A film made during and in response to the January 2026 First Friday Walk, prompted by Lucy Guenot.
She wrote, “Let’s think about the walks and the paths and tracks that are most familiar to us: the comfort of taking a well-known route where you don’t need to think about directions or following a map.”
“Reflect also on the history of old tracks, made by centuries of walking:
"These are old paths, designed
And kept alive by feet
For whom walking was
The only way of going.
These are the treads of workers,
Plodding early with their bait
To quarries, mills, farms …"
From 'Wotton Walks’ by U A Fanthorpe."
I was booked on the train from London to Edinburgh on January 2nd, so I could not walk. Instead, I filmed the countryside, cities, and full moon through the window as we rushed past. To make the work, I slowed the footage down and juxtaposed it with the sound of me walking a familiar walk between my home and the nearby beach.
On the train, I didn’t need to think about directions or following a map, I was simply carried along. This was a ‘comfort’ of sorts, though walking is better for my hips than sitting down for long periods. I had time to think that the train tracks between Scotland and England were laid down over the same earth that drovers walked on from the Highlands to the Lowlands in the 18th and 19th centuries. These epic walks were with dogs, sheep, and ‘hardy black cattle’.
By contrast, I walked on striped LNER carpets, bumping into the seats on my way to the buffet, loo, or the end of the carriage to stretch. Standing looking out, I remembered the old school trains which had windows which opened. I used to lean out as far as I could and feel the fast air on my cheeks.
Here is the film on Vimeo. Poppies have long been seen as a symbol of sleep, peace and death, not, for me, a sign of patriotism, nor any sort of justification for war
I chose to walk on the familiar site of Granton Castle in Edinburgh, now naturalised wasteland to the sea-side of the Granton Gasholder, which you can see glimpses of in the film. I’d been researching the Rough Wooing, an attack on Scotland by Henry VIII (1543-1551). It was in retaliation for Mary Queen of Scots refusing to marry Edward and allying herself, instead, with France. The first tranche ruined this Medieval castle which stood overlooking the Firth of Forth, where the marauders landed.
The historian William Ferguson contrasted “the jocular nickname of the ‘Rough Wooing’ with the savagery and devastation of the war, “the English policy was simply to pulverise Scotland, to beat her either into acquiescence or out of existence,…”” and that reminded me of wars happening now in Palestine and the Ukraine. Luckily, I am geographically far away from them, but nevertheless I see and read about what is happening, and my heart goes out to the people for their enormous loss. I ask, What can I do?
So, I walked this familiar route with war in mind, inviting the landscape to reveal ways in which I might be able to get insight, to deepen my understanding of the outcome of such actions, and develop compassion for what it might be like to be in the middle of it.
You will see symbols of remembrance, Rowan berries like drops of blood, damaged household items strewn everywhere, indications of brutality, seemingly apt graffiti, what might be a grave and a tombstone, and stumps – trees and metal cut down in their prime. The soundtrack features the cries of a pair of unseen sparrowhawks, quaking poplars, the threatening rumble of a surveillance helicopter, the comments of magpies, and empty silences. (Please note that you may need to turn up the sound on your device.) There are trees which have been wounded including one that was burned, and I spent some time beside it drawing its poor body with some of its own charcoal.
Found saw, Granton, Edinburgh
Finally, I walked into a quiet clearing where butterflies, bees and other insects were alive. There is, as always with living entities, the instinct to continue, to keep on climbing over obstacles, even if you’re a tiny ladybird in a vast place. The natural landscape does renew itself, eventually, and although this is hard won and in no way negates the horror of human conflict, it was a hopeful reminder that these wars will end. Some people, at least, will learn from them, will understand that though they have been wronged, such aggression does not justify attrocity, nor forge positive relationships for the future or bring about the peace for which we all yearn.
For the record: I, in no way condone the attack on Be’eri, the Israeli kibbutz and the killing and capturing of civilians there by Hammas.
1 November 2024 a Walking the Land artist collective monthly event. This Friday’s brief was by Janette Kerr and me, Tamsin Grainger and part of the Lines of Enquiry, a collective walking art project which will culminate in a group exhibition in 2025.
Look for somewhere to sit, stand or crouch on your own. Pause. Close your eyes and concentrate on listening.
Try to separate out all the sounds you can hear.
Using a piece of paper and pencil, crayon or pen, and with your eyes still closed, make marks on your paper that you think might represent the sounds you are hearing (don’t try to make a picture of, or draw, the thing making the noise!)
Spend as long as you like doing this. You might stop and do it several times during the walk.
If you are walking with others, you might try this together on one piece of paper.
Here are the What3Words locations for the 6 stops we made along part of the Edinburgh Cycle Path network, connecting in spirit with others who were walking along the Honeybourne Line (Gloucestershire) and elsewhere.
///Causes.Host.Home
///Perky.Fetch.Useful
///Notice.Case.Bugs
///Linked.Tides.Eager
///Bounty.Belong.Only
///Maker.Exit.Corn
///Friday.Notice.Retail
Damp earth causes stains Tree hosts magpies and sparrows Home is far away.
Wet bottoms as we drew the sounds around us with our eyes closed Sometimes using two hands as the sound came from so many places. Photo Janette Kerr
Perky dog's tail wags 'Fetch' calls his human with joy Useful happinness.
Part of the No Birds Land sound walk installationUnder the Bridge. Edinburgh cycle paths. Photo Janette Kerr
Notice how cold stone Is, in case of chills and piles Bugs me every time.
I am pleased that my essay Squaring the Circle has been published in Caught by the River. In it I walk forageable and forbidden places near my home in Edinburgh.
It was written in response to a Walking the Land brief from David Tidsall and Andy Freeman.
This month was my idea for the Walking the Land artists collective First Friday Walk. I had been reading about ‘dynamic stillness’, a term used by geographers and complementary therapists. Also, of course, I was following the war in Ukraine.
I wrote, ‘Let us walk in solidarity with the Ukrainian people who are walking away from their homes and home country, searching, looking for another place where they can be still, to re-find themselves and safe emplacements. We will set out from a still-point (perhaps the place where we live, where we feel secure), and search for “the embeddedness of the sensing subject”.
‘We will ask, ‘Where do we feel embedded?’ ‘Where can we find a moving or still emplacement in the walk, or in the place through, or to which, we are walking?’
Some of us walked alone and others in a group, and we were spread all over the UK.
Emplacement 1
At home
I sit in the sun and listen to the quiet, then a bee sounds by my ear and some birds chorus. When I stay myself some more, I hear the distant waves, and the odd car – one rattles, needs something doing to it. The tree has got my back. Do I feel safe here? Yes, mostly. This place is known, I’m within the boundaries of my garden, inside the gate. Gulls screech. I am grounded with my feet flat on the stones. Below them is the earth – I know that because there is a solitary primrose which has grown up through them. My sitting bones still hurt though.
On the wooden bench beside the Wheatley Elm tree
Sketching, I have a metallic taste in my mouth and frustration in my wrist as I try a third time to get the angles right. I am attempting to draw the smell of the dead brown Xmas tree which I keep meaning to take to the dump.
Dandelion heads like a bicycle wheels still spinning
1.05pm I begin my walk and am immediately struck by the fact that I am choosing to leave my home and the people of Ukraine have no choice. Yet, the dandelions are so cheery
Ominous skies and a horizontal rainbow – portents
As I walked, I thought about a story I watched last night on the Channel 4 news. A Ukrainian woman was knocked unconscious and trapped. When she came round, she dug out her husband and friend and they escaped from the bombed theatre in Mariupol. Hundreds were not so lucky. She said she felt no emotions, had no feelings. This, I know from my work, is a sign of trauma.
Doomed
In Edinburgh, I heard a woman speak on her phone as she passed me: “No time to think about such frivolous things”, she said. A child’s swing in a nearby garden squeaked as it swung.
There are no queues at the bus stop
Fallen blossom petals are strewn on the pavement. I hear a dog walker saying, “All present and correct. Have a nice day” as she leaves the park.
As I passed someone else walking her dogs, and this man repairing his boundary, I wondered if the people I am walking with in spirit had to leave their pets behind, and how long it would take them to repair their broken walls if they ever get home again
Gated for security. Will it keep out the invading forces? Protect the inhabitants from bombs?
Text 1 comes in from Richard Keating, my counterpart in Gloucestershire: “I’ve just walked a few miles from home, crossing the Nailsworth Valley and am now looking west towards May Hill. I have lived on this side of the valley for 25 years so feel very much at home here. … However the wind is cold and I’ll be glad when the pub opens its doors. Imagine how a refugee would feel as a door is opened for them. As a home is shared.”
Abandoned tank . Devastation . Clearing up the rubble
The mother said, “Grandma gave her toys to me” and her little son replied, “Do you ever see her?” And then I am aware of the importance of familial relationships, of the personal artefacts passed down, of interrupted generations and houses and possessions all lost.
Impaled
On the pavement, I am treated with courtesy and kindness as a man, wordlessly, stands aside so I can pass, and smiles.
I heard that some Ukranian people who were only able to go to Russia, have been interned. It’s beyond my comprehension
I hear the father say “Oh you want to touch that” and he lifts the back wheels of the buggy up so that the little one can stroke the leaves of the hedge.
Emplacement 2
I am wedged between two upright logs, one on either side, and there is a solid one underneath me. I teeter – I am not as safe as I might be. I can’t see behind and would therefore only know if someone was coming if I heard them. There’s a lot of noise coming from all over the place, from different directions so I can’t distinguish if one of them is someone approaching me or not. I can reassure myself, though, because there’s not a war raging here in Scotland.
I hold on and stretch back, the sun is warm. I hear a foot meeting a ball and it clatters against the goal posts. Her heeled footsteps pace beyond the hedge. A dog barks. Distant voices, nearby cars. Smooth wood under my palms, a taste of…of…cucumber… and cedar. Is that a taste or a smell? There is a breeze. Cold at my nostrils, of air, perhaps exhaust fumes, a hint of the warm wood. I have been worried that I’m losing my sense of smell, but maybe it’s OK.
Emplacement 3
I receive a second message from Richard: “We’ve made our first stillness and are moving on. Your script has been well used.”
Warmer, wider and flatter under my bottom, I have lots of space on this tree stump. My lower back tilts which relieves the pain. I am facing north now, but I have the same awareness of people perhaps coming from behind. Cars wheel beyond the hedge which doesn’t seem dangerous because, to my knowledge, one has never driven through it into the park. Then I realise danger can come from above and see that the tree top obviously fell down, though presumably in the recent storm and not on a day like this…
Blasted tree
I can smell the sun on my skin and when I touch it, it is warm. I put my warm hand to my cold nose. The wind is coming towards me here bringing…. what? Ice from the Arctic? Again, my feet are off the ground and it strikes me that this is less safe as it would take me longer to put them down and run away. Footsteps behind me; I know they are male. They come up, go past, without stopping. The taste (yawn) is of old apple. Mhmm. And some metal.
Moving on, I thank the man who has painted the pavilion a gleaming privet-green. He’s busy clearing a thin layer of turf from around the perimeter. We chat about the public toilets they installed late in lockdown and then took away again because someone had to watch them all the time due to the vandalism. He said that there is already “a Ladies and Gentleman’s Cloakroom” in the building, so all they needed to do was to make it accessible for people with disabilities and then there would be a permanent facility. I said, no-one ever asks the people on the ground who know.
A spent shell?
Emplacement 4
I am amongst insistent birds, beside the ever-running Water of Leith, on a hard log. The brambles are intrusive. Or maybe I am. I smell humus and rotting plants, someone smoking weed. I taste coffee (a mid walk treat), and there’s the touch of cool, smooth, dry bark on this knarled trunk.
People walk right past but don’t see me – I’m by the Rocheid Path but off the beaten track. The car sound pollution is distant. The rambling couples always come back in the other direction after a few minutes because it’s a dead end.
I try to sketch the detail of the log
I wonder, will Putin withdraw, or are they just regrouping for a heavier bombardment? It sounds like he’s out of rubles but… . I am obviously carrying the story with me as I walk, snippets of it anyway.
Tickling leaves at my neck, ants (maybe) under my thigh.
I see drops of ‘blood’ everywhere
My scarf is getting ruined, snagging on the thorns – as if that’s a big deal, in the circumstances. When I try to wind it around my neck again later, I am scratched because portions of blackberry branches are still stuck in it. Invisibly.
I ask myself, how can I maintain awareness of these horrifying occurrences and still live comfortably here, and Richard suggests that we could focus on better understanding “this connectivity between us all”, and I know that this is what these walks are about. I’ll share the walk, invite a response, and celebrate others’.
At 15.35 I am tired and I wonder if the Gloucester lot are having tea. I try to imagine where they are and what they are doing, without the aid of a newsflash or twitter feed.
I start on my return home with the scent of wild garlic in my nostrils.
ShatteredDouble gravesTrappedImpaledClinging on
I pick off an individual leaf of lavender and squeeze it between thumb and finger tip. I inhale for the pleasure and calm.
Sending our best wishes to the people of Ukraine, that they might find safe and still places to become embedded once more
Finding Refuge, Looking for Shelter by Lucy Guenot
In Walking the Land, we connect with each other via computers and phones. You can imagine these ‘meetings’ as emplacements, still places in which we innovate, stabilise and share our ideas. Then, see how we move out into the landscape on our walks, dynamically. If we stay in touch with each other as we walk, using What’sApp maybe, or even tweeting with a hashtag #, we remain in contact via a collective still-point while we move at the same time. If we post on social media after the walk, representing the body movement in ‘stills’ and fixed words, there is a further version of this ‘dynamic stillness’.
If you have work to share in response to this walking prompt, please send it to tamsinlgrainger@gmail.com
Walking without a donkey 