Recently, I visited two rather intriguing places – I promise that this is not going to turn into a chatty travelogue – both of which might easily be overlooked by the casual eye. The first was possibly the most unusual theme park on the planet: Singapore’s Haw Par Villa. Created by the brothers responsible for the gift of Tiger Balm to the world, this is a collection of the most astonishingly gaudy and surreal statutes seemingly thrown down higgledy-piggledy on a hill (the UK’s nearest equivalent is Blackgang Chine on the Isle of Wight, but even that is a thin analogy). The second, more familiar to British audiences, was the seafront at Clacton-On-Sea. Now, the connection between these two sites is, I freely admit, not obvious. One link is that each is in a state of fading glory – or ghastly disrepair, if you prefer. My edition of the Lonely Planet Singapore guide describes Haw Par Villa as "depressingly run down" – which, aside from the depressingly familiar insertion of ‘depressingly’ in front of the phrase ‘run down’, is a fair enough description. Something very similar could doubtless be said of Clacton’s pier and promenade: although visiting it on a viciously cold March day probably didn’t help much.

I didn’t, however, find these places depressing. I thought them fascinating, beautiful even. For shabby and unrestored areas offer to the historian a quite unique glimpse into the past. Let me explain: both Clacton and Haw Par Villa are examples of the development of a modern leisure industry in the early twentieth century, albeit in wildly different parts of the globe. The one is typical of the seaside towns created by the expansion of British working class leisure time and holidays in the handful of decades either side of Queen Victoria’s death – the inter-war entrance to its pier, with its sly little Deco windows, is testament to that. The other, meanwhile, is really not typical of anything at all, but was nonetheless enormously popular when it opened in the 1930s and much of its subject matter (which includes vast concrete tableaux of Buddhist legends and morality tales) is of intrinsic interest to anyone wishing to see how Chinese culture has been transmitted around the world by its nationals.

And it is precisely its decayed state that makes each so valuable for historians. Buildings are no less informative than textual sources in the study of history (it depends on what you want to know!) and can similarly be analysed by historians’ techniques. So these would be, of course, primary sources no matter what condition they were in. Because they are largely unrenovated, though, then with a little imagination and background knowledge we can gain a more genuine idea of what such places were like in their heyday. We can gauge the types of amusements that drew masses of working people from East London to the Essex coast to take their holidays in the middle years of the twentieth century. Or we can imagine the influence of Chinese cultural values on Haw Par Villa’s visitors juxtaposed with those of the ruling British imperial élite in the years before World War Two. Renovation and even restoration – if not done with extreme care – can add often impenetrable layers of extra meaning to properties. It was invigorating, therefore, to see things that are much closer to raw history.

Such faded marvels also allow the historian to pose questions about changes in fashion and practice in the years since they were first constructed. I found myself reflecting on why these places had avoided the ubiquitous momentum of modernisation. In Clacton, I saw practical manifestation of the annual seaside holiday’s decline in Britain: but what had replaced it? And why was our cab driver so surprised when we told him that we were going to Haw Par Villa?

I should, nonetheless, finish on a note of caution – because historical interpretation is rarely easy (that’s what keeps historians in their jobs). Although Haw Par Villa and Clacton’s waterfront both have many things to tell us about the times at which they were built, and though they come quite close to the concrete, unrefined form of the past, neither has been left entirely untouched since the 1930s. Things will have been damaged, moved, re-painted. The odd nod to a new fad will have been added here and there. In the case of Clacton, indeed, it is very much the case that more contemporary advertisements, slogans, and diversions co-exist with far older ones. Even these examples, wonderful though they are, are not preserved in aspic. They require filleting before we can make sound historical judgements on them: but at least these run down, untouched, decayed spectacles can give historians a decent head start.

Taking it further

If the above blog has intrigued you, you may also find the following resources from the Open University to be of interest:

High Street History
Explore the hidden corners of your high street and see how history is buried in the everyday environment with our interactive high street history feature.

Heritage, whose heritage?
Who decides what should be preserved from the past as our heritage? Who is this heritage for and how should it be presented and explained? How can I engage actively with my heritage and have an impact on it? This course endeavours to answer these questions and to engage with current debates on the preservation of the past.

Cities and technology: from Babylon to Singapore
This very wide-ranging course uncovers the interactions between technological development and the growth of urban living from the ancient world through to the present day. It scrutinizes in detail the applications of major technologies – in particular building construction, transport systems, energy sources, and communications. It is designed to develop critical skills such as comparative analysis and the use of historical models of urban development.

About the author

Dr Stuart Mitchell has spent fifteen years teaching history in higher education - the last thirteen of which have been with the Open University, amongst other institutions. Currently, he's a tutor on Exploring History: Medieval to Modern (A200) and Total War and Social Change (AA312). He also serves as the university's academic consultant on the BBC television programme, Timewatch. His first book, The Brief and Turbulent Life of Modernising Conservatism, was published in 2006.

“Why is this night different from all other nights? On all other nights we eat either leavened or unleavened bread. Why on this night, do we eat only unleavened bread?....”

For millions of Jews this coming weekend, this question will open their celebration of Passover. Whether they are carefully observant or largely secular, most Jews have some memories of celebrating the festival when they were children (asking the series of questions that begin proceedings is traditionally an honour given to the youngest person present) and continue to mark the occasion in some way or other as adults.

In many respects, the festival epitomises modern Jewish religious practice. On the one hand, the evening follows a familiar rhythm as the haggadah, the book that sets out the traditional order of the seder or ritual meal, is worked through. In different settings around the world, Jews re-live the experience of the biblical children of Israel, who were ‘passed over’ and spared the plague of the killing of the first-born, and then led in the exodus to freedom and the Promised Land.

On the other hand, no two sedarim are alike. Particularly amongst non-Orthodox Jews, practice constantly changes to reflect new understandings of the traditional Passover themes of bondage and liberation. In Israel, there are special haggadot for the armed forces. Jewish feminist celebrations give special emphasis to the history of women’s oppression and empowerment. And some people now broaden the meaning of Passover still further, by including readings, or inviting guests from a range of religious and cultural backgrounds.

Some years ago, I found myself at a seder in Ohio, with two atheists (one Jewish, the other not) a Christian and two Muslims! In recent times, campaigns have aimed to encourage Passover reflection on Darfur. This year, the spotlight is on the plight of Tibetans whose persecution and exile is felt by some to echo Jewish experiences in the past. Jews are being encouraged to place an unlit candle on their seder table, as a reminder of the 'light' that is being extinguished in Tibet, or to display an empty photo frame, in recognition of the Chinese government's attempts to ban images of the Dalai Lama.

Passover, then, is a dynamic blend of tradition and innovation. It collapses the distance between past and present, and for these reasons, it is likely to remain the most widely celebrated and well-loved of Jewish festivals.

Taking it further

Passover on bbc.co.uk/religion

Tibet takes its place at the Seder table from The Jewish Week

Judaism is one of the traditions covered in Open University course Introducing Religions

On April 10 1949 the Cambridge–trained Indian palaeobotanist Birbal Sahni died after a massive heart attack. His death at the early age of 57 came only days after the then Indian Prime Minister Pandit Jawaharlal Nehru had laid the foundation stone of what was later to become known as the Birbal Sahni Institute of Palaeobotany. Each year, on the anniversary of Birbal Sahni’s death, wreaths are laid at the spot in the grounds of the Institute where he was cremated in accordance with Hindu custom. This year I was privileged to take part in this event that was preceded by an ancient ceremony of prayers and purification.

I did not know quite what to expect when I arrived in the main entrance foyer of the Institute because laid out on the floor beneath the soaring curved staircase were mattresses covered in white sheets surrounding a temporary hearth that had been constructed the previous day. Sitting on the sheets, cross-legged were the staff of BSIP and directly next to the hearth were the BSIP Director, his wife, and a Brahmin priest.

The ceremony began with the priest chanting ancient shlokas, rhythmic poetic prayers, in Vedic Sanskrit.  Sanskrit is the oldest continuously spoken language in the world and as early as 1500 BC its structure, as preserved in the oldest Hindu texts known as the Vedas, is so refined that it clearly has a common older source. Sanskrit is the basis of religious texts in Hinduism, Buddhism, Jainism and Sikhism. It is the oldest known member of the Indo-European family of languages.

As the prayers proceeded and incense sticks were ignited, offerings of rose petals, ghee, sugar solution, and rice were prepared. Then small dry branches of mango wood were arranged within the hearth and set alight. As the smoke rose throughout the building and the prayers continued, we all added the offerings of herbs and other aromatic elements to the fire. I have no knowledge of Sanskrit but I can say that the rhythmic sounds of it expertly spoken were incredibly soothing.  

Sanskrit rythmic poetic prayers and perfumed smoke permeate the BSIP building.

The prayers were ones for the general well-being, not only of the staff and the Institute, but for all humankind and our shared planet. The concept of such a ceremony is one of purification. There are sixteen such ceremonies in the life of a Hindu marking critical stages in the passage through life. What I was witnessing is the last in this succession. The sounds of the prayers and aroma of the perfumed smoke carried to all parts of the building cleansing and purifying. It was a ceremony that brought everyone together in a common purpose.

The ceremony concluded with the priest tying a length of hand-spun thread, dyed yellow with turmeric and red with turmeric mixed with lime, around our wrists, right hand wrists for the men and left hand wrists for the women. This was a symbol of our common purpose and a reminder of what we had participated in. In the past few days as I have been wearing mine, several people not connected with BSIP have asked how I came to have such a symbol. I have been pleased to explain.

About the author

Bob Spicer is Professor of Earth Sciences at the Open University. Founding Director of the OU's Centre for Earth, Planetary Space and Astronomical Research (CEPSAR) his interests are broad. However he is most at home when studying how plants can be used to tell us about ancient climates, and how that information can help us plan for managing our planet in the future.

Blogging about

Reading on Open2.net

Grab a book, write a book, rate a book, debate a book - if it's connected with reading, the place to start is Reading on Open2.

Our Book of the Month for April 2008 is Doris Lessing’s The Grass Is Singing. Here, Stephanie Forward introduces the book:

Doris Lessing was awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature in 2007, and this month on the forum we are celebrating her achievements.

Lessing was raised on her father’s farm in Southern Rhodesia. The evocative setting was to inspire her first novel, 1950’s The Grass is Singing. This title is from What the Thunder Said in The Waste Land by TS Eliot.

A white farmer, Dick Turner, is passionate about his land; however, his wife Mary is utterly fatigued and frustrated by the relentless heat and grinding poverty. Her thoughts often drift to her previous existence in town, where she enjoyed a career and an active social life.

Mary becomes increasingly discontented, particularly when she realizes that Dick is, fundamentally, incompetent. Much of her aggression is taken out on a succession of black servants, who find it impossible to satisfy her demands. Eventually she develops an obsession with a houseboy called Moses, and the reader witnesses a tragedy unfolding.

Lessing’s novel succeeds on many levels. Her writing conveys the harsh landscape and the oppressive climate. She produces penetrating portraits of the central characters, enabling us to comprehend the reasons underlying their behaviour. The complacency and cruelty of white colonial society are laid bare, as issues of racism, injustice and sexuality are explored with insight and sensitivity.

My copy of the book contains a list of Lessing’s works. These include an impressive array of novels, short stories, poetry, drama, non-fiction, autobiography and operas. She is a worthy Nobel winner!

What do you think about the book - or any of Lessing’s other work? Share your thoughts in the Book Club.