Come this time next week, I will no longer be formally employed by anyone. After nine years I’m leaving, well, I’m being removed is perhaps a better description, from my comfortable niche on the Caerleon Campus. Back when I started working there, it was known as the University of Wales, Newport, though my earliest memories of the campus date back to when it was known as the Gwent College of Higher Education. It’s been a long, at times bumpy ride, but I’ll walk away with more positive memories than negative ones, certainly if you make the cut off point 2012, rather than 2014... Given that these are the end of days, I thought to reflect on my time with the University of Wales, Newport...I’ll be reflecting on my time with the University of South Wales next week, once my contract has formally expired... My very first memory of the campus was spending time as a child systematically undermining my father’s lectures. It was not, however, my intention to compromise the classes. School was out, but the academic teaching year continued, so I had no place to go. As a result, I spent many formative moments sat at the front of a lecture theatre, half listening to tales of Roman conquest. All the while I would be doodling sketches on the chalk board, producing crudely drawn annotations of the lecture material, much to the distraction of my father and attending students alike. Who knows how many educational experiences I compromised back then? The important thing though, was those occasions left their mark. Perhaps it was inevitable that I would find my way into lecturing having spent so much time as a child loitering underneath desks in lecture theatres. I can say though, with some confidence, that my approach to lectures matured somewhat over the two decades to follow. My second clearest memory was, as a child, sitting in the staff dining room on campus, surrounded by some of the most prominent archaeological minds of their day. This was back when the staff dining room was a segregated, wood panelled hall, into which no student could enter. The ivory tower was alive and well back then. Of course I didn’t really understand the significance of the room, and my presence in it, but I was consciously aware that there were only important lecturing types around me. I felt awkwardly out of place, a feeling I largely retain when attending academic conferences while feeling that my publishing record should really prohibit my presence. Not so long ago, that staff dining room had the wood panelling ripped off, and opened up to all and sundry. One of my last memories of the Caerleon Campus, was seeing a party of Italian school children spilling crushed cartons of juice on to plastic tables, in what was the staff dining room. The ivory tower had been brought to its knees, smashed and shattered in the name of progress. You, staff dining room, I’ll probably miss most of all. My first teaching experience came about ten years later. I could not have been much more than twenty, maybe twenty one, when I gave my first lecture. As memory recalls, it was something to do with the archaeology of the Avebury landscape, on the premise that I had excavated there for one season. I think there was a staff illness or some such, and they needed someone to fill in. Whatever the circumstances, I went overboard, using around fifty acetates – yes, back then the campus was not flush with projectors and PowerPoint, just hot light bulbs and overhead projectors. I can’t have been that crap either, because before long, I was back teaching on the campus as part of a regular gig. Working closely with Les James, I ended up co-teaching on a heritage module. Back then, the whole thing was about Chartism, which, given I had been specialising in medieval archaeology, was not a strong subject for me. So, I quickly set about hammering the module into something I was more confident on, which turned out to be a slight obsession with the heritage and museums sector. I’m not really that sure how that happened, but it did. So much so did this new direction begin to rule my life, that I ended up doing a PhD on the campus, exploring the subject in depth for the better part of five years. Of course, there was plenty about the experience which was far from enjoyable. I was there when the University, in some cack handed effort to achieve, well, god knows what they were trying to achieve when they closed an archaeology department of international repute. That was under the stewardship of James Lusty. He’s dead now, so we can’t ask him what he was thinking, so I guess we’ll never know. Then of course there was the staggering ineptitude of bureaucracy which haunted the institution. Maybe that was one of the things that led to the ‘merger’, everyone was too tied up working through bureaucratic paper work to be able to officially respond to the proposed ‘merger’, that by the time the paperwork was filed, the ‘merger’ had already happened. Does that seem harsh or unlikely? Well, I can remember starting a new contract back in the mid noughties, when, thanks to ‘paperwork issues’ I worked for no less than five months before getting paid a penny. That led to a tight half a year I can tell you, though getting the lump sum of half a years’ salary in one go was quite enjoyable. Then there was that surreal thing with the heating, where the University seemed intent on refusing to turn on the radiators until half way through winter, and then determinedly leaving the same radiators on well into the latter half of spring. We certainly tested our students resolve and ability to regulate their body temperature back in those days. Of course there was also the always well thought out scheduled building works, which seemed to always coincide with the busiest teaching time of day. One mid morning class was interrupted as a guy attempted to drill through into my lecture theatre from the adjoining room. Rarely did I get pissed off in classes, but that was one occasion where I was not exactly pleased. Generally though, the teaching side of things in Caerleon stand out as some of the most rewarding experiences of my life. It is a very precious thing, to be able to teach, to have that responsibility for the education of others. But to be able to deliver material, which is met with a group of minds that you can see and watch grow, is a uniquely rewarding thing to behold. The pride that I took from seeing year groups graduate, from where they had been, both as individuals and as a collective in their first year as undergraduates, is something that I will never forget. Sitting in an exam board (something else to go under the ‘not enjoyable’ list) and seeing the end of year degree marks, and thinking back over how certain students had gone from averaging in the 2:2 bracket, to ending up in the 2:1 group, or even among the 1sts, was amazing. It’s not so much a case of thinking ‘I made that happen’, because it is ultimately down to the student, but I would certainly allow for a thought of ‘I helped make that happen’, and that is where I take away a real sense of pride. And, without wanting to get too soppy about it, I was afforded the rare opportunity of being able to work with my father for the better part of a decade. When it comes to history and lecturing, there is no one I have learned more from over the years, and no one who I can offer more gratitude to, for the opportunities that have been presented to me over the last ten years. There is a good chance that without him, I would never have got that first shot at teaching a class, which led to my later lecturing in heritage studies, which directly led to my successful PhD. It all connects, and the Caerleon Campus played a big part in it. I could go on, but the more recent memories that I would like to share, such as sharing an utterly unproductive office with the most excellent Adam Coward, or sharing a home and University experience with my wonderful fiancé Hannah, begin to bleed over into the last two years, when the institution became the University of South Wales, which I will be reflecting on next week. There are also a whole host of other things that I could mention, including occasionally playing rugby for the University team on a ridiculously sloping pitch, the ghost which prowled the stairwell on campus and meeting Robert Plant (yes, that happened), but perhaps for now, that is enough reminiscing. Suffice to say, the University of Wales, Newport, has had a significant, profound impact on my life, and without it, it is hard to envisage how many of the very good things to have happened in my life, would have occurred. Perhaps, given the circumstances, the rose tinted spectacles are firmly on, but I will, in the main, look back on the Caerleon Campus, as part of the University of Wales, Newport, with fondness, happy memories, and a lingering regret that things did not stay the way they had been.
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While there is lots of justifiable doom and gloom surrounding the Newport Ship project at the moment, it's worth not losing sight of the fact that it remains an attraction, freely available to a visiting public. The next opportunity for members of the public to see the Ship in its Maesglas home, will come up on the weekend of the 25th and 26th of April. There is little guarantee after this round of open days, that another opportunity to view the ship timbers will come up again anytime soon, if indeed ever. It seems ludicrous to suggest that these timbers may never be seen by the public again, but unless dramatic changes of attitude are to be found in Newport's elected elite, this could well be the case. Equally, nothing would send a stronger message to Newport City Council regarding the importance of the Ship to Newport, than if thousands come along to the open day and express both their support for the ship, but also their interest in a unique historic resource. So, if you value this marvelous archaeological find, take the time to pop down to the industrial estate, and add your presence - every body helps when it comes to showing the powers that be, that this really is something worth investing in and supporting. On the 24th of January, formal public consultation on the Newport City Council budget for 2014-15 will come to a close. In the coming seven days, it is possible that the fate of the Newport medieval ship will be determined, and there is little about the consultation that should make anyone feel comfortable or positive about what that fate might be. There is now a small window of opportunity for interested parties to voice their concerns and objections to the council, and I would encourage any and all who value the Newport ship, and see its potential, be that through education, tourism or simply on the grounds of preserving the heritage landscape of Newport, to get in touch with the local authority now. In terms of why we should be concerned about the future of the ship, a brief overview of the budget proposals reveals a number of suggested fiscal cuts, which would leave the ship homeless and without any curatorial or interpretive support in the near future. ‘The Council is committed to the completion of the conservation of the archaeological timbers, however, there is no funding to progress beyond this conservation phase.’ In the budget summary, while the council maintains its long standing commitment to completing the ongoing conservation process, it is quick to state that there is no additional money for the project beyond this point. Further, there is no mention of any intent to pursue additional funding, simply that the council intent is focused on reducing ship related costs to zero. In addition: ‘Staff working on the project will be at risk of redundancy (5 FTE staff impact, 2 vacant, 3 filled). This would result in limited knowledge within the organisation about the Ship. There will be a significant challenge to transfer the timbers to a suitable institution or organisation.’ While direct costs in relation to the presentation of the ship and ongoing costs, bar storage, would be removed in this scenario (open days for instance would, of course, end), there is the additional impact of staffing cuts. During the past decade and a bit, the Newport ship team has developed into a leading authority on this particularly unique archaeological collection. The creation of such expertise does not happen overnight, yet its loss can be instantaneous. Loss of funding for the ship would rob south east Wales of an assemblage which has the potential to be a significant tourist attraction, but as significant, we would lose the world class expertise which has grown around it. This is not so much a case of creating ‘limited knowledge within the organisation about the Ship’, it is a case of decimating it. While the ship has the potential to come and go in terms of where it is stored and displayed, the same cannot be said of the expertise. Once that is gone, it is gone. In terms of display, the council proposals make a token gesture: ‘However, some timbers will still be available to see at the Museum and the digital Archive will be available through Internet Archaeology in the next twelve months.’ The display of ‘some timbers’, however many that could plausibly be (i.e. not many), would be highly limited in scope and do little in terms of the potential of the collection. Yet this ‘display’ is dependent on the long term viability of the museum itself. Further to the proposed ship cuts, are reductions to the hours of provision provided by the current museum and library service. In addition, further recommendations on staff reductions within the museum service are made. Were these factors to combine, Newport could face the loss of access to the bulk of the Newport ship, the loss of all expertise on the collection, a reduced museum coupled with a reduction in expertise and staff numbers at that museum. The picture presented is a bleak one. Especially if one considers the gradual reduction of museum staffing and hours as the first step down a slippery slope towards closure. Back at the start of the year, I reflected on the short and long term future for the heritage sector in Wales, and cited the future of the Newport ship as a test case for the way in which we could expect our heritage resources to be treated in the coming years, as the full impacts of austerity gradually reveal themselves. At present, Newport City Council are arguing a case which would significantly undermine, if not totally erode the presence of the medieval ship in Newport, with no indication in their strategy that this artefact would play any role at all in the proposed regeneration of the city. This would be as critically short sighted as the same council’s original intention to bury the timbers under concrete. All is not lost though. In the last week, the Royal Commission on the Ancient and Historical Monuments of Wales, faced with what seemed an inevitable ‘merger’ with Cadw, to be forced through by the Welsh Government, earned a reprieve. The weight of popular opinion, sent in to the Welsh Government, forced a rethink, and a stay of execution for the RCAHMW. This is what the ship, both the physical remains and the staff responsible for it, needs now. Comments can be sent in to Newport City Council via this link: http://www.newport.gov.uk/_dc/index.cfm?fuseaction=council.homepage&contentid=CONT543078 and I encourage any and all who value this unique element of both Newport, Welsh and British heritage, to voice their opinions as soon as possible. Really quite difficult to know what to make of today. When I woke up, I was full of energy and excitement about the Chartist mural. We were going to be protesting on Saturday, the first thing I’d felt compelled to protest about for years, probably not since my undergraduate days. The fate of the mural was a major theme in my teaching, becoming the topic of conversation in both lectures today; yet little did I know that while I spoke about the possibly outcomes for the mural in the long term, it’s short term, and ultimate fate, was being decided by the blade of a JCB. I received a text message just as my last lecture ended, which prompted me to log into twitter. There I was confronted by an image of the Chartist mural, gouged through the middle, cubes scattered across the underpass floor... They actually did it. One of my earliest memories of the mural was being walked through the images with my parents. My father attempted to explain the significance of the story, but as a child I was probably more scared by the images than anything else. Since then, the mural has always been with me. Every time when passing through Newport, it was there. When I worked with Newport Museum, twice daily I would wander past the mural, and always, always find some new feature tucked away. No more. Everything about the loss of the mural leaves a particularly foul taste in the mouth. For all the positioning and commissioning of reports, most of us never really doubted that Newport City Council only ever had one intention, and that was to demolish. To do it in such an underhand manner as this though was really the last insult of a series of affronts. Random numbers of £600,000 were cited for the removal of the murals – many asked ‘based on what’? We were told the mural could not be removed due to it being fused with the wall behind – as the JCB did its work, that was quickly revealed to be either wrong, or a simple lie. Health and safety was cited as to why the mural had to be torn down – yet if the building was so tremendously dangerous, why rumble around with JCBs beneath said unstable structure, smashing into the walls? If you were to take everything the council came out with on face value, you could only be confused by their course of action. Yet, deeply cynical and hurt views are the ones that remain, and trust for the body responsible will not be readily forthcoming anytime soon. But for all the accusations and recriminations (of which there must be, at the ballot box if nowhere else), first and foremost this is a very, very sad day. A part of the cultural landscape of Newport is no more. With the best will in the world, there was not a great deal of that cultural landscape left to preserve in the first place. The Chartist mural now joins either end of the Newport ship, the beautiful Lyceum Theatre (along with most of Newport’s late 18th and early 19th century architecture) and the bulk of Newport Castle, as one more lost legacy, one more part of Newport heritage to be chipped away and sent to oblivion. Angry, yes; shocked, certainly; saddened, above all things. |
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