Author: Mark

Crime Novel Locations and Psychogeography
Introduction

This is a thought experiment exploring the psychogeography of how intimately knowing crime novel locations might impact upon reading these novels. When I read crime fiction the locations of murder mysteries are disproportionately important to me. I particularly enjoy coastal, rural and woodland settings, rather than the claustrophobia and impatience of cities.

I moved to Brighton in 1987, and I have lived in Saltdean since 2007. I have become very familiar with the suburb of Saltdean and the town of Newhaven, four miles from Saltdean. A thought experiment evolved, to read murder mysteries, very, very local to me. I chose three murder mysteries, one set in Saltdean and two set in Newhaven.

The specific murder mysteries came onto my radar by happy accident, rather than conscious design. In 2024, I attended Crime Waves, part of Shoreham Wordfest. Speakers talked about their respective crime books, and particularly relevant was Lesley Thomson, as Death of a Mermaid was set in Newhaven. Lesley referred to the music of the local mobile fishmonger. I had heard these slightly surreal tones whilst gardening, and this became Book One. Also, at Wordfest, Mark Edwards author of Keep her Secret referred to his murder mystery being set in Saltdean, which had to be Book Two. Finally, Pauline Rowson’s murder mystery, Death in the Harbour, was set in 1950s Newhaven. A book set in a town I knew well, but before I was born. This was Book Three.

I am not going to review these books here, and I do not want to spoil plots for others. Each book was enjoyable to read and proved to be very thought-provoking in different ways. The first two books were more psychological than I usually read. The third was closer to my favourite police procedurals. I found the 1950s historical context in the third book an intriguing diversion from my usual present-day focus.

The theme for woodlanddecay.com posts in 2025 has been psychogeography (see HERE). Psychogeography offers a creative perspective on relations between landscapes and conscious emotions and unconscious thought processes. Urban wandering around Saltdean and Newhaven enabled joining the fictional narratives of authors. In this way, I experienced Saltdean and Newhaven as crime novel locations differently, sharing the perspective of the author.

The next three sections focus on Books One to Three. A section offers reflections and insights from this thought experiment, before a postscript acts as a conclusion. The inclusion of author biographies and edited book overviews taken from the Amazon site is acknowledged through italics.

Book One – Death of a Mermaid (Lesley Thomson) Published 7^th May 2020

Amazon Biography “Lesley Thomson grew up in West London. Her first novel, A Kind of Vanishing, won the People’s Book Prize in 2010. Her second novel, The Detective’s Daughter, was a #1 bestseller and the series has sold over 750,000 copies. Visit her website at lesleythomson.co.uk.”

Amazon Overview “When Freddy Power was eighteen, her father threw her out. Her sin had been to fall in love with a woman. Freddy waited for two decades to be invited back into the family. The summons never came. But now, in the wake of her parents’ death, Freddy feels the call of home like a siren’s song. The trawlers emerging out of the mist. Fishermen unloading their catch down at the harbour. Her best friend, Mags, exploring the cliffs at sunset. But when she arrives at Newhaven, after twenty-two years of silence, her brothers and her friends act like strangers. Then Mags goes missing, and old secrets – and old passions – are reignited. Freddy is determined to lead the hunt for Mags – even if it means confronting her past, and facing the truth about her family…”

On reading Book One – Seeing Lesley on stage talking about this book and her other books, made the narrative more personal. My experience of fishing, Catholicism and lesbian culture, featured in this book are limited. This was not an impediment, and in some ways, I believe I learnt, even though this was fiction. The overarching emotion I felt whilst reading was one of frustration. It is a story of frustrated romances and frustrated ambitions. Unfortunately, I read this book at a time when health ailments precluded me from my passions of rambling and gardening. So, I found myself in a frustration waltz with these characters.

Newhaven offers an ideal landscape for the frustrated experiences of the characters. Once far more prosperous, Newhaven has a feel of being shortchanged by councils, developers and by economics. Lesley poetically referred to Newhaven as “the seaside town of best forgotten faces”. The lead character, Freddy, is returning to the town where she spent her formative years. The quotation alludes to the truism – never go back. Whilst set in the present, this book is all about personal histories which inform and reassure us, but can also haunt us.

Newhaven was once a vibrant port. The tidal Ouse connects Newhaven and Lewes. There is a reference to the mood being reflected in the yellow colour of the Ouse. Locally, we perceive the variations in the Ouse in terms of colour, but also pace and sound. The Ouse, often moving sluggishly, works well as a mood mirror.

I want local settings to be accurately depicted. Yet, there is no reason why an author cannot employ poetic licence to tell their story. Lewes Premier Inn and the homes opposite feature with Freddy and Andy having a heart-to-heart in the hotel bedroom. I know exactly where the author has located them. Having stayed in many Premier Inns over the years, I know the standardised bedroom “ambience”. It was a surprise to read about the hotel bedroom mini bar being stocked with Jack Daniel’s. I don’t remember Jack Daniels in Premier Inn mini bars, then again, I do not remember the mini bars.

As a counterpoint to my pedanticism, Lesley introduces me to places I hadn’t encountered on my urban wanderings. In particular, Newhaven cemetery with a statue near the entrance. I went in search of the cemetery and was impressed with the statue that greets you at the entrance (see below).

Lesley referred to the sounds from a mobile fish van in her talk. In the book, she references the sounds as the “…cringeworthy fanfare…” announcing the arrival of Freddy. It was these sounds that most intimately connected me with this narrative. I have heard the sounds Freddy’s customers heard. I wondered about the “cringeworthy fanfare” as I gardened, about the story behind these ironic sounds. It transpires that the mobile fish van was operated by Tim Woodward (Catch of the Day), as acknowledged at the end of the book.

Growing up in Newhaven, Freddy, Toni, and Mags called themselves the mermaids. The book moves from their hopes and dreams as girls to the women they became twenty years later. This was the overarching frustration and a source of sadness for me. A story not so much about what happened as what might have happened. Equally, Newhaven suggests a story of what might have happened.

Book Two – Keep her Secret (Mark Edwards) Published 30^th May 2023

Amazon Biography “Mark Edwards writes psychological thrillers in which scary things happen to ordinary people. He has sold 4 million books since his first novel, The Magpies, was published in 2013, and has topped the bestseller lists numerous times. His other novels include Follow You Home, The Retreat, In Her Shadow, Because She Loves Me, The Hollows and Here to Stay. He has also co-authored six books with Louise Voss. Originally from Hastings in East Sussex, Mark now lives in Wolverhampton with his wife, their children and two cats. Mark loves hearing from readers and can be contacted through his website, http://www.markedwardsauthor.com, or you can find him on Facebook (@markedwardsauthor), Twitter (@mredwards) and Instagram (@markedwardsauthor).”

Amazon Overview: “… a deadly secret turns a couple’s new romance into a nightmare. And they’re not the only ones who know the truth… After twenty years apart, Matthew and Helena have rekindled their college romance and are away in Iceland on their first holiday together. Swept up in the romance on a mountain hike, one moment they are taking the perfect photo, the next Helena is hanging from the cliff edge… Terrified, Matthew almost misses Helena’s sudden and shocking confession—but what he hears chills him to the bone. And when Helena reveals the full truth Matthew is horrified, not only by what she’s done, but why she did it. Does he really know her at all …?

On Reading Book Two – This book cleverly conjured up strong anxieties for me. At every twist and turn of the narrative, my anxieties were cranked up. I felt for the two lead characters, particularly Matthew, spinning downwards into the cleverly constructed vortex of the narrative. I found this an unsettling rather than a pleasurable experience. I prefer to align with the detective who passively observes and investigates the aftermath of crimes. However, this is my personal preference; I am certain the excitement generated for some would be a strength.

Overall, it was unusual and enjoyable to read a book set in Saltdean. Helena comments, “I live in Brighton … well, just outside”. Yes, we are connected to Brighton, yet simultaneously disconnected. There is a reference to Saltdean as “… a small village”. The village label seems to be fashionable, but Saltdean as a suburb works better. Suburbs sleep as stuff happens behind closed doors.

A white house high on a cliff overlooking the sea, with large windows, features prominently in the book. There is a real house high on the cliff referred to as the White House, and elements of this appear to have inspired the author. There is a reference to “The house looked like it had been airlifted from Miami”. We do have a bar called the L.A. Lounge in Saltdean. However, I think this is a reference to the main shopping street – Longridge Avenue, rather than Los Angeles.

At one point, Helena and Matthew go on a 15-minute walk from Saltdean to Rottingdean. I walk with them along the cliff top and then follow the undercliff. They reach a pub close to a pebbled beach with views over the English Channel and a nearby windmill. They eat a meal at what is now called White Horses. In the past, I have eaten meals in this pub/hotel with family and friends; memories come back to me. Rottingdean is “… a lovely place full of old houses and narrow streets lots of BMWs and Audis around”, a very good definition.

Mark’s narrative sucks Matthew into the darkness and deceit of criminality. Helena’s confession means that Matthew becomes increasingly implicated. Again, my personality means I would run quickly and as far away as possible. I want Matthew to walk away, but he has a strong attraction to Helena; apparently she might be the one. This is the conflict at the heart of the book. The anxiety-provoking question becomes – should I stay or should I go?

In terms of place, Saltdean works well as a sleepy backdrop for dark drama unfolding behind the closed doors of the White House. At one point, the storyline takes us to Beachy Head (near Eastbourne), described as “probably England’s most notorious suicide spot.” The base of Beachy Head is not normally accessible, but I was fortunate to visit as part of an organised walk. I was amazed by the art of an artist, referred to locally as “Planksy” (see below).

I have undertaken many picturesque walks close by Beachy Head. Equally, when characters go on other journeys, to Moulscoomb, Peacehaven and Newhaven and through the Saltdean underpass by the Lido to the beach, I know these journeys well. The book ends with an informative letter to the reader from Mark:

…I have taken some liberties with the geography of Saltdean. The cliff on which Helena’s house sits does not exist. And although there really were smugglers’ tunnels in that area, as in much of Sussex – including in Rottingdean – the ones in this book are invented.

He refers to a book about smuggling in Saltdean in the main narrative. I enthusiastically searched for this book on the internet. It is only when I refer to my copy of The Saltdean Story that I realise his Saltdean smuggling book is a narrative device. Mark acknowledges The Saltdean Story by Douglas D’Enno as being invaluable for research into smuggling in the area. Whilst the smugglers’ tunnels are acknowledged as invented, it makes me wonder about possible secret tunnels beneath my feet.

I was frustrated by the “liberties with the geography of Saltdean”, but I understand the reasoning, and for over 99.9% of the audience, it wouldn’t have been evident.

Book Three – Death in the Harbour (Pauline Rowson) Published 10^th Sept 2024

Amazon Biography– Hello, thank you for visiting my author page. I love creating fast-paced, twisting crime novels, set against the backdrop of the sea and I hope you get as much pleasure out of reading them as I do writing them. I live on an island on the south coast of England and when not writing, which isn’t often, I can be found walking coastal locations looking for a good place to put a body – fictional that is. I currently write three series: the DI Andy Horton Solent Murder Mysteries; the 1950s set historical Inspector Ryga Mysteries and the contemporary set thriller style mysteries featuring former Royal Marine commando Art Marvik. Happy reading.

Amazon Overview – 1950, Newhaven, East Sussex. One foggy November evening, Police Constable George Swinley disappears while working his usual beat. Four days later, his lifeless body is found floating in Newhaven Harbour. His death is ruled as an unfortunate accident, but his devoted wife Myra thinks otherwise. Then Myra herself goes missing and Inspector Alun Ryga is sent to the Sussex coast to investigate. But nothing can prepare him for what he’s about to find . . .

On Reading Book Three Death in the Harbour imagines Newhaven in the 1950s. Quickly, we learn that the recent World Wars overshadow everything. It was interesting that perceptions of characters were grounded and judged in terms of what they did or did not do during the war. That was a learning point for me.

I warmed to Inspector Alun Ryga from Scotland Yard. Despite the authority of Scotland Yard, Inspector Ryga was seeking to establish himself as a new murder detective. He always carries his murder case/bag with him whilst investigating. Today’s equivalent of a forensics team, but inside a bag. The murder bag also gives the Inspector some of the authority he seeks. Inspector Ryga asks too many questions of himself. In fairness, it might be a literary device to convey that he is new to his Scotland Yard role, this inner dialogue conveying understandable insecurities. I repeatedly warm to his vulnerability. The overarching emotion this book evoked was uncertainty.

I join the detective in this murder mystery. I even offer to carry the murder bag. I enjoy locating myself within the Newhaven landscape and comparing today with a keenly imagined yesterday. My perception of Newhaven today changes through immersion in Newhaven yesterday.

Venues such as The Bridge, I remember, though now gone. Fort Road still exists, though located on the other side of the harbour in this book. The swing bridge at the heart of Newhaven endures regardless of everything else, the fulcrum of this harbour town. The references to St Margaret’s in Newhaven are confusing. Landscape clues suggest to me that this church is St Michael’s. However, perhaps there is a reason for changing the name (hint/hint).

Wandering around Newhaven with the author, I think of the topography as being the roads, particularly the A259, I use when I go through Newhaven by bus to nearby Friston Forest. Today, I believe too many cars pass through Newhaven, to the detriment of the town. But this book encourages me to think more in terms of waterways. Boats feature prominently, with murders happening on or near the water. Different quays, harbours, and Denton Island become more significant in my understanding of Newhaven. In 1950, the prevalence of cars would have been far less. Tidal water flows dictate the rhythm and pace of the narrative, locating suspects and dead bodies close to water. The Ouse becomes a moody key character in Book Three.

Inspector Ryga confronts three prime suspects he believes to be the murderer. Unfortunately, each one effectively refutes his allegations. It is slightly comical, though possibly intended by the author. Imagine somebody playing Cluedo or Poirot with more enthusiasm than skill.

This book was the second in a series of five, and I am enjoying reading all of them. I do like an anti-hero stumbling around in the dark, but finally finding the light switch. The series includes a bizarre love triangle between Inspector Ryga, Sonia (ex-landlady of The Quarry Mans Arms) and Eva (the war photographer). He seems latently attracted to both women, yet uncertain what he feels for either of them. Consequently, storylines follow his oscillating feelings without Ryga ever acting on his feelings. This beautifully poetic sub-plot provides the mystery within the mystery. Yes, the overwhelming emotion which Book Three invokes is uncertainty.

Reflections and Insights

Five learning insights arise out of this crime novel locations thought experiment.

1)Inaccurate depictions of Saltdean and Newhaven frustrate me. It was an informative surprise that knowing locations was more of an impediment than an aid to my enjoyment. The authors did not make mistakes; they used locations as starting points, but then elaborated from these settings. Lesley needed to introduce Jack Daniels into a Premier Inn to lubricate the conversation. I am still left wondering about the existence of some of the smugglers’ tunnels beneath Saltdean described by Mark as “invented”. Pauline had to make certain changes to Newhaven related to the 1950s plot lest there were implications for people living there today.

The inclusion of author notes at the end of these books explains how locations are knowingly reimagined and the author’s reasoning. These notes suggest that other readers like me can be a bit too literal. Top tip: if an accurate depiction of a place is important, check for any author notes at the end, before you start!

2)Every depiction of a place must include subjective interpretations. Thinking a little more deeply about “inaccuracies” is informative. Anybody writing about Saltdean begins with objective facts and then inevitably moves into subjective impressions. My understanding of Saltdean is largely subjective. No literary depiction of Saltdean, however accurate, could completely match either my interpretation or my next door neighbour’s interpretation.

3)It is not the specific place, but the type of place which matters to me. It is the atmosphere and feelings certain places evoke which engage me. For example, I love watching TV detectives solving murders in forests. A natural setting can be descriptive, yet generic. I learn that I do not have to have visited the particular forest. I am learning that I connect with authors and, by association, their characters when they are out in nature.

4)History informs depictions of specific landscapes. Mark rekindled my interest in local smuggling history. There is a famous footpath out of Rottingdean known as the smugglers’ path. I enjoy imagining on my rambles following routes once used by smugglers. I was intrigued enough by the existence of a cemetery in Newhaven to visit (see earlier photograph). Pauline takes us on journeys between Seaford and Newhaven. Invariably, I make the journey by bus, others by car. However, seventy-five years ago, walking and rail travel were far more prevalent.

5)There is always an emotional context to places and their depictions. Various emotions were provoked whilst reading. As overarching emotions, I felt frustration, anxiety and uncertainty reading the three books. Frustrations and uncertainties certainly haunt Newhaven as the town seeks a new purpose and identity. Anxiety, though, is the antithesis of the sleepy suburb of Saltdean. I bring emotions to the party as the reader. How I am feeling is interrelated to the emotions invoked by the author. I am certain many readers enjoy the anxieties Mark conjures up. For myself, I am with Inspector Ryga quietly seeking certainties in an uncertain world.

The following is an extreme, though hopefully useful, final example of the centrality of local locations and emotions. About twenty-five years ago, I purchased The West Pier by Patrick Hamilton. At that time, I was living very close to The West Pier on Brighton seafront. I wanted to do something similar to the current thought experiment. I had to abandon the book after reading about a third. It was well written, and the historical depictions of local locations were interesting and meaningful. However, the author infused characters and places with dark emotions. The emotions were too close to my own at that time. Shane MacGowan sang “some drink to remember, some drink to forget”. In the thought experiment, reported here, I have learnt that some read to experience strong emotions, whilst others read to escape strong emotions.

Postscript

I wrote this post in August 2025 and continued decadently navigating different crime novels. It is now late January 2026 and this postscript is a sort of a conclusion to my thought experiment. I have been reading and enjoying The Fethering Mysteries by Simon Brett. They feature the South Downs and Sussex towns and villages with which I am familiar. There are references to Brighton, Lewes and Worthing which provide a kind of geographical scaffolding for locating smaller towns and villages. The novels focus upon a fictious village of Fethering with other pseudonyms used for neighbouring towns and villages.

The intriguing bit is that if you know the area, you have an insider feel for places featured, even when pseudonyms are used. Although not named, in one novel I feel like I am in Arundel and knowing Rustington helps me to understand the quirks of Fethering. One of the novels features Austen open prison. If you live locally you will have heard about Ford open prison. It adds to the reading experience knowing this potential juxtaposition. Equally if you have not heard about Ford open prison this will not impede your reading experience. These insider/outsider literary devices work for me and my conclusion is that this is the approach I favour.

In The Fethering Mysteries, I enjoyed the contrast between the two key characters Carole and Jude. As amateur sleuths, they are poles apart in terms of personality. At one point Simon Brett attributes these words to Jude “Lewes always had that effect on her. There was something gloomy and introverted about the town, a feeling of hidden evil that had lasted through many centuries.”

Personally, I like the pagan/magical undercurrents of Lewes. I am surprised that Jude given her liberal/new age leanings felt the way she did. This is how you begin to appreciate the wisdom of Simon Brett in his selective use of pseudonyms in these novels. Relationships between emotions and places will differ considerably for readers. The emotions we invest in places can also be strong and either positive or negative.
August 28, 2025
The Haunted Houses of Oswestry
Oswestry in the Sixties

I was born in Oswestry in the early sixties and left the town in the early eighties. In the sixties the haunted houses of Oswestry were very real to me. As I attempt to time travel back to the late sixties, memories from over fifty years ago are inevitably vague.

Oswestry was known for being on the border between England and Wales. It was located in a rural part of Shropshire, surrounded by countryside, yet quite urban in the centre. Once, a railway town with a significant station and engineering works. The presence of the railways ended in the sixties with the Beeching cuts, and Oswestry had to change.

The sixties were a time of transition with a need for homes for a growing population. In the early sixties, my parents bought a semi–detached bungalow on a new housing estate at the end of Cabin Lane. We lived on a road called Whitefriars. At the bottom of the garden, there was a flimsy hedge. Beyond that hedge, fields, old farm houses and an enchanting world of nature which required serious exploration.

We subsequently moved to a different part of Oswestry. We listen to Sugar, Sugar by The Archies on a portable record player and dance in the garden. Today, the ghosts are the ghosts of memories.

Exploring nature and testing boundaries

At a young age, Dad would sometimes take my sister (Clair) and me down the lanes beyond the hedge, and we would pass the haunted houses. Gunnera grew along the edge of the lanes out of all proportion to us as children. These were happy times. A little older, I explored these fields and lanes beyond my home with friends.

During school holidays, in the daytime, we undertook most of our explorations. Upon reflection, we had no sense of rights of way or legal constraints; we were both fearless and foolish. I know our desire to build dams with mud and stones was dangerous for livestock and annoyed farmers. However, this wasn’t wilful defiance, but rather learning through experimentation.

We explored and mentally mapped our local terrain, driven by a playful desire to learn about and engage with our surroundings. The following map draws upon fifty-five-year-old memories. I make no claims to either accuracy or artistry. It is my best effort to suggest the respective locations of the haunted houses of Oswestry.

Memory Map of Cabin Lane (1960s)

The three Oswestry farmhouses

Whilst the map above was drawn from vague memories, these scanned black and white photographs below are real, if blurred. This was a time before smartphone photography and user-friendly digital photography. My Dad had a Russian camera, which he used with enthusiasm, but the results were frustratingly mixed.

Mark in the garden at Whitefriars

In the first photograph, I am enthusing to my audience (probably Mum, Dad and Clair) about the virtues of the countryside at the bottom of the garden. In the second photograph, the first haunted house is evident in the background. At this age, I was not exploring the haunted houses of Oswestry. However, the view on the horizon would have inevitably caught my imagination.

Children passed local terminology from generation to generation. We referred to the three farm houses as the first, second and third haunted houses. The farm houses were relatively close together, each no more than a mile apart (see earlier map). However, each house was a bit further away from the relative safety of the housing estate. So, for us, the first, second and third labels denoted moving further from home and safety. The stone-built farmhouses were quite substantial buildings. They suggested more small-scale farming than today.

I have no memory of the health and safety signage you see attached to derelict buildings these days. However, the first and third haunted houses were physically difficult to access. Pragmatically, the second haunted house was the most accessible. It had a large courtyard, making for easy access, and you could move between rooms quite freely (though illegally).

Usefully, there was a huge horse chestnut tree close to the courtyard. This tree had been repeatedly coppiced, probably due to its proximity to the building. Severe coppicing had resulted in the upward growth of a huge main trunk, stopping at about six to ten feet. Subsequently, branches had grown, forming a goblet shape. Generations before us had hammered large nails into the tree trunk, providing foot and handholds to climb the tree.

As children, we would gather by climbing up onto the goblet-shaped natural platform. This was HQ, where we would plan the day’s adventures. I do remember once having a serious fall from this tree, thankfully, nothing was broken. My bones seemed less brittle back then. We all affectionately referred to this horse chestnut tree as either Stumpy or Baldy, I think it was the latter.

Paranormal investigations (yesterday)

As a seven or eight-year-old child, I decided to visit the second haunted house to catch a ghost. Oddly, this investigation into the paranormal was a solo effort, separate from my young explorer friends. Subsequently, these investigations were regularly recalled at family gatherings. At least I was a paranormal pioneer, well before the television paranormal investigations.

It is often said that children are more receptive to spirits, ghosts and otherworldly occurrences. I was certainly convinced that I was going to catch a ghost. This may have been the overactive imagination of youth. Practically, though, what would I do with the ghost once caught?

My paranormal apparatus was equally intriguing. Two lengths of wood, each about three to four feet long, were connected with a piece of string approximately six feet long. The cunning plan was to throw the outstretched string over the ghost, enabling me to pull the ghost towards me. As I type, the child-like naivete is apparent, similar to a child innocently petting a dangerous animal. In my case, the mission appears to have been to befriend a ghost. Though, how would I look after and care for this ghost?

Whilst the efficacy of my equipment and housing the ghost was highly questionable, there was a bigger problem. My exploration curfew was teatime, with bed after that. It meant capturing a ghost in the daytime – not ideal. Each day, I told my Mum what I was doing and would return to her in the late afternoon, disheartened at my failure to catch a ghost. After a few days, I had to admit defeat and give up on my quest.

Historical investigations (today)

It was good to reminisce, but older and a little wiser, I am curious to learn more about the history of the local terrain featured here. I delve into Oswestry history books, belonging to my now sadly deceased Mum and Dad (Sheila and Derek). Most illuminating is Street Names of Oswestry by John Pryce-Jones, which features Cabin Lane. I think Dad used to play table tennis with John Pryce-Jones, but I need to stay focused.

Cabin Lane ended at Burgesses Moor and Lousy Moor. Lousy Moor frustratingly doesn’t yield to internet searching. However, the search engine artificial intelligence suggests, potentially boggy land, problematic for farming, which sounds very plausible. Certainly, we encountered boggy fields on our explorations, not helped by our desire to dam every stream in sight. I also have a vague memory that some of the land had been used for landfill before building the bungalows in the sixties, which would have been “lousy”.

Cabin Lane was the tarmacked road leading to Whitefriars and many other roads in this part of Oswestry. Beyond Whitefriars, Cabin Lane wasn’t tarmacked. It continued as a simple and beautiful traditional soil lane, providing access to the three haunted houses with hedgerows on either side. The existence of a Cabin Lane certainly can be traced back five centuries. Unable to offer a definitive rationale for the derivation of the Cabin Lane name, John Pryce-Jones suggests it may have been as simple as referring to the existence of a cabin or shelter at one point.

Focusing on Cabin Lane as a nearby location is useful in engaging with old maps. I wanted to compare my memory map (see earlier) with more accurate, published old maps. The most accessible free site I found was the National Library of Scotland. I respect the copyright, so I will not copy the map. However, it allowed me to view and magnify Cabin Lane on a 1900 map. You may be able to access the map HERE, alternatively, search on their site for Oswestry, Cabin Lane.

On the 1900 map, the second haunted house appears to be the main farm, with the other two haunted houses depicted as far smaller satellites, possibly homes for labourers or tenant farmers. On the 1900 map, Cabin Lane ended at the third haunted house. The map depicts a lane branching off near the second haunted house, woodland and a pond. Reassuringly, the 1900 map fitted with my memories of the late sixties.

Today, the haunted houses of Oswestry and their fields no longer exist. Hopefully, the ghosts were respectfully rehoused; we will never know. The landscape I once enthusiastically explored was inevitably developed. Pragmatically, there was a need for homes in the sixties, and there is a similar need today.

It is fitting that an extended Cabin Lane is now the central thoroughfare through the new housing development. Cabin Lane served the three farms when they were in operation, as well as centuries earlier. Everything else changed, but Cabin Lane remains a story of a bygone era hidden in plain sight.

Updates

If anyone has any further information/photographs about the three haunted houses, please do let me know, and I will update this post. The Contact page generates an email to me. Alternatively, I have enabled comments on this post, though the spam filters, beyond my control, can be too enthusiastic!
May 12, 2025
Pay no Poll Tax, London, March 31st, 1990
Introduction

The Pay No Poll Tax took place against the financial hardships of the 1970s and 1980s. The ideological agenda of the Conservative government fuelled many strikes and demonstrations. However, the Poll Tax demonstration stands out in terms of scale and level of conflict. Positively, the demonstrations accelerated the political demise of the Prime Minister, Margaret Thatcher.

On March 31^st 1990, I attended the national demonstration in central London against implementing the Poll Tax. The media almost unilaterally focussed on isolated though violent disorder. They misrepresented what I perceived as a huge and largely peaceful demonstration of collective dissent. As memories fade, competing histories inform and misinform us about what happened. Today, the only certainty in a mediated world is that I was there.

Firstly, as scene setting, I offer a little background about the Poll Tax and why it provoked such strong reactions. Secondly, I introduce my interest in journalling. Thirdly, I share my verbatim journal entries after attending the demonstration. Fourthly, I conclude with reflections on a significant moment in political and social history.

I have included scans of photographs taken at the demonstration. Digital photography, taken for granted today, was not available in 1990. Unfortunately, I ran out of film when we reached Northumberland Avenue. That was frustrating at the time, and it still is frustrating.

About the Poll Tax

The political intent behind the Poll Tax (aka the Community Charge) was to shift from rates based on the value of a property to a flat rate levied per person. For example, a millionaire living in a mansion would pay the flat rate once, whereas six people living in a small terraced house would each pay that flat rate. For wealthy Conservative voters, the appeal was that it shifted the tax burden in communities onto the poorest. The Conservatives campaigned on this agenda, which gave them a democratic mandate to implement the Poll Tax. Thankfully, we lived in a country where the right to protest and convey dissent existed.

There were many demonstrations against the Poll Tax, but the London demonstration on March 31^st 1990, was the largest. The opposition Labour Party did not support the demonstrations. However, an unintended consequence was that this stance gave impetus to very disparate campaign groups aligning against the Poll Tax. This was a bottom-up movement, rather than something orchestrated from above by Westminster politicians.

History has acknowledged that the Metropolitan Police and the Government underestimated the breadth and depth of feeling against the Poll Tax. This underestimation had huge implications for this demonstration, particularly how it proceeded and was policed. I was biased then, and I am biased now. So, you best align your tastes with the buffet of competing historical accounts of what happened, available via any search engine. This link is to some of the BBC coverage at the time.

Patient Compliance – A Reflective Journal

I captured experiences, feelings and emotions in hand-written journals over many decades. Each journal had a title, and this one was called Patient Compliance. The title was taken from a pharmaceutical notion that part of the success of a prescribed medicine was contingent on patients adhering to their prescription. Politically, patient compliance offers a metaphor for understanding the maintenance of order within Western societies.

As I began writing this post, I recalled that thirty-five years ago, I had written up my experience of attending this demonstration. However, I had completely forgotten writing the journal entry.

It is tempting to sanitise the following journal entries. My outlook has changed considerably, but I have decided against such retrospective editing. Also, writing by hand rather than word processing was more prone to mistakes. I have used the “sic” abbreviation to signpost awareness of the more blatant mistakes, but I haven’t retrospectively proofread and corrected my many mistakes. Italics indicate that these were my verbatim words at that time. The first two paragraphs are not Poll Tax related, but convey my naïve optimism for life at that time. A few short excerpts post-March 31^st explain what happened next.

Saturday, March 31st 1990

Yesterday went OK it was the deadline for the students projects so they were quite worked up. I never really settled to my work due to many interruptions but it was quite a social day. In the evening things settled down and I was able to get on with some work.

Over recent weeks I have been learning to type, whilst parallel to this I have been continuing with my one fingered typing. Last night I made the cross over it felt great as I knew it would make such a difference. I was slow and made errors. But I know with the volume of typing I do I can swiftly become proficient.

Today I awoke feeling exhausted. I suppose it is understandable after a long week. I had to rise because it was the eve of the implementation of the poll tax and there was a march in London. I wasn’t sure what to expect but the weather was good.

As I arrived at the Oval tube station I could feel something. There was loud drumming and thousands of colourful people, placards everywhere quite incredible. Almost a carnival feel to the whole proceedings.

I bought a copy of Class War from one of the anarchists. I suppose I lost patience with these anarchists long ago due to their celebration of violence against the police. In the poll tax special they were celebrating the injuries inflicted on the police to date. It was pretty revolting, what I do like about them however is there(sic) sense of humour. They were marching beneath their usual black flag, but in smart lettering this time it had “Freemasons against the Poll Tax”. It sums up there (sic) sense of humour.

The march was huge and friendly until we reached Parliament. Then the police appeared to be trying a policy of divide and conquer. I was in the middle and began snapping (photographing). Things got progressively worse as police charged with horses and riot squads arrived. I think what struck me was the setting “Parliament Street” and the entrance to “Downing Street”. We swarmed over dignified buildings, debris everywhere police trying to regain control. Tony Benn giving an interview in the middle. I was photographing events but must confess shaking so I suspect I got very little.

We were later moved onto the other flashpoint which was Northumberland Avenue just off Trafalgar Square. What struck me here was the noise, there was drumming and people banging whatever they could it heightened the atmosphere. A large building next to me was set alight. The police were at both ends and it began to look a bit tricky. It was one of those days when it wouldn’t have been too difficult to be arrested.

I departed around 6.00pm I could see there was going to be more trouble. I felt quite as I think many others did. I think in this sort of battle I am not sure what would have been success. But whatever it was we didn’t achieve it.

I left and returned on the train it felt so unreal. Posh people talking trivia, they talked as if nothing had happened. A few minutes earlier I had been in a “riot” but on the train everything was calm. The status quo I suppose, I wound a “police do not cross” tape up which I picked up as souvenir.

I videoed the news tonight on both channels, it was history and I had been part of that history. The riots had got worse and spilled over Central London 50 to 60 police injured and 300 arrested at the last count.

It appears that the anarchists were to blame. The TV news showed it from their perspective, but it made me realize how little you can see whilst in the middle of it. The news showed a woman being trampled with a police horse charge. I saw bloodied heads. The blame is being apportioned, I would like to blame the police but on the whole they were good humoured.

I don’t think they would let a second march happen again, I don’t think I would go a second time but I am glad I went time (sic).

Sunday, April 1st 1990

I’ve thought a lot today about yesterday’s trouble although it is difficult to reach any firm conclusions. I went walking in some newly discovered woods between Hailsham and Polegate. The weather was great and the woods were fascinating. Tonight I feel real weary, it is not the way to start another week.

Tuesday, April 10th 1990

… general journalling … Jane the temporary secretary wound me up today offering some sort of poll tax rebate. It all seemed to be stupid. Today, I received some useful information about resisting the poll tax and I today made up my mind not to pay for definite, although I accept they will take the money from my salary.

Concluding Reflections

Despite Labour Party’s opposition to demonstrating, the Poll Tax was abandoned in favour of a fairer form of Council Tax, which acknowledged property values and the ability to pay. Margaret Thatcher departed from her role as Prime Minister. I believe (correctly or incorrectly) that bottom-up political dissent was the main reason the Poll Tax was abandoned and for the departure of a divisive Prime Minister.

In 1990, I believed the Poll Tax was an evil, self-serving piece of ideology, and I believe that today. I am glad I participated in the demonstration. You had to be there to make a difference. If the Poll Tax were proposed today, I would march again.

My sadness was that I attended many of these demonstrations on my own. Ironically, an individual engaged in collective action. Journals were my significant other for many years. In reading the journal entry for this post, it was a profound shock to read myself, thirty-five years younger, speaking through the Patient Compliance journal entry. As that song lyric goes, the ghost of a memory. I would happily trade the wise cynicism of today for the naïve optimism of yesterday!
Pay no Poll Tax 31 March 1990
March 6, 2025
Psychogeography: What a long, strange trip it has been
Introduction

The subtitle mischievously implies a knowledgeable psychogeographer reflecting on his work. This is not the case; all I know is that I know nothing. I had been peripherally aware of psychogeography for about a decade; the concept appeared pretentious and excessively bloated with philosophical posturing. Everything changed in that weird liminal space between Christmas and New Year 2024. Disparate interests that psychogeography embraces magically coalesced. I do not understand the alchemy that transformed my scepticism into fascination. Now, psychogeography frames my sense-making and inspires my writing.

There is a high literary wall surrounding psychogeography. Pity the limitations of those who haven’t read Debord, Benjamin, et al.

Thankfully, benevolent intellectuals kindly espouse radical change on behalf of the less knowledgeable. It all smells a bit like the intellectualism characterising contemporary universities. My list of references was always bigger and more critical than yours. Once upon a time, I would have excitedly applied for my library card only to lose myself in the contested terrain of psychogeography literature. Today, pragmatically, I have neither the time (lifespan) nor the intellectual insecurity to embark on a psychogeography literature field trip.

The single amulet I chose to take on my journey was Merlin Coverley’s Psychogeography. There were other potential books. When I read his book, the psychogeography magic felt right. I have spent too long searching for life in literature; today, belatedly, I choose life. Coverley’s informative overview features in the inspirations below, but first, I must clarify my favoured meaning of psychogeography.

The study of the specific effects of the geographical environment, consciously and unconsciously or not, on the emotions and behaviour of individuals. (Coverley, 2018:120).

This is taken from an Internationale Situationniste glossary. Now, there is a name drop for you. This definition captures the central interface between geography and psychology, not limited to urban cityscapes. The reference to emotions speaks to the importance of lived experience and reflexivity. Greater acknowledgement of history informing physical and human geography would be good, but I take that as embedded in this favoured definition. Also, an openness to occult strangeness is integral to psychogeography.

I could happily drift through the next few thousand words discussing and contrasting definitions. Today, however, impatient and purposeful, rather than a discipline, psychogeography inspires.

The pleasing vagueness of psychogeography

Coverley (2018) warns about the pleasing vagueness of psychogeography and the peril that we are all psychogeographers now. He critically concludes that perhaps too much has been written about psychogeography. Is this a call to subvert an orthodoxy that scholarly gatekeepers pejoratively maintain?

In academia, I encountered a definitional critique about a word that means everything to everybody but suddenly means nothing to nobody. Yes, if the goal is to advance the objective study of psychogeography, then definitional critiques are an academic best practice. However, life is not purely an academic exercise.

The deep-rooted willingness inherent within psychogeography to embrace subjective vagueness is an inspiration, not a shortcoming. Coverley (2018:27) cites Debord’s frustration: “the subjective realm of human emotion remained stubbornly resistant to the objective mechanisms he chose to employ”. Similarly, explaining Blake’s contribution, he notes “… the precedence given to the subjective and the anti-rational over more systematic modes of thought” (2018:43). I appreciate that systematic, rational and objective psychogeographic studies serve performative academic agendas. However, occult strangeness isn’t objective, and it isn’t rational. I am inspired to go on very different psychogeography field trips.

As a child, I wanted to look at nature; today, I want to do psychogeography

As a six-year-old, adults asked me what job I wanted to do when I grew up. The expectation was an exciting and purposeful job such as a racing car driver, fireman or astronaut. My Mum told me my verbatim answer was always “I want to look at nature”. Frustrated adults then tried to turn this foggy and passive notion into remunerative labour, missing the subtlety of my muse. I did plenty of remunerative labour between then and now, but my childhood ambition was sound. Today, I garden and ramble, but most importantly, I look at nature. Psychogeography inspires us to look at nature beyond the exclusively visual.

Psychogeography and imaginary voyages into isolation

Coverley (2018) discusses Robinson Crusoe, highlighting the twin motifs of Defoe’s novel: an imaginary voyage and isolation. As part of a mass thought experiment in the late sixties, youngsters were exposed to multiple repeats of a black-and-white adaptation of Robinson Crusoe throughout their summer holidays. Crude dubbing into English only added to the otherworldliness of this grainy European production. The accompanying orchestral music was wonderfully drenched in frustration and melancholy. Robinson roamed about a little island with very little happening. As children, we joined him in our imaginations, and his isolation was our isolation, over and over again. Psychogeography frames understanding imaginary voyages into isolation.

Psychogeography and the seduction of existential novels

A little older, now a lonely teenager, existential novels offered life meaning. Hesse, Dostoyevsky, Camus and Kerouac spoke loudly from different geographies and times. I anticipated existential literature featuring more prominently in Coverley’s (2018) overview, although, in mitigation, it was an introduction.

Sal Paradise and his companions aimlessly drift across America in On the Road, hitching rides on random goods trains. In this novel and others, Kerouac catalogued the changing landscapes and emotions that Sal encountered. The magical hallucinatory experiences achieved through drink and drugs, which accompanied these journeys, finally swallowed up Kerouac’s life. Another way psychogeography frames the understanding of increasingly painful imaginary voyages into isolation.

Psychogeography, subversion and suburbia

Today, I happily live in a small suburb (Saltdean) a few miles outside Brighton. Unlike the city, you can still walk along the pavements, and people are neither rushing nor scrolling while walking. Coverley’s (2018:148) citation of Ballard had particular meaning: “In the suburbs you find uncentred lives … So that people have more freedom to explore their own imaginations, their own obsessions.”

In front of my home, the sea and behind my home, the South Downs, I reside in the space in between. I have an Easter Island (Moai) figure in my garden. One day, Moai and I decided to go on a subversive little trip together. Moai posed whilst looking out over the English Channel. Far removed and out of context from Easter Island (see here). In later life, I randomly enjoy roaming the countryside on my doorstep. Saltdean hinterland now speaks to me, and I have the time and inclination to listen.

Known pasts, rather than unknown futures

For three decades, I studied organizational change academic theories and practices. The focus was on managing from a known present to an unknown future. We rarely acknowledge that an unknown metaphysical future was exciting and problematic for theory and practice. Consequently, theory and practice worked with an implicit assumption about a known future. Psychogeography appears to reverse the known future logic.

Psychogeography looks towards physical and emotional landscapes and magic to engage with competing explanations of known geographies. Art and inspiration are embedded in different ways of viewing known landscapes. Today, I find competing and contested accounts of the past more meaningful than assertive future prophesies.

I like the musty smell of psychogeography in the morning

A landscape without history is merely a view.

Coverley (2018) invokes Baudelaire as a man not so much of his time as a man out of time. My interest in history noticeably increased in my early sixties. The sad epiphany was that I have far more history than future to reflect upon. History has more meaning than the future offers reassurance.

The season for my psychogeography studies is autumn. I stroll purposefully in the woods with the decaying leaf mould beneath my feet, holding the hand of someone I never quite got together with. There is a slight smell of dampness in my home before the central heating is turned on for winter. Increasingly, I crave the spring seasonal resuscitation, hoping it will not be the last one.

We all eventually return to nature, woodlanddecay.com and psychogeography

I began writing woodlanddecay.com posts back in 2011 with neither plans nor ambitions. Best practice prescribed having a unifying theme. However, I was more interested in writing whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted. Even the woodlanddecay title wasn’t that sexy. However, it became more applicable as my decay became more imminent.

An interesting academic exercise is to ask, does the theory fit the practice, or does the practice fit the theory? In my case, it is both. Psychogeography concepts, theories and practices could be applied to some of the posts on this site, whereas other posts have nothing to do with psychogeography. As I return to looking at nature, I detect an unintended emotional undercurrent in my writing. This is most explicit in posts about music and adventuring in nature. A Place to Rest on Iford Hill, is illustrative.

The post features a short ongoing account of a memorial bench high on the South Downs. Over three decades, this bench has slowly decayed. Nature reclaims the bench as the memories of the deceased fade. In parallel with the decay of the bench, I appreciate that I am in the process of my final return to nature. I wrote about this bench before I had read or heard about Martin Coverley’s (2018) book. In retrospect, I believe my practice fits his theory. Reading his book now inspires me to go beyond describing the natural world and engage with such landscapes more deeply. Today, psychogeography offers a theme for my rambling posts on this site.

Psychogeography as an antidote to aphantasia

Approximately 2% of the population does not have visual imagination. Thankfully, we have a label to unify and reassure us: “aphantasia”. As a small child, I was at the other end of this spectrum, having imaginary friends for company. In my teens, I could conjure the fantasies teenagers conjure up, but by my late twenties/early thirties, my visual imagination began to depart. A treasured long-time companion (visual imagination) has gone forever.

More positively, my imagination is strong, there is just nothing showing on the internal movie screen. For example, I imagine changes to my garden conceptually rather than visually as I play with my back garden topography. I only see the garden when I have invested the physical time and labour, working from a conceptual mental map rather than a visually descriptive image. Psychogeography nudges us out of the realms of landscapes as literal paintings and into the realms of a more multi-sensory experience.

Psychogeography is ok with magical thinking

On leaving academia in 2019, I enthusiastically reoriented my non-fiction reading focus towards books on esoteric, occult and mystical practices. In hindsight, I gave two fingers to the more rational and theoretical literature, which defined most of my working life. More positively and proactively, I read the literature I’d always wanted to read.

The Book of English Magic, Magic: An Occult Primer and The Master and his Emissary were particularly enjoyable in different ways. The commonality was their respect for magical thinking, the unconscious and the importance of intent. It is symptomatic of scientific/intellectual arrogance today that anything strange or unusual is disparaged as “magical thinking”. We used to be fascinated by and respectful of the strange and unusual, particularly in the natural world. Psychogeography consciously embraces and engages with magical thinking today and celebrates the magical thinking of yesterday.

Psychogeography and journeying to other worlds

Coverley’s (2018:93) discussion of Breton’s concept of deambulation intrigued me: “… a medium through which to enter into contact with the unconscious part of the territory.” Accessing this unconscious territory means everything to me. However, it is neither as well signposted nor as unambiguous as conscious territory. What I liked most about Martin Coverley’s book was his encouragement to visit the unconscious part of the territory. I had begun to do this intuitively, but his vivid illustrations of how respected authors visited and mapped unconscious territories were informative.

As part of my mystical literature review (see previous section), I delved deeper into shamanism in different parts of the world. The Hawaiian Huna practices made the most sense in my quest. I have been fascinated by shamanism for decades. Shamans are my archetypal psychogeographers in their ability to combine nature, emotions and magic. This is most impressive given that they haven’t read Debord, Benjamin et al.

I was fortunate to attend a series of Saturday Schools facilitated by two wonderful local shamanic practitioners, Susan Greenwood and Brian Bates. As students, we sat in a circle, and Susan asked us to imagine a place in nature. I imagined the undercliff walk on the seafront near Brighton at the bottom of the chalk cliffs. As we began, the sea was calm, a beautiful warm day in summer. Susan changed the beat of her shamanic drumming, and the water became blood-red and turbulent. The landscape in front of me had changed dramatically and emotionally.

On another occasion, after an intense and informative Saturday School, I was lying on my bed, tired but awake. I became a salmon swimming through the forest. I became the landscape, exploring this territory from a completely different perspective. If I could repeat a single journey from my lifetime, it would be that salmon’s eye perspective of the forest. Sadly, the aphantasia shutters came down (see earlier entry), and such visual journeys are now out of reach. Psychogeography feels like my best chance of journeying into other unconscious worlds.

This year, I will be mostly tripping through landscapes, emotions and imaginations

Books teach us to imagine other worlds, empathise with characters’ struggles and process complex emotions. Source: Stefano Hatfield, i Newspaper 30/12/24 (Page 24)

Hatfield wasn’t focused on psychogeography in this article, but by association, writing involves imagining other worlds, empathising with characters’ struggles and processing complex emotions. In 2025, I hope to write further woodlanddecay.com posts. The following is a fluid and flexible agenda; after all, the only authority is myself, but provisionally:
Today, I enjoy imagining, empathising with and processing the strange trip that is everyday life. I make no claims to be a flaneur, to know any of the poems of Baudelaire or to have ever been to Paris. However, something within psychogeography excites and gives purpose to my tripping. I was surprised by how much I enjoyed reading Psychogeography by Martin Coverley (2018). His concise book located a portal into another world. The philosophy bouncers will never let me into Strollers – the psychogeography night club – but at least now I know where they meet and the way in.

Connections

I have embedded book links into the text. On this post, comments are open, alternatively, I respond promptly to constructive feedback via the Contact page.
Psychogeography What a long strange trip it has been
March 6, 2025