This is the fourth in a series of posts investigating the close-season soundscape of football pitches on the route between Brightwell-cum-Sotwell and Winslow. There are more details of the project here.
I just don’t like people standing around doing things like that actually
10th July 201710.43 : Warborough village green
1.Jet engines above; distant vibration; frequencies phasing in a slow motion Doppler effect; a fierce babble of birdsong from the hedgerows; a fly passes; shouts of children the wings of passing Wood Pigeons slap together; farm machinery passes on the A 329 beyond the church; horses hooves sound the lane accompanied on the opposite side of the green by a free-wheeling bicycle; the call of Red Kites; passing cars slowly skirting the green are almost inaudible; swallows dive across the cricket square – their complex multiphonic calls beat against each other; a car door shuts and a wood pigeon is disturbed – flapping ineffectually to gain greater height; collared doves and red kites call simultaneously from opposite sides of the green; another jet – high above the cloud cover makes the air vibrate again – I begin to wonder whether we are ever entirely free of this vibrating presence; the horses hooves on the surface of the lane reflect back off the cottages on the south side of the green; a blackbird starts an alarm call; my ear catches the far distant sound of a train – at least that’s my first instinct – it could be a fast moving truck on the A4074; a trailer rattles; the alarm calls of the blackbird are joined by the high pitched percolating call of the red kite; the two bird calls cease almost simultaneously leaving a space in the soundscape for the occasional calls of swallow and swift; a dog walker approaches; dog panting; the clink of a chain.
2.The high-pitched sound of red kite calls counterpoint the slow phasing of aircraft; the sound of football boots being clapped together reflects off the buildings to the south; the flap of pigeon wings and the pointillist babble of birdsong mark the boundaries of the green; the church clock strikes eleven providing respite from the rumble of the vibrating air; the nearby vibrations of a light aircraft are replaced for a moment by the distant rumble of jets – I begin to wonder if the sound is a helicopter rather than a plane but I can’t see the source; a dog barks – just once; as the air traffic recedes the mid-range hiss of the road returns; swifts and swallows continue their brittle song; a distant collared dove calls from the east of the green whilst the sound of rooks arrives from the west; a tractor moves slowly on the A329; birdsong continues to articulate the boundaries of the open space; the clank of a trailer; a car engine – closer now.
While writing this I have just heard that Benjamin Mendy is set to join Manchester City from Monaco for £52M and that Kilian Mbappé may be joining Real Madrid for £161M. Curious to think that the football played on the village green at Warborough over the last hundred years is related to the sport of millionaires; corporate finance; and institutionalised narcissism that saturates the media. Instead of falling victim to the boundless details of the life of modern football I would prefer to take a moment to imagine myself sitting on the green at a future date listening to the calls of players and coaches – put ‘im under; get rid; time; straight back in – reflecting back from the pavilion; the occasional clapping of spectators; the ball striking the crossbar; a dog barking, straining, desperate to chase the football; the green falling back into silence as the players, coaches and spectators disperse; the call of wood pigeons as they return to the centre circle.