Return of The Eyesore

Return of The Eyesore

Yet again I find myself being compelled to write about the supernatural appearance of a giant fossil-like object imposing itself upon my village.  This time though, for various reasons, it did not make the headlines.  However, as with the first event, I feel it’s my moral duty as an eyewitness to document it and tell the true story if for no other reason than for pure posterity.

It happened last year.  I was settling down in front of the TV with a cup of tea, late afternoon in the autumn, when my son Peter burst into the room in a state of hyperventilated excitement.

“It’s like the slab in 2001 Space Odyssey,” he stuttered, barely coherent, “It just suddenly appeared from nowhere, it’s massive,” he continued.

I initially thought he was talking gibberish, obviously, but his enthusiasm was palpable.

“Whoa, slow down,” I pleaded, “Take a breath and tell me what you’re on about.”

Thankfully, he took my advice and sat down trying to compose himself.  “A huge thing has suddenly appeared over in Toby’s field, like a big boulder sticking out of the ground.”

Again, I dismissed his ranting as some teenage prank or over-exaggeration of some trivial occurrence he’d experienced while he and his mates had been hanging out around the village.  But there was an underlying serious tone in his voice and pallor in his face that I’d never seen before which actually made me sit up and listen.

“So what is it exactly?” I asked, trying to elicit some calm and rationality to the conversation.

“It’s like a big tree trunk, hundreds of feet high sticking straight up out of the ground,” he said, gesticulating something big and tall with his hands.

It was then that a sharp, icy blade ran down my spine and I froze, paralysed by a sudden realisation; a blast from the past of something familiar:  The Eyesore? Surely not.

“Show me,” I said.

We eagerly strode through the village towards Toby’s field and we weren’t alone – there seemed to be a number of people heading in the same direction.  As we approached, I caught a glimpse of it between the houses and I shuddered.  We rounded the corner and there it was in all its glory as Peter had described it: a mighty, grey, almost cylindrical monolith thrusting skyward out of a grassy field.  The familiarity of this apparition resurfaced from the depths of my memory.  It was back – bold, brazen and baffling.

“The Eyesore,” I said.

“What?” said Peter, “You know what it is?”

“Yes, I’ve seen this before.”

A substantial crowd was gathering in the lane adjacent to Toby’s field.  The feeling of deja-vu was overwhelming.  Younger village residents milled around excitedly and guffawed as they brandished their mobile phones taking pictures and selfies with the object in the background.  Some even climbed over the fence and went up close to it; walking around it, running their hands over its surface.  Peter started up to join them but I put my hand on his shoulder to stop him.

“What is it, Dad?” he asked.

“This has happened before, back in the eighties, I can’t believe no-one’s ever mentioned it to you, Pete, this village was world famous for a few weeks.”  I looked around the gathering of people and tried to pick out the familiar faces of fellow older residents.  I spotted several, gawping up at the eyesore in a stupor of disbelief.  There was a look of dismay in their eyes and a feeling of here we go again in their motionless poise.

“Why us, why Pepton?” despaired an elderly man next to me.

Peter was still full of questions and I wanted to answer them but I struggled to get any words out of my mouth.

“We can’t go through this again,” I said.  I must have spoken out loudly because a few of those older residents vocalised their agreement while the younger ones looked on bemused. 

It wasn’t long until blue flashing lights pierced the descending twilight as a police patrol car rolled up and placed itself between the crowd and fence.  Two cops got out and tried in vain to push the horde back.  They must have called for backup because a yellow police van soon appeared and half a dozen police officers got out to usher people away from the edge of Toby’s field and disperse the mob.  Peter and I left the scene.  Halfway home I said to Peter, “Let’s take a little diversion; I want to show you something.”  I led him through the village and across the village green to the edge of what used to be farmer Nash’s horse paddock.  The hawthorn hedge that bordered it was much unkempt and overgrown with brambles and nettles.  Buried deep within the weeds and withering foliage I could make out the eight foot tall brown lump of bronze sitting atop a moss-covered concrete plinth.  Peter looked on, perplexed.  “Looks like a large dog turd,” he remarked.  That made me smirk.  We could make out the plaque on the front and read together its simple inscription:  Here stood The Eyesore.

On the way home I told Peter the story of the first eyesore.  “I can’t believe you’ve never told me about that before,” he said sounding a little annoyed.

“For years after we tried to forget about it for fear of being ridiculed,” I explained. “I have told the story since to try and set the record straight but it’s so long ago now we’ve kind of laid it to rest.  Even the monument’s been overgrown and partially hidden.  And now another Eyesore has appeared it could happen all over again.”  Peter was still full of questions so, when we got home, I managed to dig out some old newspaper clippings about The Eyesore and a withered copy of Fortean Times containing a double page article about it.  I showed them to Peter and he was engrossed.

After a restless night’s sleep I took an early morning stroll to take a good look at the new Eyesore.  I couldn’t get very close.  The police had cordoned off the area with black and yellow tape and two officers in hi-vis jackets stood guarding it.  The New Eyesore – as it was to become known - towered above them from the misty field beyond with the rising sun casting a lovely golden light upon its ominous exterior.

Word soon got round that the Pepton Village Preservation Society had called for an emergency meeting for residents in the Church Hall at 6pm.  Peter, my wife Lyndsey and I attended.  Lyndsey knew very little about the original Eyesore as she had only been nine years old at the time and did not live in Pepton.  Of course I had told her the story and she had been fascinated by it.  We got to the Church Hall early and took our seats near the front of the stage area.  On the way in I pointed out the framed Guinness Book of Records certificate on the wall citing Pepton as having the world’s largest fossil.  “I’ve passed that a hundred times and never noticed it,” said Lyndsey.

The hall was soon packed with villagers.  Most, like me, were in their fifties or sixties and witnesses to the original Eyesore.  The general feeling was one of fear.  I heard Jim Chivers, captain of the village cricket team complaining that the New Eyesore was in the eye line of his batsmen and was distracting them – even though the cricket season had been over for weeks!.

Memories of our proud village being overrun and violated by mobs of tourists, journalists, officials and crackpots were resurrected.  Bill Barnes, Chairman of the Pepton Village Preservation Society took the stage along with our Vicar, Reverend Stanley and a policeman who was introduced as Sergeant Mills from the Somerset and Avon county constabulary.

Bill Barnes’s address to the audience went something like:

We all know why we’re here.  The reappearance of the giant fossil which has come to be known as The Eyesore has stirred up traumatic memories for those of us who remember the first time back in the eighties and understandable anguish for those who are experiencing such an event for the first time.  We, as residents of this beautiful village, are naturally concerned about what the reappearance of this object means.  We need to agree what course of action is to be taken in light of what happened last time.  I was horrified to see our youngsters taking pictures with their mobile phones yesterday evening and I fear that it will be splashed all over social media by now.  Consequently, I believe it’s only a matter of how soon we will be hit by a deluge of unwelcome visitors to spoil the little oasis of peace we enjoy here in Pepton.  With this inevitability in mind, I have called upon our police to assist us in maintaining peace and order.

Sergeant Mills then took over:

Indeed, we recognise your concerns.  Our priority is safety.  In the first instance we have secured the area around the object.  It seems safe enough at the moment and, if it were to topple over, there are no properties within its locus of fall that could be harmed.  We will station two officers at a time to guard the area and make sure no-one can get close to the object. If there is an on-rush of sightseers to the village we won’t hesitate in drafting in extra officers if necessary to maintain order.  In the meantime, I suggest you as residents take this opportunity to discuss how you will deal with the situation.  No crime has been committed and Toby’s field is common land.  I believe the previous eyesore was identified as a large fossil and disappeared overnight – perhaps, hopefully, this one will do the same before long.

Bill Barnes then invited questions or ideas.

“I think we need to pull it down and bury it,” one person suggested.

“No, surely it’s of special scientific interest and must be studied first,” someone argued.

“We need to deter the excessive influx of sightseers,” spoke up a middle-aged man who I recognised as Rory Wood, a local artist well-known for his picture postcard paintings of Pepton.  Indeed, anyone who has ever had a calendar of Scenic Britain hanging up in their house or office is certain to have had a Rory Wood picture in it.  Last year we were July – a watercolour of the village green with the Norman church tower in the background and in 2015 we were January with a painting of The Axe pub with its thatched roof covered in snow.

“Bill is right, it will be all over social media like light speed.  The world and his wife will be descending on us soon and we don’t want that,” Rory continued.

There was a murmur of agreement.

“What if we camouflage it so no-one can see it?” someone piped up.

“What, like a Klingon invisibility cloak,” someone flippantly retorted.

There was a murmur of laughter.

“What if I paint it and present it as a work of art,” spoke Rory Wood, “Surely a vulgar sculpture will attract less attention than a supernatural phenomenon.”

There was a momentary pause for thought followed by a murmur of agreement.

“I will tell outsiders that I made it,” Rory Wood continued, “It could be a bit like the Angel of the North but nowhere near as interesting – we could call it the Devil of the West Country.”

“That’s not a bad idea, Rory,” spoke Bill Barnes, “But we need to diffuse interest and play it down, but I do also personally believe that some sort of discreet scientific study should be made on it first.”

The discussion went on for almost an hour and a general consensus was slowly evolving.  By the end of the evening it was agreed that Rory Wood would “dress up” or disguise the New Eyesore and portray it as an artwork.  In the meantime, the Palaeontographical Society would be contacted and invited to discreetly study and record the object for scientific purposes.

So, for the next few days, the village held its breath.  We collectively closed ranks and kept shtum.  We kept our eyes peeled for journalists, strangers and sightseers snooping around and we watched the news and social media for any mention of the New Eyesore. Thankfully, and almost unbelievably, there seemed to be little interest on social media despite several Tweets and postings on Facebook.  The younger generation, it seemed, were not aware of the first Eyesore and dismissed the current one as some sort of stunt or Photoshop prank.  The general British media were far too distracted by Brexit and had no time or appetite for quirky events in remote rural backwaters.  The police maintained a low-key cordon throughout.

The British Palaeontographical Society were subsequently contacted and invited to the village to study the New Eyesore on the condition that they did it in total secrecy and did not disclose any information to anyone in the “outside world”.  In due course, a pair of unmarked SUV’s arrived one morning with a team of six scientists.  They were greeted by Bill Barnes.  I watched from a distance as they entered Toby’s field and set about their work.  By the end of the day, they were gone.  I believe a Palaeontographical Society monograph is due to be published later this year to communicate their findings.

The next day, Rory Wood set up a large tent alongside the New Eyesore and began the preparations for his project.  He enlisted the help of a local scaffolder and hired a cherry-picker truck.  Within a couple of days the New Eyesore vanished beneath a shroud of scaffolding and beige canvas tarpaulin. Nothing else seemed to be happening, the excitement died down and the village left him to it.

By Halloween, we had heard nothing more about the New Eyesore.  The media frenzy and onrush of visitors to the village, which we had initially feared and anticipated, never materialised.  Only a very small smattering of bona fide tourists visited the village to take their pictures of the village green and thatched cottages – had it been summertime there would have been a lot more.  As far as we know they did not take any interest in the strange covered object in a field.  Perhaps they thought it was a building in construction.  Then news went round the village that Rory Wood had nearly completed his work and a ceremonial unveiling was being planned to coincide with Bonfire Night.  All of a sudden everyone started to buzz with excitement.  The scaffolding was dismantled and a huge bonfire was constructed alongside the New Eyesore in Toby’s field and the Village Preservation Society funded the purchase of some fireworks.

On the evening of November 5^th, probably the entire village population gathered in Toby’s field in a vast circle around the New Eyesore and bonfire.  Several bright spotlights shone up at the object lighting up the enormous beige canvas.  I thought it looked like a huge church candle.  People wrapped up against the chilly air and some brought steaming flasks of hot chocolate.  The build-up and anticipation was intense.  Rory Wood, accompanied by Bill Barnes, appeared beside the New Eyesore to a spontaneous burst of applause.  Bill spoke into a microphone and his tinny voice echoed around the field via a cheap PA system:

“Ladies and gentlemen, the moment we have been waiting for has finally arrived.  Like you, I have no idea what lies inside that canvas cover and I’d like to take this opportunity in advance to thank Rory Wood for all his hard work in disguising this New Eyesore and averting a potential invasion from the outside world. I would also like to thank you, proud residents of Pepton, for your support in softening the burden of this object and helping to avoid our village being the centre of unwelcome attention.” 

He paused and milked another round of applause.  He then picked up a hefty rope and took up the slack.  “It therefore gives me great pleasure to reveal the disguised New Eyesore.”  He tugged hard on the rope and, for a second or two, nothing happened – there was a brief giggle – then the top of the tarpaulin started to fall, cascading down the object in ripples like a woman’s dress falling from her shoulders to her feet revealing the naked flesh beneath.  A brief ripple of applause soon faded before the crowd fell silent; we could hear the canvas crash to the ground as we stared up at the monstrous image that now stood before us.  We should have been cheering in admiration of an amazing piece of art; a marvel of disguise.  But instead, our jaws dropped in a tangible silent sigh of disappointment and horror.  For what now lay before us was what I could only describe as a hideous, incoherent muddle of bright, garish colours – an uncoordinated mishmash of geometric lines, zigzags and spirals like a drunken, blindfolded doodle done with an unpreferred hand. 

“Looks like someone’s eaten a fruit salad and vomited all over it,” remarked a disgruntled spectator.

“Rory Wood’s been on psychedelic drugs,” someone commented.

“My three-year-old daughter could do a better job than that with a handful of crayons,” chipped in another.

Rory Wood later claimed his design was inspired by an Aztec totem pole.  It was enough to scare away the most evil of spirits – uglier and more threatening than the “naked” New Eyesore itself.

Bill Barnes did a very poor job in pretending to like it, grinning falsely and limply shaking Rory Wood’s hand.  I think we were all expecting something a lot subtler – soft, natural colours blending in harmoniously with the surrounding environment like camouflage.  The bonfire was lit and a modest firework display ensued which all now seemed somewhat inappropriate and flat.  Lots of people turned and left.  The vibrant colours of the fireworks and glow of the bonfire, which reflected off the New Eyesore’s technicolour nightmare coat, only served to enhance its vulgarity.

The next morning, a misty pall of clammy smog hung over the village. The newly decorated New Eyesore stood defiantly conspicuous in contrast to the greyness with the smouldering ashes of the bonfire beside it.  Several people strolled over to Toby’s field to photograph it.  It looked much worse in the daylight, even more out of place than it did before.  Many were keen to express their anger and disappointment.

“Should have left it the way it was,” I heard lots of people say.  I don’t know anyone who disagreed – no-one approved of Rory Wood’s design.  It came as no surprise that a village residents’ meeting was soon called for.

A rather embarrassed-looking Bill Barnes took the stage in the Village Hall and was immediately heckled.  People were demanding for Rory Wood to show up and explain himself, but the rumour was that he’d fled the village and gone into hiding.  Bill Barnes was apologetic – I almost felt sorry for him.  He acknowledged the depth of feeling that everyone expressed about the New Eyesore’s “unusually grotesque artwork” and he pleaded for calm and suggestions on what to do next.  But the meeting finally degenerated into an unproductive verbal squabble and had to be adjourned.

What we all failed to realise at the time was that pictures taken of the artwork were now circulating throughout social media and were starting to capture the public’s interest in a way the unadorned New Eyesore hadn’t.  We’d taken our eye off the ball and were about to pay a price.  We didn’t notice the first few sightseers who infiltrated the village to view Rory Wood’s “masterpiece”.  They took photos on their mobiles and posted them online which, in turn, attracted further interest and more visitors.  Hence, a snowball effect developed which, by mid-November became an avalanche of curious sightseers.  As with the original Eyesore all those years ago a surge of nosey visitors flooded into Pepton and overwhelmed us.  The narrow lanes became so jammed that it became almost impossible to park or get out of the village to go to work.  Over a couple of weekends people had picnics and left litter on the grass verges and village green.  Fences and hedgerows were trampled and farmers’ gates left open.  People brought their dogs and children and allowed them to run around uncontrollably.  Ice cream and burger vans arrived and The Axe pub heaved with thirsty customers.  Reverend Stanley complained about some people urinating in the churchyard and of a gravestone being toppled over.

In hindsight, however, it could have been a lot worse.  It was November after all, so the poor weather and short days would have put a lot of people off.  I dread to think what it would have been like had it been summertime.  Also, the police were well-prepared.  As promised, they drafted in extra constables and placed a hundred metre exclusion zone around the object.  As for media coverage, it made the front page of the local Gazette and the local BBC News featured it as a tailpiece to one of their daily news bulletins.  They referred to the original Eyesore mystery and showed some grainy library footage of it back in 1980.

Of course the irony of the story is that in an attempt to disguise the Eyesore and draw attention away from it, it had the opposite effect.  The New Eyesore had become more of an eyesore!  However, the arty, bohemian types, who consequently imposed themselves upon the village, loved it.  Art critics proclaimed it a masterpiece, describing it as a “unique pastiche of Latin American influenced art.”  Another related it to Edward Wadsworth’s dazzle ship camouflage of World War One.  Representatives from the Tate Modern arrived in the village looking for Rory Wood.  They wanted to commission him to do a similar scaled-down piece for their exhibition - but no-one had seen him since Bonfire Night.

“He’s probably watching this on TV and laughing all the way to the bank,” Mr Mellor, the newsagent said to me. “Let’s face it, if you or I had done that the art critics would say it was crap.”  Allegedly, the street artist Banksy had paid us a visit and made a statement that he could have done a much better job.

It could be argued that if a piece of so-called art can engender such a fervent controversy and depth of feeling, then it has succeeded.

Thankfully, as the darker, shortening days descended and the weather grew ever wintery, interest in the New Eyesore waned.  Brexit dominated the news.

At about 9.30AM on a Sunday morning as I was stirring from my weekend lie-in, a huge explosion rocked the house and reverberated across the village.  Lyndsey sat bolt upright beside me, “What the hell was that?” she exclaimed.  I shot out of bed and threw open the curtains to see a column of white smoke rising into the air from the direction of the New Eyesore.  Peter came rushing in, “Did you feel that?” he said.  We sort of guessed what had happened but we needed confirmation so we hastily dressed and dashed over to Toby’s field.  Several other people had done the same.  A couple stood in their dressing gowns looking stunned.  A man stressed about one of his windows being smashed by the explosion.  Lo and behold there was a conspicuous gap where the New Eyesore had stood with a substantial pile of white dust left in its place.  It had been totally pulverised.  The fine white dust coated the trunks and branches of nearby trees and an odour of explosives lingered in the air.  Small shards of bone crunched under our feet.  Peter picked one up and examined it in the palm of his hand.  It still had flecks of Rory Wood’s garish paint on it.  “I’ll keep this as a souvenir,” he said.

The New Eyesore had not toppled like a tree but somehow collapsed in on itself as though it had imploded and mostly fallen on its own footprint.  Whoever planted the explosives knew what they were doing.  Unlike its predecessor, its disappearance was less subtle and less mysterious.  Someone was obviously responsible for blowing it up and there were several theories.  However, we were quietly grateful and did not exactly mourn its sudden demise.

As I write this, it is nearly five months later.  Brexit and Covid-19 have dominated the news so the New Eyesore had no further reports on it in the media apart from a brief Sidelines mention in January’s Fortean Times.  We are currently in lockdown and our village has never been so peaceful.  We still don’t know who blew it up; no-one really cares and the police investigation has been very half-hearted to say the least.

Toby’s field has returned to normal.  All signs of the New Eyesore are erased:  The heap of white powder has been blown and washed away by the wind and rain.  Grass has grown back on the spot where the New Eyesore had protruded from the ground.  Locals walk their dogs on it.

The whereabouts of Rory Wood remain a mystery.