Half-Familiar: Finding My Place in a Border Town

A Photo Walk, a Zine, and the Slow Work of Belonging in a New place

You know that feeling, that feeling of not being fully integrated with the place where you live, that feeling of lingering between belonging and not belonging; it makes everything seem only half-familiar, and your days of getting to know a place begin with firsts: the first time I caught the bus into town, the first time I visited Jennie’s Wool Studio, the first time I looked at paintings in The Granary gallery. I’m like a child learning my way about: checking for the safest places to cross the road; immobile, transfixed by the beauty of the river at its confluence with the sea; uncertain about the intentions of the ever-present seagulls that screech and swoop overhead.

Photo Walk

Although I’ve lived close to Berwick-upon-Tweed for over a year now, I hadn’t previously explored The Ramparts. So when I was invited to join a photo-walk to explore the town with a small group of people, I jumped at the chance. Our guide for the excursion, artist Ben Lewis, welcomed us—we must have numbered around ten—before leading the two-hour trek.

Berwick is a border town, fought over by the Scots and English across the centuries. Consequently it is fortified, and many of the old walls, earthworks, and bastions exist as reminders of its turbulent history. The defensive walls, or ramparts, as they’re known locally, encircle the town and have a flattish top, ideal for walking.

Our route was so packed with sights it made me feel like I was on a holiday excursion: long views over the Tweed estuary dominated the first part of the walk, then we moved towards the sea and the sand dunes, then cobbled streets, and lofty walkways looking down over waist-high rooftops, and on through low stone archways, minding our heads.

I snapped and tapped the screen of my mobile phone, an amateur amongst others, some of whom carried ‘real’ cameras, yet I knew these shots would remind me of the day and would capture its essence. The weather was changeable; a battle took place between the cold sea fog, the haar, often present on this north east coast, and the sun. Fortunately, I had chosen the right balance of layered warm clothing.

Vistas and ‘Scapes

Ben showed us some of his favourite vistas and, with gentle encouragement, he kept the group together. This was no mean feat. Our group consisted of free-thinking independent adults with artistic tendencies, each of whom wanted to capture the best view. We focussed on the riverscape, the seascape, and the urban landscape, with tufts of marram grass, wreaths of apple blossom, charming chimney pots, flaking paint on window frames and doorways, sculpted brickwork, secret gardens, signposts, and spring bulbs.

I tired myself with noticing: the red and white lighthouse at the end of the causeway appeared ghostlike in a grey landscape of sea and sky; the stone steps that led up to the crenellated walls of a look-out post on the ramparts held centuries of anxiety in their worn and bowed centres; and, the medley of bridges traversing the Tweed channelled thoughts of progress and long-distance travel in their uniform static-ness.

The walk was a means of getting to know the town, and of making new friends. Not only was I comfortable in my clothing, I was made to feel comfortable in my self. We shared stories of how we ended up living in the area, and I gathered tips about the best places to go for a coffee, a meal, a good book.

Zine Workshop

For those who wished to follow up with a creative craft workshop, Ben said he’d be running a zine-making session. Having never made a zine in my life, I put my hand up. Yes please! It meant that I’d have something physical to remember the day, more than a collection of digital photographs stored forever in the cloud.

At the workshop, it wasn’t the size of the square table, but the sight of it filled with paper, scissors, glue, pens, tape, needle and twine, ink pads and rubber stamps which invited activity and deep concentration. Ben had printed off some of the photographs we took on the walk and presented us each with an envelope containing a personal postcard-sized portfolio.

We sat, as if settling down to a convivial supper, meeting again as friends because nearly everyone who had been on the photo walk attended the craft session. We commented on how doing something practical was beneficial for the mind. How sitting together around a table gave us all a sense of belonging, and how the act of making genuinely helped us feel part of a community. I felt quite at home. We had fun. And I made a zine!

My theme was ‘Textures of Berwick-upon-Tweed’, and during the workshop session I only managed to arrange and fix the photos. No time for writing, drawing, annotating, squiggling, or cartooning.

In zine-making anything goes! I was keen to develop the ten A5 size pages with words and art, and now I know what’s involved I’ll definitely try it at home and develop something worthy of keeping.

Having explored the ramparts for the first time with Ben, I have a better understanding of how and why they were built, and now I’ve seen the town and the sea and the river from their elevation, I’m keen to repeat the experience.

Credits, Notes and Links

• Images are my own.

• This workshop was part of a series of events with Ben Lewis inspired by The Quintet, an anthology of thirteen handmade one-off books composed of letters, photographs, sketches and printed memorabilia created by a group of five friends from Berwick-upon-Tweed between 1899 and 1911. The Quintet is held in the town’s archive collection at the Berwick Barracks.

• The Living Barracks Project aims to restore and renew the historic Berwick Barracks site, which has a pivotal role in the town’s social and cultural life.

• After publishing this article I prepared a Note with one of the photos from the photo walk. It seems to be very popular!

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A favourite spot to drink tea in Berwick-upon-Tweed