Can the decision makers
WE HAD one of those small conversations in the car the other day, Pete and I. e ones that start with nothing, and then make you think. It began with my observation that the road of new houses in our village had been given the exact same name as the road it’s adjacent to and forms a spur from, which is bound to cause a deal of confusion.
“So is Number 5 in the old bit that goes down to the church or the new bit that goes o into the elds, then?”
I didn’t actually say this. Number 5 is where my friend lives. But you can see that, with two roads now graced with the same name, there are likely to be a few U-turns. So what I actually said was: “Why on Earth would they do that? It’s so silly. Could they not just give the new road a di erent name?”
Pete, presumably sensing a rant in the making, demurred. “I expect,” he said, loftily, “there’ll be a logical reason. You wouldn’t do that if it didn’t make sense on some level. Or because of some detail or other we don’t know about.”
I pondered. en had an epiphany.
“You know what,” I came back with, now warming to my cause.
“I have got to an age where I no longer trust that people responsible for making decisions always come up with the right ones. Smart motorways, for example. Putting everything in plastic. Brex-” “PLEASE,” he said, “can we not go there?”
So he put on a podcast and I scrolled through my phone. And forgot all about it till a couple of days later, when I read a BBC headline about the National Museum in Cardi , which, according to their chief executive Jane Richardson, apparently “may have to close”. (And on my art class
LYNNE BARRETTLEE
Whatsapp group, which felt apt.) ere was some supplementary information about them pondering where else they might “have a presence in Cardi ” (sounds ominous), but by this time I had so much steam coming out of my ears that I could no longer properly read it.
“What?” I thought. WHAT? And, while I harbour no personal ire against their poor beleaguered CE, I know it’s a sentiment that has since echoed across the nation.
ere has subsequently been a row-back. It’s now probably not closing. And there’s talk of some funding. Of business plans and other schizzle. And words of reassurance that the storm has now passed. (And a bit of a low blow, to my mind, from Vaughan Gething, in reminding us – tsk! – that we must prioritise the NHS.)
But storms stir up stu – leaves and twigs, the odd pocket of resentment – and, in my case, and perhaps in many of your cases too, a suspicion that decisions sometimes get made that have not adequately passed the
“seriously?” test.
In this case, to go public with the almost inevitable death-knell for our National
Museum.
Seriously, did no-one say:
“Obviously, that’s not an option”?
Did no-one pull a face? Express shock? Look at the optics? Did no-one say: “Sheesh, team, it’s our National Museum! And, like, isn’t it true that we are part of the United Kingdom, which has the sixth-biggest economy in, like, the world?”
Whatever. Bottom line, that stu ’s ours. Some bequeathed, some acquired. But it doesn’t really matter which. What matters is that we trust that the state will take care of it for us, not just now, so we can see it, but in perpetuity. And it’s not about “the arts”, because that word’s too divisive. It’s about children. About their education. About legacy.
I could ll this entire column with fond personal anecdotes, about the mammoths, about the galleries, about all those wet school holiday Wednesdays, about the architecture, the exhibitions, the cracking museum shop, the sense of
Award-winning columnist Lynne Barrett-lee is also a novelist, ghostwriter and creative writing tutor. A dedicated supporter of the Oxford comma and semi-colon, she is also a professional grandmother and amateur moth-fancier.
growing pride and awe I felt about the history of our adopted country, the place where we had chosen to raise our children. I could rave about Kevin Sinnott’s masterpiece Running Away with e Hairdresser, an oil painting which moved me so much that it inspired a whole novel.
But if you’re in Anglesey, perhaps it won’t move you quite so much. I do get that.
And, important as memories are to those of us who cherish them, a National Museum is not just about that in any case. As with libraries, whether you use them or not, it’s a mark of a civilised society that some things are there and must be protected at all costs. It’s also about what our nation transmits to the wider world. An energy, a pride, a sense of self, even (can’t believe I’m about to type this) a “mission statement” about how much we respect the responsibility that comes with our collective guardianship. Nations have capitals, and capitals have key roles. To house parliaments, governments, to run things, and so on. And vis-à-vis that building, to look kick-ass, as well. Plus preside over, and care for, the big guns of their entire nation’s history.
Which, of course, costs, and I do know that times are tricky. at every branch of our public services can make an equally strong case. I’m also mindful that this could have been a shot across the bows. A bit of brinkmanship to get the money-tree shaken a bit harder.
But even that gets my goat.
It’s fashionable these days, with “wellness” such a thing now, to talk of optimisation of the self. Say you’re a smoker. Current thinking is that rather than say “I wish I could give up smoking”, you should, rather, tell yourself that “I am the sort of person who does not succumb to addiction”, and, duly motivated to be that person, proceed from there.
It sounds woolly, I’ll admit, but there is something to it. And a question for whichever bodies most need to hear it. Rather than doom-parp that “the National Museum may have to close”, would it not have been better to have reached a consensus that Wales is not the sort of nation which closes its National Museum, and, duly motivated to be that kind of nation, proceeded from there?
And to have done all that IN PRIVATE. en cracked on with exploring the other options. With the necessary planning. And the call to arms. And the fundraising. And whatever else it was and is going to take, in a way that protected the public’s precious trust.
Because, as it is, with all the ip- opping, a great deal has now been lost. And as with that road-name debacle in our village, we also looked really silly.