I come from an old Weymouth family, which we traced back to 1680, and I was born and brought up there. I was sent away to boarding school, all the way to Hardye’s in Dorchester. Because my dad had been brought out of school aged 14 to join the family firm, I think he felt hard done by, so maybe he was trying to do the best for me, telling me it would toughen me up. It didn’t.
I did an art foundation course in Bournemouth after school, then a degree in Fine Art Sculpture at Canterbury, but didn’t complete it as I needed to be a house husband for a year to enable my then wife to finish her nursing training. I was married at quite an early age, far too young, but we stayed together for 15 years and brought up two lovely daughters, Emily and Tamsin.
After leaving my degree course, I got a job on a building site. On day one, I managed to flip a big dumper upside down, narrowly avoiding serious injury. “You’re off diggers, you’re on roofs now”, I was told. On the Friday afternoon, feeling a little tired, I thought I’d take a discreet nap on the roof, got caught, and was sacked there and then. Waiting for the bus home, I found myself outside Easton Masonry; I thought with my sculpture background, maybe I could work with stone. I walked in, asked for a job, and was told yes, start Monday, apprentice Carver and Letter-cutter. That only lasted 3 months, but I learned a lot about the tools and how to use them. It was the beginning of my working with stone.
Meanwhile, I took any job I could to earn a living, spending a year in the Merchant Navy. On board the ships I started carving semi-precious materials, bringing ivory back from South Africa—in those days a perfectly acceptable thing to do—and silver, and began to make jewelry from carved ivory set in silver. It sold well, especially in London, and helped support us for much of my twenties, but based in Weymouth, it was hard to expand enough to make a good living.
Having missed out on my degree, I tried to find a suitable college course to learn more about silversmithing, and not having any success, I then discovered the Architectural Stone Carving course in Weymouth. It was for one year, and I took to it like a duck to water, passing the exams with distinction. I learned stonemasonry, which didn’t include letter cutting, and after the course, they asked me to return and teach. That meant that I could leave the monumental masons where I had been working, teach for 2 days a week, and start doing my own work. I agreed on the proviso that we include a lettering module in the course. My workshop was in Turton Street in Weymouth, where I carved gravestones and started making sculpture, mostly involving lettering. Lettering became central to what I do.
I taught at Weymouth for 13 years, during which time my wife and I finally parted. I moved to West Dorset and became a single parent with my two girls, aged 14 and 18, living in a beautiful cottage in Rampisham. I was in touch with Harriet Fraser MBE, who had started an agency called Memorials by Artists, for people looking for bespoke hand carved memorials, and suddenly I found I had the work I wanted. Not much at first, but that’s what I’ve been doing ever since. My lettering work is always my own design, but inspired by historical examples which can date back to the Romans; I’m more akin to a calligrapher than a typographic designer. Most of my work is stone, but I also work in wood and metal. Prince Philip once asked me, “What do you do if you make a mistake?”, and I replied, “I don’t make mistakes”, a complete lie of course, but admittedly I have only made one on the stone. If I make mistakes, they’re on paper, which can be corrected.
I worked with the artist Ian Hamilton Finlay for many years. There were many collaborative projects, but one large piece was a permanent installation at the Serpentine Gallery in Hyde Park, a 3m diameter circular inscription in Caithness slate. It was due to be unveiled by Princess Diana, but she died just before, so the first small memorial inscription to her was included in the centre of the circle. Another commission, entitled ‘Six Definitions’ at the Dean Gallery MOMA Edinburgh, is a series of bronze letters, tablets and bronzes sited at the entrance to the gallery. It’s strange that, at this point, most of my commissions were in Hampshire, London, Scotland, Europe and even Australia—seldom in Dorset. Another notable commission was the ‘Animals in War’ memorial in Park Lane; I spent six weeks on-site living in a caravan in Mayfair. It is one of the longest inscriptions in London.
After leaving Weymouth, I began teaching with Memorials by Artists, initially a course in Edinburgh. This resulted in a group of ex-students forming the Scottish Lettercutters Association, which is still going strong. Since then, I have taught at many colleges and other venues, most recently in Belgium.
It was mainly the dances at Rampisham and Evershot which drew me to West Dorset. Eva Harvey invited me to a gig, and I had the best time, everyone danced, and I was hooked. Living next door to the village hall at Rampisham, I began helping with the dances, then being organised by Colin Browning, opening up for the bands, setting out tables and taking money from the early arrivals. When Colin had a stroke, I took over at Rampisham. Then, when I moved to Evershot, I worked with Karen Hansen and Sarah Langley. The three of us were the mainstays of Band-On, putting on regular gigs, which were hugely enjoyable for both the audience and musicians. I loved designing the posters. There were so many great bands, but Flaky Jake, the Balham Alligators and Juice on the Loose were all memorable. In the early days, they were mostly London bands, brought to Dorset through piano player Ian Stewart’s friendship with Eva and Ray Harvey, but later, there were more local musicians. I’m a fan of The Skalatans, who are Bridport-based and terrific.
Near my workshop in Nettlecombe, we have a fine cider press in an old shed, donated by Victor Crutchley. I have been helping to organise the Nettlecombe Cider Shed ever since I arrived. It’s a great community venture and a lot of fun. We have just done our first pressing of this autumn.
I initiated an archaeology project here, on the Mappercombe Estate. During Covid, I started walking the fields nearby. On day one, walking the headland of a ploughed field, I saw sherds of black pottery, which I took home. After some research, I was amazed to discover that they were Romano-British. Since then, we’ve found 5 Romano-British sites, and 2 Neolithic hunting camps near the village. We have boxes of pottery sherds, quern stone fragments, and many flint scrapers, mostly found by eye whilst field-walking. I had a cabinet made for the Powerstock Hut and filled it with finds dating from 4,000 BC to 1953, many pieces donated by local detectorists and fieldwalkers. The Estate are now kindly funding a geophysical survey, the results of which are amazing. Underneath an otherwise uninteresting field can be 5 or 6 layers of occupation, indicating perhaps centuries of human activity. Archaeologist Robert Lancaster is leading us, and a company called Geoflo have contributed with the geophysical work. It’s going to be fascinating to see where it leads.
I also play with a village Ceilidh band, called “The Ping Pong Orchestra”. I play the bodhran and bones, with fiddlers, banjos, guitars, and an accordion. It’s mainly just for fun, although a professional viola player has joined us, whipping us into shape. And I’m a bellringer! We’ve just raised £50,000 for the bells at Powerstock to be rehung, which is happening as we speak.
My work has always been very important to me and at the forefront of how I spend my time. I feel fortunate to have spent my life making the things that I want to make, and being paid for it. I love being in my workshop; it’s my sanctuary.
Recently I have been awarded the ‘Master Craftsman Award’ by the Worshipful Company of Masons, which has obliged me to write a complete history of my work, a good deal of which I had forgotten. It’s been fascinating delving into it.
