Having lived in London since 1986, it was to my disgrace and discredit that I’d by no means been to the British Museum. I used to be not pleased with the very fact. This wasn’t a one-man boycott over the Parthenon marbles or something like that. I’d simply by no means bought spherical to it. And this wasn’t ok. So final week, on the ripe outdated age of almost 58, I paid the British Museum a go to.
“Ah, Mr Chiles,” exclaimed nobody once I walked in, “about time!” However there will need to have been one thing trepidatious about me, as a result of a pleasant chap requested if I wanted any assist. I stammered one thing about on the lookout for room 41. A good friend had informed me room 41 was particular, so it appeared pretty much as good a spot as any to begin. This room tells the story of Europe from AD300. Which was superb and all that, besides it was a narrative informed primarily by way of the medium of pots. Urns, pots and various consuming vessels of all styles and sizes. I moved from room 41 to different rooms, going backwards and forwards in time and to all factors of the compass, and located but extra pots, urns and consuming vessels. Ornate pots, rustic pots, arty pots, useful pots.
This was the historical past of the world informed in pots. Maybe that is the way it have to be, nevertheless it left me somewhat chilly. Earlier than lengthy, I used to be affected by what I can solely describe as pot blindness. I imply, one historical urn from antiquity is mind-boggling; a thousand of them makes every particular person one which bit much less fascinating. Much less is extra. They merge into one.
Quickly, my internal Trewick was stirring. For the 99.7% of readers who gained’t know what I imply by that, John Trewick was a footballer, one of many West Bromwich Albion group which, extremely, in 1978, went on a pre-season tour of China. This was the topic of a BBC documentary, The World About Us: Albion within the Orient. On a go to to the Nice Wall, the gamers oohed and aahed appropriately. However Trewick, not a lot. “Spectacular, isn’t it,” he acknowledged. “However you’ve seen one wall, you’ve seen all of them, haven’t you?”
Whether or not or not this was a good query, I can’t say. However right here I used to be, within the British Museum, feeling that having seen one pot, to some extent I had certainly seen all of them. The disgrace of it. Furtively, I checked for attendants or cameras looking out for such impure ideas. I additionally checked out my fellow museum-goers, for any indicators they felt the identical method. In the event that they did, they hid it effectively. Some stopped to stare in surprise at an urn, whereas I stared in surprise at them, questioning what they may see on this specific urn that they’d missed within the hundred different urns in that room alone. Everybody appeared extra into it than me. Admittedly, some youthful international guests didn’t dally in any room for lengthy, however even they appeared extra engaged than I used to be, taking selfies with urns behind them, that form of factor. One lad paced round videoing them. This appeared a bit unusual however, because the odd one out on this earthenware orgy, who was I to guage?
Afterwards, once I informed mates I’d been to the British Museum for the very first time, all of them mentioned, “Wow, superb, isn’t it?” To which I replied, “Properly, sure and no. Isn’t it principally an terrible lot of pottery? Historical past informed by way of pots, urns and various consuming vessels? Put it like this: if the museum was known as Pottery By the Ages, how would it not look any completely different?” Eyebrows had been raised, sighs had been sighed, heads had been shaken. So I’m going again to present it one other go. I’ve bought John Trewick’s quantity someplace. I would see if he fancies coming alongside.
Adrian Chiles is a author, broadcaster and Guardian columnist
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