I grew up in the shadow of a radioactive chimney. Capper Pass, once one of the world’s largest tin smelters and owned by Rio Tinto, operated on the outskirts of Hull between 1967 and 1991, when it was decommissioned. Some of the by-products released into the River Humber and the East Yorkshire air were toxic, carcinogenic, and radioactive. Radioactive emissions from the Capper Pass plant included Polonium-210. The press referred to the imposing chimney as ‘Dante’s Inferno.’
There was a high incidence of cancer among the residents of the surrounding area and the workers at Capper Pass. Tragically, many lost their lives due to the pollution. Even as far back as the early 1970s, lead and arsenic were found in cattle that grazed near Capper Pass. Livestock and crops had to be condemned on several farms. It was believed that public awareness of the situation would cause alarm if the facts became widely known. The environmental damage was extensive.
Despite the long reign of this invisible threat, the village near Capper Pass where I grew up continues to thrive, inspiring the likes of me with its dark bodies of water and impassable woods. These places remain my childhood haunts.
Carol Coiffait is a poet who lives in the village. I knew her as a child. We share the same sentiments about the movement of the water flowing through the village from the wolds, teeming with life and possibilities — how it has shaped our lives. My dreams often take me back to these old haunts, and I wonder if the water draws my dreaming self there, towing me along in the undercurrent.
“In the heart of the village the water shows itself again. Chatter from the mouth of the tunnel into sunlight caressing the gravel, the roots of cresses and minulus. Past water shrimps, minnows down towards the river.” —Carol
The chimney itself was rarely out of sight — a peripheral stigma. On sleepless nights, I gazed at it from my bedroom window, the warning light blinking in the dark. Hypnotising. As a small child I personified the chimney and believed that it could read my mind.
I wanted to capture the spirit of this place, as it has captured mine, and share some of Welton's stories — there are many to tell.
Home Ground is the final track on my album A Child’s Rumour and features the immensely talented clarinettist Robert Schuck, who is sadly no longer with us.
Written, performed and produced by Gaynor Perry
Clarinet: Robert Schuck
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I know these contour lines, this cleavage
I know these arms of scrub and scree
where, in autumn, black bryony
I know how wolf-winds curse and whine
through stands of sycamore
I know the glint of streaming eyes
and how her shoulders hunch
against the winter's worst.
I know of no soft options for her skin,
by an east wind's flat out drought.
I know up here that spring steps
feeds her secret flowers.
I know that they run wild
The snowdrops, dog violets
to hide something she doesn't wish to own.
Carol Coiffait, photo: Hugo Schlechter
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Painting: "111" oil on board.
Inspired by Welton and my imaginary childhood friends.
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Capper Pass, photo: Internet
Capper Pass Chimney Demolition 1993
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