Cartophile
I've always had a fascination with maps.
I think it started with my 1st childhood atlas. I'm not sure if it was a hand-me-down from the boys or my very own. It's history is irrelevant. I loved it. Yes, a book. I was obsessed with reading. This book, that book, any book, all books, cereal boxes! I loved to read. And I loved maps. So a book full of maps - bliss!
A few years ago I stumbled upon a book written by Ben Fogle, he of that very early reality TV programme Castaway where a group of 30 odd strangers were cast away on the remote Scottish island of Taransay to live together and build a community. The first few pages of that book, The Teatime Islands could almost have been written about me rather than, as it was, Ben. Memories of laying front down on the floor Sunday teamtime, atlas open, fascinated by the far flung corners of the world and for him in particular, the British Overseas Territories. We'll come back to that a bit later.
The world always looked so small in that atlas. Europe on this page, Africa on another. A double page spread for Australia: it's vastness still not evident to a child that just saw this green coloured land mass surrounded on all sides by a sea of opal blue spread before her. It wasn't until I saw the world map across 2 pages & realised how Australia had now shrunk to a confined corner of the right-hand page that the prodigiosness of our wonderful world became apparent.
And the thoughts those far flung places evoked! Christmas Island! With the over-active imagination bestowed upon me I had thoughts of it bedecked in lights and tinsel all year round, inhabited by reindeer and elves. Raratonga! How nicely does that roll off the tongue. Ra ra tong gah. Raratonga! Slowly, quickly, I'd keep myself amused saying it over and over again. A miniscule dot in the South Pacific, so small it was easily mistaken for a crumb of toast that had fallen on the open page. One of the Cook Islands, named in the 1700s after Captain James Cook although they'd been first inhabited as early as the 6th century.
My atlas gave me a brief insight into the language, currency, capital and population of some, but not all countries and it's GDP of all things which I didn't find too fascinating: a thirst for any more information than that had to be quenched by a visit to the local municipal library. Hmmm. Not an easy task. The ladies in there, the librarians, all prim & proper in their twin sets and tweed, didn't like me. One in particular. I swear she never had a day off and would give me 'the look' through those floor to ceiling front glass windows before I'd even stepped over the threshold. I'd get the blame for every cough, word utterance above the permitted volume level or suppressed giggle regardless of me not opening my mouth. I had history. I was the eternal chatterbox, I had no volume control & I could not for the life of me whisper (still can't) These traits did not stand me in good stead for turning left at the top of the stairs instead of right. I had to play it cool and pretend I was taking the right-hand door into the children's library and then tiptoe back across the landing to the silence of the reference library. Silent bar the heavy breathing elderly gents sat at the huge huge wooden desks reading the broadsheet newspapers, peering over the top of their spectacles as I tiptoed past. I wasn't and am still not, good in quiet places. I start to giggle. I think it's the effort I have to afford to the act of making no noise. For this reason, a visit to the library for me was hell. Thankfully libraries are no longer such archaic places, at least not here in Brighton. Children are encouraged to make noise, made to feel welcome, although I think the tweed is still de rigeur for some librarians. Yes, even in Brighton 😉
So on those rare occasions I managed to make it past our very own Miss Trunchbull, I made haste to the Travel / Geography sections with a sideways step along past the Encyclopaedia Brittannica and because each of those books had the immortal words 'For reference Only' typed on a slither of yellowing paper and Sellotaped to their spine, take my place next to the heavy breathers, books open, devouring as much information as I could before Trunchbull blundered up the stairs and blamed me for the cacaphony erupting from the room next door!
A close runner-up to the atlas in my love-affair with maps comes: the A-Z of London. The giant red capital A and blue capital Z cuddling up close together on the front cover, such an iconic memory of my childhood. Living on the western outskirts, dad's work as a Master Roofer took him further into Greater London: Acton, Shepherd's Bush, Hammersmith and the like. His little bible of roads, a paperback maybe just a bit bigger than A5 size, had seen better days long before Little Miss Chatterbox & her love of maps came along. It wasn't at all unusual for page 69/70 Chiswick High Road to find itself in unfamiliar territory south of the river betwixt page 90-92, Peckham & Camberwell! Lane, Street, Terrace, Avenue all defined by a black outline and the big boys, the A Roads, all strong and powerful, bold double spaced font, flooded with buttercup yellow ink, yelling Tarzan-like: "Look at Me! See how important I am! I am the A40 Westway!"
So back to Ben. His book re-ignited my love for maps, for learning more about these far flung outposts of the British Empire. And thanks to the internet, Google & no longer having to get one up on Trunchbull, I can!
St Helena
Capital: Jamestown
Official Language: English
Currency: SHP St Helena Pound
Population: 4550 (2016)
GDP: £33.2m
Pitcairn Islands
Capital: Adamstown
Official Language: English
Currency: NZD New Zealand Dollar
Population: 50 (2018)
GDP: NZD217,000 (2005)
*antique A-Z unavailable for photoshoot due car being at MOT so photos are courtesy of 2 more equally beautiful babies from my collection 😉
I think it started with my 1st childhood atlas. I'm not sure if it was a hand-me-down from the boys or my very own. It's history is irrelevant. I loved it. Yes, a book. I was obsessed with reading. This book, that book, any book, all books, cereal boxes! I loved to read. And I loved maps. So a book full of maps - bliss!
A few years ago I stumbled upon a book written by Ben Fogle, he of that very early reality TV programme Castaway where a group of 30 odd strangers were cast away on the remote Scottish island of Taransay to live together and build a community. The first few pages of that book, The Teatime Islands could almost have been written about me rather than, as it was, Ben. Memories of laying front down on the floor Sunday teamtime, atlas open, fascinated by the far flung corners of the world and for him in particular, the British Overseas Territories. We'll come back to that a bit later.
The world always looked so small in that atlas. Europe on this page, Africa on another. A double page spread for Australia: it's vastness still not evident to a child that just saw this green coloured land mass surrounded on all sides by a sea of opal blue spread before her. It wasn't until I saw the world map across 2 pages & realised how Australia had now shrunk to a confined corner of the right-hand page that the prodigiosness of our wonderful world became apparent.
And the thoughts those far flung places evoked! Christmas Island! With the over-active imagination bestowed upon me I had thoughts of it bedecked in lights and tinsel all year round, inhabited by reindeer and elves. Raratonga! How nicely does that roll off the tongue. Ra ra tong gah. Raratonga! Slowly, quickly, I'd keep myself amused saying it over and over again. A miniscule dot in the South Pacific, so small it was easily mistaken for a crumb of toast that had fallen on the open page. One of the Cook Islands, named in the 1700s after Captain James Cook although they'd been first inhabited as early as the 6th century.
My atlas gave me a brief insight into the language, currency, capital and population of some, but not all countries and it's GDP of all things which I didn't find too fascinating: a thirst for any more information than that had to be quenched by a visit to the local municipal library. Hmmm. Not an easy task. The ladies in there, the librarians, all prim & proper in their twin sets and tweed, didn't like me. One in particular. I swear she never had a day off and would give me 'the look' through those floor to ceiling front glass windows before I'd even stepped over the threshold. I'd get the blame for every cough, word utterance above the permitted volume level or suppressed giggle regardless of me not opening my mouth. I had history. I was the eternal chatterbox, I had no volume control & I could not for the life of me whisper (still can't) These traits did not stand me in good stead for turning left at the top of the stairs instead of right. I had to play it cool and pretend I was taking the right-hand door into the children's library and then tiptoe back across the landing to the silence of the reference library. Silent bar the heavy breathing elderly gents sat at the huge huge wooden desks reading the broadsheet newspapers, peering over the top of their spectacles as I tiptoed past. I wasn't and am still not, good in quiet places. I start to giggle. I think it's the effort I have to afford to the act of making no noise. For this reason, a visit to the library for me was hell. Thankfully libraries are no longer such archaic places, at least not here in Brighton. Children are encouraged to make noise, made to feel welcome, although I think the tweed is still de rigeur for some librarians. Yes, even in Brighton 😉
So on those rare occasions I managed to make it past our very own Miss Trunchbull, I made haste to the Travel / Geography sections with a sideways step along past the Encyclopaedia Brittannica and because each of those books had the immortal words 'For reference Only' typed on a slither of yellowing paper and Sellotaped to their spine, take my place next to the heavy breathers, books open, devouring as much information as I could before Trunchbull blundered up the stairs and blamed me for the cacaphony erupting from the room next door!
A close runner-up to the atlas in my love-affair with maps comes: the A-Z of London. The giant red capital A and blue capital Z cuddling up close together on the front cover, such an iconic memory of my childhood. Living on the western outskirts, dad's work as a Master Roofer took him further into Greater London: Acton, Shepherd's Bush, Hammersmith and the like. His little bible of roads, a paperback maybe just a bit bigger than A5 size, had seen better days long before Little Miss Chatterbox & her love of maps came along. It wasn't at all unusual for page 69/70 Chiswick High Road to find itself in unfamiliar territory south of the river betwixt page 90-92, Peckham & Camberwell! Lane, Street, Terrace, Avenue all defined by a black outline and the big boys, the A Roads, all strong and powerful, bold double spaced font, flooded with buttercup yellow ink, yelling Tarzan-like: "Look at Me! See how important I am! I am the A40 Westway!"
So back to Ben. His book re-ignited my love for maps, for learning more about these far flung outposts of the British Empire. And thanks to the internet, Google & no longer having to get one up on Trunchbull, I can!
St Helena
Capital: Jamestown
Official Language: English
Currency: SHP St Helena Pound
Population: 4550 (2016)
GDP: £33.2m
Pitcairn Islands
Capital: Adamstown
Official Language: English
Currency: NZD New Zealand Dollar
Population: 50 (2018)
GDP: NZD217,000 (2005)
Tricky choosing which of these tunes, so for a treat, have both!
*antique A-Z unavailable for photoshoot due car being at MOT so photos are courtesy of 2 more equally beautiful babies from my collection 😉
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