Matt wrote at the end of last month asking how Reading should rebrand itself and appeal to the wider world in a more exciting way, and attempt to ditch the ‘clone town’ image with which it is sometimes tagged.
I think even the most devoted defender of our town can admit that this description is at least partially deserved, you just have to look at the shop fronts of Broad and Queen Victoria Streets to see them as either identikit national brands, or miserable, uncared-for bargain basement eyesores. But look up – the unmistakeable red and gold brick first and second floors, with their pointy turrets and carved fascias point towards a more important and interesting history than at first there would appear.
The Abbey was one of the most important monasteries in Middle Age Britain before it’s power was seized by good old Henry VIII, and now it sits in quiet humility hidden between the beautiful Forbury Gardens and the Prison – yet another historically important landmark, having housed Oscar Wilde who wrote his Ballad of Reading Gaol after being contained there.
There are also plenty of stories of war, such as the important battle between the Saxons and the Vikings which was fought where the rivers Kennet and Thames meet, over near where the gasworks now stand to the East of the town. And the battle of Broad Street which was the only military encounter during the Glorious Revolution of 1688.
I’m not going to go on – I’m not a local history expert and I’m not attempting to educate anyone here.
Besides, you probably know all this if you’re a Reading resident and if you’ve taken an interest in your town, but one thing I’ve noticed since living here is that none of this history is cashed in on, or shouted about. People don’t generally come to Reading to see these things because they’re not told about them. And personally, I like it that way.
Look at towns like Oxford, whose streets are swarming with tourists and tour guides, whose local shops have been replaced with gift shops and novelties. Who trade on their past and their traditions. Whose whole image is defined by its – admittedly impressive – forefathers.
I much prefer the fact that I can wander through Forbury Gardens and under the Gatehouse. Down to the Holy Brook – created by monks by diverting the Kennet towards their Abbey’s walls so that it would power their mill – and quietly contemplate the fate of Oscar Wilde, housed behind the red brick wall of the Gaol. All this without being jostled and bothered by map reading tourists and bored kids trailing their anorak’d parents.
Reading’s history keeps a dignified silence, there for those who care enough to find it. That’s the fate it deserves.
