Tove Jansson’s Moomins, created by her in the 1940s, have been popular with children and adults worldwide (but particularly in Scandinavia and Japan) ever since. In Jansson’s native Finland, a theme park was opened with her blessing in 1993, with the understanding that it would be non-traditional, close to nature and made of stone and wood.

Located on the island of Kailo (the original choice, Ruissalo, is now home instead to the Ruisrock music festival), Moomin World (Muumimaailma) is accessible via a bridge from the harbour of the old town of Naantali.

There are no rides in Moomin World and while there is no shortage of places to buy snacks and Moomin merchandise, these don’t seem to be the park’s raison d’être. Instead visitors can visit buildings featured in the Moomin stories such as the many-storied Moominhouse, Sniff’s Summer Cottage, the Snork’s Workshop and the Witch’s Hut.

Where Moominworld does resemble traditional theme parks is in the abundance of teenagers dressed in character costumes. We saw Moominmamma, Little My, Too Ticky, the Hemulen and many more swarmed by adoring children (and one little girl whose curiosity lead her to try to unzip the Snork Maiden!).

Some of the characters also appear on stage at Theatre Emma, which gives regular performances in Swedish and Finnish. As English speakers the dialogue may have been lost on us but we enjoyed the spirited dancing of the octopus, Little My’s impudent faces and the revolving stage sets.

The park’s key demographic, families with small children wearing headscarves, loved the play together with walks through attractions like the Hattifatteners’ maze, the Whispering Woods and the Barefoot Trail, stopping in the many picnic areas and swimming in the sea at the secluded beach area. (Otherwise scarily well-behaved Scandinavian
children do splash each other!)

Moomin World is a gentle, friendly place, which reflects the imaginative landscape and idealism of the Moomin stories and can be enjoyed by children, adults, Moomin fans and Moomin neophytes.

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Posted by Kate P on January 08, 2010 | Permalink | Comments (2)

Where once thousands of football fans cheered on their team, silent trees now crowd together on the terraces in an eerie relic of a city's sporting past.

The weeds and moss are creeping over the concrete steps and terraces, the wind and rain have stripped the paint from the barriers and silver birch trees have invaded intersections of the old stands.

Cathkin Park, in Glasgow, was once the home of Third Lanark, a founder member of the Scottish Football Association (1873). Established just one year earlier as the Third Lanark Rifle Volunteers, an sporting off-shoot of a regiment of the 'territorial army' of the day, they went on to also help found the Scottish League in 1890, becoming First Division Champions in 1904 and Second Division winners in 1935.

Nicknamed the Warriors, the Redcoats, the Hi-Hi and the Thirds, they played in scarlet in their southside home for almost 100 years.

In 1923 the team toured Argentina, a curious echo of the later adventure of former player Ally MacLeod, manager of Scotland in the 1978 World Cup. He was a schoolboy signing for Third Lanark, playing with them for nine years. Other names of note were two goalkeepers – Lisbon Lion Ronnie Simpson and, further back in time, Scotland goalie Jimmy Brownlie, who became manager of Dundee United after the First World War.

The club's history included a late flowering; they made it to the 1960 Scottish League Cup Final and finished third in the First Division in 1961, scoring 100 goals in 34 matches.

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Posted by Lucy on October 16, 2008 | Permalink

A quiet space in the City of London is remarkable, but Postman’s Park is unique. Round the corner from St Paul's Cathedral where the streets are full of city gents bursting with self-importance, it contains the Watts Memorial where people who were ordinary, yet extraordinary are remembered in a very beautiful way.

In one corner of the park, easily overlooked under a canopy, there are over 50 plaques, with beautiful lettering hand-painted onto Royal Doulton tiles. Each one details the untimely end of a heroic soul who died trying to save another life. Except they put it much more poetically than that. Although they're short, they're beautifully written with flashes of detail that paint vivid pictures of these tragic gothic scenes. Take David Selves, aged 12 of Woolwich who "supported his drowning playfellow and sank with him clasped in his arms", or William Donald of Bayswater who "drowned in the Lea trying to save a lad from a dangerous entanglement of weed". Fans of Edward Gorey or Lemony Snicket get yourself down here.

At first they seem funny - a bit over the top. But by the end of the first panel I was hooked. What next? What fresh disaster? After 30 or so plaques it's almost heartbreaking. Every tile has something, a name or a place or a word that places it firmly in the past. There are occupations that don't exist anymore and situations no one would ever find themselves in, peopled by a cast of Fredericks, Herberts and Alices. Even the causes of death are wonderfully archaic - descending a high-tension chamber, trampled by a runaway horse; or spectacularly bizarre like Sarah Smith, pantomime artiste who "died of terrible injuries received when attempting in her inflammable dress to extinguish the flames which had enveloped her companion".

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Posted by Anne on August 28, 2008 | Permalink | Comments (6)

An Englishman's home is his castle, or so they say. His own little world. The Forbidden Corner, near Leyburn in Wensleydale is a very English place, and indeed is its own little world. What the Forbidden Corner is, exactly, is hard to describe. A public garden, yes, but also a maze. A folly, but a folly hidden from site. A sculpture, and a piece of theatre; a fairground fun house that tries to unnerve as well as startle.

Getting in is itself something of an odyssey. Tickets must be booked in advance, to comply with National Park planning regulations; and once you have one, you must explore winding country lanes before reaching the car park and the gift shop, which looks like an ordinary, standard gift shop aimed at the holiday-souvenir and school-trip market. "Have you been here before?" asks the girl on the ticket desk, giving you a leaflet. "The clues are all in the leaflet, but not in the right order." And what you thought might be a plan of the site is a spread of cryptic ditties, each one hinting of treasures within. A sign at the door asks you to make sure you close all gates and doors behind you; and the next thing you find is a building with a wide, gaping mouth, inviting you to walk inside.

The Forbidden Corner was designed, originally, as a private folly. Tupgill Park, Coverham, is the family estate of a diplomat called Colin Armstrong. Over twenty-five years ago, he started clearing paths in a small wood originally planted as a windbreak. Things grew, and he hired a local architect called Malcolm Tempest to design a grotto. The grotto is still there, at the heart of the garden, but surrounded by a labyrinth of paths, glades, and formal gardens, on a site which feels much, much larger than a map would have you think. After a court battle with the Yorkshire Dales National Park Authority, Armstrong opened his folly to the public; and every winter it is changed, altered and extended, to keep the visitors coming back.

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Posted by FP on August 11, 2008 | Permalink | Comments (4)

Storybook Glen is a fairytale paradise situated 6 miles west of Aberdeen. Started in the 1980s after the owner saw something similar in Canada it's a childhood time capsule. The concept is pretty simple - it's a park full of statues of storybook characters. They run the gamut from classic to modern - from Wee Willie Winkie to Tinky Winky. Over 28 acres there are more than 100 characters scattered randomly throughout the park in a way that turns an amble into a journey of adventure. Some of the statues are in plain view, others are hidden along secret pathways so you never know who is going to loom at you out of a bush.

Some of the characters are instantly recognisable. Miss Muffet who was sitting on her tuffet eating her curds and whey is a no brainer. Others take a bit more thought - the lady lurking in the undergrowth brandishing a cleaver turns out to be the story of Three Blind Mice. A select few I'd never heard of at all, like Handy Pandy, the jack-a-dandy who loves plum cake and sugar candy. Luckily many of the tales are signposted and there's a map for the rest.

At a quick glance two themes emerge: violence and pies, or both in the tableau that is Who Killed Cock Robin. Unaccompanied children get themselves into all kinds of scrapes - Hansel and Gretel forced out by their wicked stepmother are almost eaten alive; Little Tommy Tucker is forced to sing for his supper; Jack Be Nimble burns himself jumping over the candlestick. And those are the lucky ones - The Old Woman Who Lives in a Shoe is there giving some poor child a sound beating. In contrast, the modern day figures stand out by their blandness - Wallace and Gromit are Fireman Sam are so bloody helpful by comparison.

Many of the exhibits are pretty shonky, giving them comedy value. Thomas the Tank Engine appears to be wearing make-up (I always had my suspicions), Snoopy is completely unrecognisable. The trolls in Trollworld seem like an avuncular lot while the Pixies in Pixie Land look like they could do you some serious harm. Others have an otherworldly beauty like Mary, Mary Quite Contrary or Little Red Riding Hood, while the rest are plain surreal like the giant chicks hatching from giant egg cups on the way to the large and impressive fairytale castle.

Continue reading "Storybook Glen, Maryculter" »

Posted by Anne on October 29, 2007 | Permalink | Comments (6)

Ever since the ingenious subterranean and tree top protests of environmentalists failed to halt the extension of the A34, Newbury has become an easy place to bypass. Traffic now speeds past its western edge with a consistent urgency, but with the defeat of the anti-road campaigners in the late 90s the town lost its national notoriety as well a few hundred acres of woodland. Unless you are a horse racing enthusiast or a Vodafone employee (the town is the world HQ for the company) there is little to tempt the casual passer-by onto the streets. The place is perfectly nice while being simultaneously perfectly undistinguished. Given this ordinariness, it’s peculiar to think that just over twenty years ago this sleepy part of Berkshire was a prime target for Soviet nuclear missiles.

What prompted Kremlin military planners to consider the total obliteration of Newbury is to be found a couple of miles to the south east of the town. Greenham Common is now a vast open space full of dog walkers, ramblers and the occasional cow but in the mid 80s it housed a huge military airbase and was one the most guarded places in the UK. The security was necessitated by the decision of Maggie Thatcher’s Conservative government, to allow American Cruise missiles to be located on British soil. These weapons were designed to neutralise the threat posed by Soviet SS-20 missiles which had been deployed in the mid 70s and were perceived to have upset the precarious nuclear balance of the Cold War. The first of the ninety six bombs housed at the base, arrived in November 1983. They were stored in six enormous purpose built underground shelters. Hundreds of anti-nuclear campaigners were on hand to greet the delivery and give notice that they had no intention of leaving the base in peace.

Today nature has reclaimed much of the Common, although remnants of the old base are still visible. The control tower, which once guided in vast military transport planes, is intact, but up close appears disappointingly small. It oversees the remains of the runway which is discernable only as an unnaturally flat stretch of grass which splits the centre of the Common. Pieces of military machinery, so imbedded they must be immovable, still punctuate areas which once would have accommodated taxiing aircraft.

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Posted by Maurice on February 10, 2007 | Permalink | Comments (2)

When I accidentally dropped my gerbil on the kitchen floor and killed it, my Mum’s response was “Let’s go to Blackgang Chine!”. If there was ever a place on Earth where you could forget about the premature demise of your favourite rodent, Blackgang Chine was it. That was twenty five years ago and the place made such an impression on us that my Mum took the family there to celebrate her sixtieth birthday in 2003.

Hanging precariously onto the Southerly cliffs of the Isle of Wight, Blackgang Chine is one of a dying breed of family-run Theme Parks. It was set up in 1842 by Alexander Dabell who saw money-making potential in this spot of outstanding natural beauty. Having landscaped some gardens at the top of the Chine, he then put the area firmly on the tourist trail by acquiring a stranded whale at auction. He sold off the blubber and installed the bleached skeleton in a hut. Blackgang Chine was now officially open for business and people came from all over Britain to see the whale and walk in the beautiful gardens.

To this day, descendants of Alexander Dabell still run the park which now covers an impressive 40 acres of land. There have been a few concessions to modern expectations, such as the recent “Cliff Hanger” rollercoaster but these make little impact when compared to the folk-art qualities of the fibreglass attractions that have remained intact since the Seventies. Walking through the giant pirate’s legs at the entrance, the memories came flooding back. Imagine my joy as I re-entered “Frontier-Land” cowboy town and sat astride the same steed of yesteryear, turning a corner only to find that “The Crooked House” had not fallen prey to the terrible landslides of the Nineties. “Nursery Land” still contained the giant hallucinogenic mushrooms of my childhood and the bizarre ape-men continued to lurk in the trees en route to “Dinosaur Land”.

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Posted by Jasia on January 20, 2007 | Permalink | Comments (3)

Burgess Park is certainly not one of the most famous parks in London. Situated just off the exhaust choked tarmac of the Old Kent Road this large open space offers a green refuge from the madness of the capital's wild south east. On first inspection the park appears fairly undistinguished. It has a large lake where optimistic locals dangle rods and the largely treeless expanse plays host to impromptu football matches. It also stages the largest South American carnival of the year. But the strangest thing about Burgess Park is the iron canal bridge which sits alone like a forlorn bachelor on its southern most edge. This gently rusting structure is totally land-locked, spanning nothing but earth. Its existence is incongruous, canals and the Old Kent Road are not recognised bed fellows. Was I the first to wonder if its location hadn’t been the result of some eccentric copying the efforts of Robert McCulloch in transporting London Bridge to the USA? After all, that seemingly crazy inter-continental shift has transformed Lake Havasu into the second most popular Nevadan tourist attraction after Las Vegas.

If this were true then the experiment has failed in Burgess Park, there are no tacky gift shops or tourist hoards in evidence. However, by following the path leading from the bridge towards Peckham it soon becomes apparent that you are following the bends of an old water course which winds under two classic Victorian bridges. The physical scars of nineteenth century engineering are still evident on the landscape and when following the canal route it requires only a smidgen of imagination to visualise barges floating past the modern houses of north Peckham estate.

A little research reveals that at one time The Grand Surrey canal ran through what is now Burgess Park. Poor road links in the reign of George IV resulted in the proposed extension of the waterway to link London with Portsmouth. Unfortunately the money ran dry in 1826 with the canal only dug out as far as Peckham. The stunted waterway was adapted to ship softwood and materials were floated to Eagle Wharf, not far from where Whitten Timber merchants stands today on Peckham Hill Street. It’s worth popping into the shop to look at the old black and white pictures of the working canal and sniff the odour of freshly cut wood.

Continue reading "The Lost Canals of Peckham, London" »

Posted by Maurice on October 09, 2006 | Permalink | Comments (3)

Malham is a village in Yorkshire’s Dales National Park. The population of just 120 is swelled during summer months by day-trippers, hikers, school trips and campers. They all come here to see the ‘rare and exciting limestone features’, which have been formed over twelve thousand years, since the last ice age.

An anti-clockwise walk, which should take around three hours (add extra time for picnics) allows you to see the seven wonders of Malham. The first of these is Janet’s Foss, a waterfall named after a fairy queen, who is reputed to live in a cave at the back of the falls. This is most spectacular during the winter months, but is worth a visit at any time of the year. See if you can spot the nearby ‘coin tree’. Also nearby are the remains of a 2000 year old Iron Age settlement.

If you follow Gordale Beck you appear to be presented with an impassable hill. But keep going; as the valley walls close in and make a sharp right turn, you reach Gordale Scar. 300ft, overhanging limestone cliffs frame a double waterfall. The more adventurous amongst you may continue onwards; you can climb up through the scar, and on towards Malham Tarn. This natural lake lies in a shallow crater formed by a retreating glacier, and was the inspiration for the novel ‘The Water Babies’.

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Posted by Tom on July 11, 2006 | Permalink | Comments (2)

What's a Fairytale garden? A sort of very low-key amusement park for kids, you might say. I'm not sure how many exactly there are in all of Germany and Austria, but they seem to be in all the touristy areas and there are definitely about ten in Bavaria alone. I myself have only visited three so far, though of course I'd like to see them all. I think it'd make a great photo book, and I'd definitely do it if I was a better photographer. Gosh! I can just see it as I'm writing this ...capturing this way-back-when feel that is so rapidly disappearing everywhere.

Standard features are moving puppets in glass cases mostly from the Fifites or Sixties. They re-enact Brother Grimms' tales in various degrees of technical under-achievement, which I find rather endearing. Other than that, musical mushrooms, assorted fiberglass animals, teeter-boards, small rides and usually a merry-go-round and a kiosk where you can eat sausages and ice-cream. Also some live animals, usually smelly goats or smelly pigs, rabbits or deer. The setting is a small piece of forest or castle grounds. They differ in size, but you can usually spend about 2 hours without getting bored (if you like kitsch) or a whole afternoon (if you're a kid).

Continue reading "Fairytale garden, Wolfratshausen near Munich" »

Posted by Fruitcake on May 03, 2006 | Permalink

If you can't decide whether to go for a walk or visit an art gallery you could always do both and visit Glenkiln Sculpture Park near Dumfries. It was established in 1951 by Sir William Keswick who owned the land and wanted to exhibit sculpture in a natural setting. He was a friend of Henry Moore's so there are four sculptures by him plus one each by Jacob Epstein and Auguste Rodin.

There are no signs to or in the park (someone suggested this is because the statues had been vandalised in the past) so finding all the sculptures becomes a bit of a treasure hunt. 4 you can see from the road - Henry Moore's King and Queen, a Moore cross, Rodin's John the Baptist beside a small car park, then Moore's Standing Figure. The other two - Epstein's The Visitation and Moore's Two Piece Reclining Figure are further off the beaten track up a hill beside the reservoir. The setting is perfect as the sculptures look solid and rugged enough to withstand a gale, and the green of the tarnished bronze stands out against the hills. Anytime I've been it's been virtually deserted which is just as well as the road is single track with few passing places. It's a lovely place for quiet contemplation and would be ideal for a good walk or a cycle. Just make sure you take a picnic.

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Posted by Anne on May 02, 2006 | Permalink