The slow time of stones
“Out here, it’s elemental, it feels good to be in the elements, and to work with others. I mean, it doesn’t matter what advances we make in technology or AI: this is invaluable to the human experience.”
Dartmoor Walling, with Martin Stallard
The temperature is dropping as the day draws to a close. We’re out on the moor, above Cadover Bridge, high enough to have a sweeping view over the land falling away towards Plymouth Sound. Some ponies approach us, curious perhaps, then nudge one another, buck and roll playfully, before cantering off. We’re left alone with the cool wind as the sky shifts from blue to apricot, and we turn our attention to the drystone walls that enclose a few fields, or newtakes, on the edge of the common. The walls have been here for centuries.
We are here with drystone waller Martin Stallard. Although Martin grew up in north Yorkshire and learned skills from wallers in Cumbria and Yorkshire, he has been in Devon for more than a decade now. He looks towards the coast and says, ‘I hadn’t thought that when I brought you here, we’d be looking down over the Plym Valley. That’s where my dad's family is from, you know. That’s quite something, I’ve got a strong connection to this place.’
Much of Martin’s work comes from repairing walls that have been knocked by livestock or have succumbed to the forces of the weather and time. Martin also works with hedges, banks and other boundaries, and teaches walling skills: he has been running two-day training events through the Our Upland Commons project, in connection with the Dartmoor Hill Farm Project.
“I’ve gained a deeper appreciation of different areas of Dartmoor, and the farmers - and just how hard it is for them. ”
‘I like getting to know different people and teaching them a skill; and then them getting to know each other and having an experience and going away with that.’ Working with walls is also fundamental to Martin’s sense of place. ‘I've gained a deeper appreciation of different areas of Dartmoor, and the farmers - and just how hard it is for them. You'll always hear that, but to actually meet them is different; we often get the farmer to explain how they run the farm. I find out about the triumphs and difficulties for the upland and the lowland farmers, and see the connection between the two.’ There’s an appreciation of the beauty of the place too: ‘I mean, I get to see things like this, today – it’s just golden isn’t it?.’ While Martin has been talking, the sun has been sinking, and his face is glowing. We all fall quiet, and let the light gild our faces as we squint into the sun, and smile.
The wall Martin has chosen to show us is one that he has been repairing, with help from people who’ve joined his courses. The appearance of any wall reflects the style of the region and the stones of its precise location – walls are made from the stones that are cleared from the land where they stand. ‘You build them as best you can with what you have.’
Here, the granite stones are coarse to touch and they are shot through with mica, quartz and felspar. Each large stone is a unique shape, and the stones are laid one on top of the other in a single stack. Coming from Cumbria where most stone walls are made of two stacks, joined by through-stones and with smaller ‘middling’ stones between them, I’m curious to know how this single wall can keep itself up. ‘This is what I describe as a single faced granite stone wall,’ says Martin. ‘The peculiar thing, apart from them being single faced, is they've got a vertical batter: they need to be built really long at the base, with through stones - the bigger the better. And you don't want the top stone too thin, because they'll just get knocked off - they're the first things to go if a sheep's trying to get over.’ These single-faced walls were built to enclose the relatively small Dartmoor whiteface and blackface sheep which, Martin tells us, don’t tend to be bothered about getting past boundaries. But the introduction of Scotch breeds and Swaledale sheep, which are prone to jump and seek ways out, tests the walls. ‘They often need repair.’
Enclosures, commons and walls
The fact that drystone walls last for centuries may come with the caveat that they do need repair from time to time, but their presence is part of the cultural heritage of the uplands. While walling of some kind has been done throughout history - with archaeological remains across England’s commons - some of the most active walling programmes came with the advent of the Enclosure Act in the late eighteenth century, when sections of common land were walled in. ‘Here in Dartmoor, the commons are dictated by the walls. And you’ll notice the front face of these, the vertical side, is facing outwards in common,’ Martin explains. ‘This is the best face - what you don’t want is everybody else’s animals in your land. So you don’t get to see your best handiwork from inside the field, but the wall is doing what it needs to do.’
So, first and foremost, a wall is there not for show, but for a reason. ‘The farmers up here, they're not rich people,’ says Martin, ‘and everything counts: every pound counts, how they're looking after their boundaries, and their livestock, everything really counts. They can't afford to neglect things or to do things badly.’
Aside from the primary goal of having walls that will stand firm, walling brings with it an experience which some people might describe as meditative. I ask Martin if this rings true for him. ‘Yes, it can be, especially if I'm working alone. You're making decisions all the time; what to choose and what not to choose and how to go about things - sometimes you can see a problem coming or you see certain stones and you know that they will go in certain places well, so you'll earmark them. I suppose you're trying to create a flow, so anything that disrupts that flow can be a problem. The more people around, the more difficult it can be, but if you're with like-minded people, or with people with the same skill level, then you can just get on with it because you're in the same headspace.’ As for working day after day, there are periods when it rains and rains and rains. ‘That can be difficult, even just to dry your clothes, and then to be ready for the next day. Every detail matters, you know, including who you're working with, because there's a lot to be said for having the camaraderie - that can count for a lot, especially in winter.’
Martin’s open, gentle attitude seems to suit the task, or perhaps it has been shaped by working with stones for so long. ‘One of the things I love about walling,’ he says, ‘is that the tools you need are so simple. Often they’re old tools, but they’re good ones. It's amazing what you can do with some bars, a two-billed mattock, and a bit of grunt, you know.’
“One of the things I love about walling is that the tools you need are so simple. It’s amazing what you can do with some bars, a two-billed mattock, and a bit of grunt.”
These simple tools, in the hands of a committed person, count for a lot, and have been the same for centuries. As a final question, I ask Martin whether he thinks these walls, which might have been here for 500 years, will still be here in 500 years’ time. ‘I think some will, yes.’ Martin glances out across the field as he takes a pause for thought. ‘I just think that it's so ingrained in our blood, from living on these islands - handling stone and using it, whether it's for walls or for whatever. And people love it. Whenever I'm working next to a road or a footpath, the amount of love and appreciation shown for walls is just staggering.’
Martin tells us about the enthusiasm of people who work in offices and say they’d love to come and spend time outside, walling. He tells us about one of the attendees on a course. ‘He just said: It's so nice, this is actually something real, tangible. Out here,’ continues Martin, ‘it's elemental, it feels good to be in the elements, and to work with others. I mean, doesn't matter what advances we make in technology or AI: this is invaluable to the human experience.’ There’s a connection, too, with the continuation of farming in these upland landscapes. On this note, Martin is optimistic. ‘Hopefully, I think there's enough people here who are not going to change. They're just going to keep on doing what they’re doing. I don't think that's a pigheadedness. I think it’s because there's so much value in this way of living, of living and working close with the land and with the seasons.’
“There’s so much value in this way of living: living and working close with the land and with the seasons.”