Black Hut

military architecture becomes cultural enclave, destroyed by 'progress'

Taking an opposing pole to the surreal of my last post - although perhaps not entirely, here is the nearest thing to a war poem you’ll ever drag out of me. It’s not that I don’t appreciate what people do in the line of duty (or whatever you want to call fighting on behalf of idle ignoble bastards) because it has affected my family within two living generations quite severely. Now that I’ve got you in a cheery mood:

There should now be a minute’s radio silence………..

Different perspectives on buildings even within a few generations can be dramatically different. My grandparents saw both horror and easement in them; my parents’ generation the same. For the young that followed either, was respect, some fear and even loathing for the gnarly occupants at least - and a source of amusement. To yet others, they were a workshop or a holiday home. Yet in the latter, I vever yet saw a drop of pastel or colour….

To me, nosey, shed-loving poet and child, they are a fascination. I love the detritus and decay, the repair attempts, the abandonment where leisure or small business uses have declined. They shout 1950s though of course they’ve been around longer. I thought they might be adapted designs of some early shed builder, but it seems they were purpose-built ‘prefabricated accommodation’. Some were called Barrack Huts, others, with corrugated, arched sheet metal roofs were titled ‘Nissan’ huts. I’ve only ever seen Nissan types in coastal areas. There also you might see the odd over-turned boat-cum-shed. That’s a related but whole other field of nosey/urban architecural archeology. Stuffed with anchors, outboard motors, nets, ropes, tins of black goo and with the odd bobble cap or ragged jumper hung on the door, they are boy magnets. In land, I’ve only ever seen men or pigeons in them.

Perched in urban settings, comrades have acquired ex-services materials to create and furnish a retreat. Or were they gifted by the military? Somewhere open outside of pub hours, yet not silent like a church. Where understanding company can ignore each other or debate - rather than fussing or nagging family interference. The military personnel enclave - I say personnel, as I’ve no recollection of female armed forces members using them. The one nearest my childhood home was sited where ‘lock-up’ garages were for rent. I believe the site was owned by the Coop - but did they pay rent or was it a free space for the use of local heroes? Knowing my neighbourhood, where streets are named after local benefactors, I imagine the latter.

Many of this ex-servicemen’s billet type are gone now (along with other rentable spaces). The chasing out of romanies/homeless/allotment dwellers in the Cathy-Come-Home 50s and 60s swept anything ramshackle before it. Away with slums! Away with community! One or two might cling on, as headquarters for The British Legion or scout huts. But health and safety (you dare speak those words in THIS company?!!!) has made friendliness obsolete. Not so much hell in a hand cart as a stainless steel, disinfected gurney. And you know what I say to corporate care, don’t you? If people want to help, they should give it those who ask - not force it onto those who wish to be left alone. I think we should organise a mass swearing out (as opposed to in). If you can’t get to parliament and surrounding streets (of your particular country) at the allotted time, meet at your city/town/parish hall or just lean out a window, stand in the street, and after three, every body shout:

F*!

Swearing may not be acceptable. You are each liable for your participation in simply saying what everybody thinks…

Pic - a black hut pre covering with tarpaulin and or coating with blackness