluvial velocity calculation involving dropping sticks in a river and seeing how long it took them to emerge from the other side of a bridge, failed to work due to the abundance of obstacles under the bridge. (Cooper-Jones’s protestations that this exercise should NOT be referred to as ‘pooh sticks’ were widely ignored). Luckily this brief stop off was actually made interesting by one of the party immersing her entire shoe in a bucket of sh*t - thus quite literally making it pooh sticks - and by our ‘stranger danger’ man doing a bum out wee into the river a little upstream of the group. This was, therefore, the most scattalogical section of the show, but being confronted by a teacher seemingly made much of the audience regress into a state of immature delight at such events.

Other more successful bits of fieldwork included a task to re-name ‘badger rock’, and it was here that another of the younger members of the group decided to climb up the 20 foot erratic, with Cooper-Jones’s weak protestations for him to return to ground level falling on deaf ears, highlighting his total lack of respect amongst the group. One can only hope, (although by no means assume) that he has more control when teaching actual students.  

On the way back the audience were also asked to draw a labelled sketch map of the scenery, colouring pencils were of course provided and a deathly silence fell on the group as people, possibly for the first time all day, really got into doing some work. Thankfully, Cooper-Jones was so pleased with this clear immersion in the task that he actually shut up and let everyone get on with it. This section was a definite highlight. 

And there were some others, such as an abduction by the ‘stranger’ of another member of the group, later on seen screaming and tied to a telegraph pole in the distance. 

And ultimately, as Cooper-Jones was finally rounding off, he was ‘chloroformed’ and bundled into his own boot and driven off by the same oppressor. At this moment, there was spontaneous applause, which is nice - depending how you look at it. But for this reviewer, a clear theme emerged throughout the show, one you may recognise from your own experiences of school field trips: that the most interesting, most fun, most unexpected moments of the day were not, in fact, provided by the teacher at all, but by everything else: by Archie, by the stranger, by Les the kleptomaniac Geography teacher of 36 years, and by the scenery which, let’s face it, Geography did actually provide.

So, in a sense, if what Cooper-Jones was aiming for was the quintessential Geography field trip, then by chance rather than design this is perhaps what he achieved: a ramshackle 3 hours of improvisation where, somehow, everyone enjoys themselves and nobody actually learns a thing.  Except the teacher, who, I’m told, can now describe hummocky moraines in extraordinary detail. 

Tall, Dramatic, Imposing - Mountains are the quintessential stunning scenery. Throw in the contrast of ice and rock, and the myriad patterns of light and shade, you’d think there’d be no debate. Mountains are fit. 

However, having recently finished reading ‘the Discovery of France’ by Graham Robb, (hugely recommended ), it turns out 19th century local inhabitants of the Pyrenees felt the exact opposite.

“’What did you think of the horrors?’ Jean Dusaulx was asked by a Lady when he arrived in the Pyrenees in 1788. She was referring to what was later called the scenery.”

“To most people, icy crags were as attractive as a filthy village.” 

“’Such uncouth rocks… I hope I shall never see them again’”

Irritatingly, this final quote is from an English traveller, meaning we can’t even blame this bizarre view entirely on the French. 

But I’m going to anyway.

Last Thursday, in an act of wilful self-parody, I commuted to the Lake district for the day with a Geography Teacher friend of mine in search for the quintessential Geography field trip. Not for students, I may add, but for adults. In a months time I’m performing a two hour ‘walking comedy show’ as part of the Kendal Comedy Festival in Cumbria, and that’s not the sort of thing you can improvise. A recce was hastily arranged. 

In order to commute to the Lake district for a day, you need to be at Euston by at least 5am. With your Walking boots in a bag of course (#geographyteacher). Then you take a photo to prove this. Once inside the station, Paul (fellow Geography Teacher) and I were delighted to discover our first piece of Geography. A statue of Matthew Flinders, first man to map Australia. It was set to be a great day for Geography. (N.B. Paul also had walking boots in a bag. He ‘gets it’.)

Train journey (delayed +1hr, Virgin) finally over, we were greeted by our local Brewery Arts Centre guide for the day and, following obligatory Kendal Mint Cake scoff, set off on the first of three walks in the greatest car I’ve been in possibly in my life. 

It’s a white convertible F Reg VW. And yes, I am posing; and yes, it was in a desperate and flawed bid not to be upstaged by the car.

Paul and I then set out on our 3 walks, with Hannah our guide leading the way, searching for the perfect Geography to explore with an audience. Of course, Geography being everywhere this proved incredibly easy, surrounded as we were by Glacial features, tourist facilities, streams, and the wonderful badger rock.

Which could just as well have been called ‘rock’, as there’s very little apparent badger about it. Still a fine example of an ‘erratic’ and well worth a potential place on the tour in May. 

And the question was soon raised: what are Geography field trips all about? What do people think of when they remember their Geography field trips? A brief question posted on Facebook yielded a number of responses, including:

And my personal favourite:

What’s clear is that people DO remember Geography field trips - for good or for bad. But at least they remember them. I personally for instance can’t remember a single thing that happened in 8 years of sitting in French lessons. 

Paul and I had a ball running round the Lakes for the day, though it was patently clear how unfit we were compared with our ‘fell-runner’ guide. Some stock Paul phrases included: “Yes I think this walk would be strenuous enough for any audience” / “I don’t think the walk should be any longer than this” / “I think people might get tired if this walk went on any longer”. All helpful advice of course. 

When it came to creating their flag, the North Caucasian Emirate (1917-1922) either had an incredible sense of humour or absolutely no idea what they were doing. 

90% of Mozambique’s flag is very much to form. Stripes, colours, clarity etc. The other 10% throws out every rule in the vexillology rule book by piling 4 symbols on top of each other, one of which is an AK47. Apparently it stands for ‘defence’. 

Usually, flags tell us something about a country. Then there’s the Isle of Man’s flag. 

Sicily went one better with the addition of a massive head with no eyes.

And lastly the flag of the Benin Empire (1440-1897) in precolonial Africa. A strong message, that ends up reading ‘It doesn’t matter if you’re unarmed and retreating, we’re still going to cut your head off’.

Of the 11 people recorded to have died from Earthquakes in the UK, 2 were a result of shock, one fell down the stairs, one fell out of a WINDOW?! And, in 1884, Margaret Saunders drowned herself in the River Stour in Colchester because she’d found an earthquake too traumatic.

How wonderfully British.

I’d been waiting for the right time to start my Geography blog. Specifically I was waiting for some form of sign that would leap out and say ‘today is the day’. On 24th March 2015, the Geological Society announced they’d found a 200 year old rock map by William Smith. The heavens could not have been clearer.

That was two days ago. But I can still start today because in Geological timescales two days ago and today are very much the same thing.

It’s a great map. William Smith was the first man to identify that rock ‘strata’ (layers), contained fossils that meant you could date the rock’s formation. Once you can tell when rocks are formed, you can understand the history of how land has changed and moved over a long period of time. This is hugely exciting, no? 

William Smith then travelled around dating all the rocks he could get his hands on and drawing up a Geological map of the country. It was the first of its kind, and author Simon Winchester wrote a book about it called ‘The Map that changed the World’. Because it did.  Sadly, his achievement was never recognised in his lifetime - he lived in constant debt, and the bailiffs took his house away; now he’s known as ‘The Father of Geology’, and the Geological Society has happily found one of the first 10 of his maps ever to be printed. Admittedly they were the ones who lost it in the first place - but, crucially, they found it again. 

I like to look at this map and see how the Geology of certain places provides clues to the types of people that live there. In North West Scotland there’s some of the oldest rocks in the world; they’re incredibly weathered and stubbornly refuse to change at all. In the home counties we find clays and sands - softer rocks with no real confidence or integrity. In Manchester and Yorkshire there’s an abundance of coal, the dirtiest of the fossil fuels and often harmful to the environment, and nobody actually knows anything about the Geology of the East Midlands because no-one even cares. The map looks as though someone has peeled back the skin to reveal the organs working away beneath. The red heart is based around Cumbria and Greater Manchester, Wales has the liver, there’s a spleen running through Birmingham, and the whole South East resembles a large intestinal system waiting to unload the Kentish Weald into English Channel. Like the the body’s organs, Geology is hidden just beneath the surface whilst also being essential for life. It affects what you can farm, build, produce - it’s a hugely important component of place that we often overlook, and this map helped us to understand it in the first place. So 200 years after William smith was born (‘yesterday’ in Geological timescales), it seems fitting that we celebrate both the man and the map. But before signing off, I should also mention that this particular original was printed on copper plates. And this is relevant because you couldn’t print colour on copper plates, only outlines. So now you can rest assured that this is a PROPER Geography blog, because even in the first post, it features some serious colouring in.