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| Camel |
Public art comes in many forms and evokes a range of responses. Sometimes it is instantly universally loved and celebrated; sometimes it is initially derided but regarded with increasing affection as it becomes a familiar part of the landscape; and sometimes it is considered a boil on the bum of the community from the outset, an opinion which never wavers.
A further category consists of stuff some like and some don’t, and a recent addition to the public art of the nation falls into this category. The sculptures dotted around the joint villages of Impington and Histon, on the northern periphery of Cambridge, have divided opinion since they were erected on their current sites in recent months: that is, I think they are terrible, and everyone else thinks they are wonderful – or if they share my minority opinion, they are keeping shtum.
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| Man and Dog |
These structures were the handiwork of a local resident, Tony Hillier (1942-2014). A prodigious welder of bits of metal, his kitsch confections were once a landmark occupying the whole of his front garden facing onto the B1049 running from Histon to Cottenham. The accumulation was dispersed after his death (doubtless significantly increasing the value of his neighbours’ properties) and a number of them were donated to the community, with others foisted on villages across Cambridgeshire. There they sit, gently weathering.
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| Sewing (Andy Capp) |
I have been round to see the local ones
and taken their photographs so that I have a record after they have been
removed, or in case they are vandalised in the meantime. They are:
‘Camel’: Junction of the B1049 and
Cambridge Road
‘Man and Dog’: Homefield Park
‘Sewing (Andy Capp)’: Clay Close Lane Pocket
Park
‘Spider’: In a tree on the green by the
bridge over the brook
‘Truffle the Pig’: Community orchard
‘Grandfather, Grandson and Dog’: Junction
of the B1049 and Cottenham Road
‘Dog’ and ‘Horse’ remain in the front
garden of Hillier’s house on the B1049
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| Spider |
By far the largest is the camel, and it is huge. It now stands at the entrance to Impington, in distractingly full view of drivers coming from Cambridge and the A14. With its long eyelashes and come-hither attitude, it looks rather camp. The pig is called Truffle, so we almost share a name. He stands appropriately in the community orchard. Hillier obviously liked dogs, which appear several times in these works. Andy Capp looks so unlike the original there is little risk of being sued by Reg Smythe’s estate.
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| Truffle the Pig |
Size does these objects no favours, and there is a correlation between dimensions (and therefore impact) and degree of charm. Thus the camel is hideous and the humans grotesque, while the smaller, garden-scale, animals are more attractive. The spider hiding in a tree – so discreetly I had to ask a nearby resident where it was – is actually quite engaging. Such quirky pieces are best appreciated, or ignored if that is the choice, when not imposed on the environment. At least most of them are tucked away in quiet spots, though even then anyone wishing to enjoy some peace in a bucolic bolthole might not relish the junkyard ambience.
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| Grandfather Grandson and Dog |
Children are being encouraged to colour Hillier’s ironmongery in chalk, making them look even scruffier. I can’t help finding this activity alarming, and hope that the children who are allowed to approach close enough to scrawl on them do not cut themselves, because a tetanus shot is a high price to pay for the dubious pleasure of colouring a metal pig’s ear a pastel green. The camel has a sign asking people not to climb on it but it is hard to imagine anyone being stupid enough to want to do so.
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| Horse |
Presumably these blots on the landscape will gradually decay and, with no money for maintenance I have heard about, they will eventually become dangerous structures that will have hazard tape put round them for a few weeks in a feeble attempt to stop the foolish from gashing themselves and getting sepsis, before they are carted away for the scrap they always were. But even when they are no more the photographs will remain, and here is a record of these bizarre constructions.
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| Dog |
The jelly moulds
But never fear! Once Hillier’s horrors have been reclassified as dangerous structures and removed, we will still have the jelly moulds. Yes, jelly moulds, or rather sculptures of moulds. Public art is endless in its variety. Made by King’s Lynn-based artist Charlotte Howarth, these were erected last year to celebrate Chivers, once a major employer, and still a presence, in the area.
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| Doctor's Close moulds |
There are six in total, in two groups of three placed at either end of Impington and Histon (those in the Doctor’s Close Pocket Park are carved in stone, while those in The Coppice are cast in bronze apparently, though the uninitiated would be hard-pressed to tell). One set is close to where I live, placed among some trees where orchids have been found in the past, and I am fortunate to be able to see the trio every day.
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| The Coppice moulds |
Unlike Hillier’s efforts they blend into
the landscape to an extent because they are much more wooden plinth than
sculpture, the hard little objects perched on top. Already, after only a few months in situ, they are looking damp and
dingy, the antithesis of jelly with its lurid colours and associations with
fun. The Chivers brand is now owned by
an Irish company and the Histon factory by an American company, making the
jelly mould sculptures simultaneously an elegant metaphor for hard predatory
capitalism and Britain’s current wobbly place in the world.
