Ameena Rojee - Crocus Valley

Crocus Valley Ameena Rojee

Words by Shaniqua Benjamin

RRB PHOTOBOOKS BRISTOL

South of the river is real-life Narnia in urban green, fulfilling atmospheric stories of every day and its everyday people; this is a world beyond structured things. A place of lamp posts in forests and singing fires anywhere, contained so they don’t burn the place alive. Animals at random – side by side with their human friends – feeding or being fed. Winter lurks in every season and mist persists, reminding you that nothing is regular here, like the trees that talk and the butterflies finding love.

Stretches of metal and brick cannot overrun what air, earth, fire and water have birthed, deepening breath in swells of bodies always moving on all sides of the tracks. Cement and soil both prevail, while still learning to do life with each other – soil never stops trailing, cement never stops setting.

Flutters of frost sit delicately enjoying their season of decoration; mint imperial grass plains just as lived in as rows of windows and shutters. Turkish Delight and Parma Violet skies as in place as wires and satellites, balancing, to keep everything whirring in rhythm with the breeze. Leaves make space for trunks to shine under a never-ending strip of navy illuminated by neon gumdrops.

This perfection of what was here and what was formed in shade, mist and fabricated stars is not forgotten or hidden behind walls of coats relegated to a spare room. None of this is spare. Jump into a pond to get to the other side and enjoy the Crocus Valley whole.

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Here Sits a King paused to survey his kingdom – a king in the making who would not have to take out a witch or distorted fairy to take his place in history.

This fortress was his throne, his presence made regal by the descent of a natural gem, adorning his hooded crown with dusky peaches and lilacs, a scent tasted then feasted on.

He’ll mark this coronation with bytes and boards encasing the memory, held forever with trees singing to spread the news – and he won’t even know.

This makes the loss of sun worth it, if only to be king for these moments of glory.

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Floating overhead are flashes dimmer than phoenixes not found unless swallowed by pigeons and crows who reign, sometimes joined by seagulls on the hunt like foxes and stray cats, it’s not all about birds.

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They found each other – Tiffany glass wings of sapphire that would live forever in the backdrop of Tiffany blue – not in glass.

They found each other in escape of smoke hypnotising them with patterns and form that seemed like kin until they realised its haze was lies.

They found each other fluttering delicate to prevent melting or snaps, like a chrysalis in frost they’d long forgotten.

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Creeping out of invisible is a shade of moon and grey agate, untasted and unfelt on skin, but heavy enough to droop eyes.

Her name is Mist, on a journey of discovery beyond grasslands to intrusions that have thrown sticks and weeds into disarray, disrupting their transition into softness after being readied by disappearance into dewy brightness.

Mist decides to follow a caterpillar charged by electrics and crawling constructed paths, carrying humans on their journeys before rattling onto streets, deserted of memories her ancestors would have had.

On its next stop, she asks:

What brings you here? Why are you disturbing our home?

The caterpillar replied:

This is my home too; my service has long been wanted.

I’d say I’m more a welcome addition than a disturbance.

Besides, I’m just doing my job.

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Mist asks:

But what about the displaced bushes, flowers and trees?

The caterpillar replied:

Most of them are still here, and I happily coexist with the bushes, flowers and trees, I don’t want any of them to go.

Didn’t you see me saying hello as I travelled along?

Just about satisfied and knowing she would soon return to the abyss, Mist says:

I did indeed see, and I guess you’re not doing harm.

After all, we’re all doing the best we can.

And its harmony that will allow our home thrive in a threat of endless winter.

The caterpillar smiled and went cheerfully on its way, as Mist began to retreat after her insightful trip of a lifetime.

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Follow steps of a badger or beaver, away

from clouds of fire into an enclosure of bushes

to find tea parties and raves.

This is not a secret garden – been and done

by kids with hidden lives – this place is about being

who you are, unashamed and untamed, like lions,

Minotaurs and centaurs, the ground littered

with nuts and metal pebbles taken from the other side.

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They whisper stories from season to season, even when fingernails and hair shed, finding peace in dirt bothering most feet but restarting the beat of buds that burst through fingertips stretched to enrich or suck sustenance from lungs.

They travel miles to carry messages and song, hold secrets untilthey need to be unearthed, because it might save a life from being cut down; their roots more than ancestry, their words more than breathing.

Their body twists and curves to the beat of their own pattern, knowing how beautiful they are, how useful they are, bounding in to help but they will never bow down.

Humble in majesty, history tattooed on their skin.

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Could you find your way to the other side – a little lost but not so hidden – to the Crocus Valley whole?

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The tram at dusk, heading past Addington Hills toward West Croydon, January 2022

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Crows on the eve of summer solstice and the longest day of the year at Purley Way Playing Fields, June 2020

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Crows on the eve of summer solstice and the longest day of the year at Purley Way Playing Fields, June 2020

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The tram passing by East Croydon station on a late winter night, January 2022

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On a midnight walk in the fog, January 2021

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A local fox in the night, December 2021

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Taking photographs from the Addington Hills viewpoint during dusk, July 2021

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A winter walk among the trees at Croham Hurst Woods, January 2022

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Cattle grazing in the winter fog at Roundshaw Downs, December 2021

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Another cold and foggy winter evening near West Croydon, December 2020

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Walking up Church Street, May 2018

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Crossing Wellesley Road, March 2019

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Two garden butterflies, July 2020

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View from across the border to the Beddington incinerator, November 2020

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Roundshaw Downs in the fog, December 2021

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Home, September 2020

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On a winter midnight walk, January 2021

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Croydon’s tallest building, Ten Degrees, in construction, January 2022

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The sky above East Croydon, January 2020

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Behind Centrale shopping centre, July 2019

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View of the old power station chimneys from Waddon, June 2021

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Home, October 2021

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Home, November 2020

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View of Croydon town centre from the Addington Hills viewpoint, January 2022

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A winter evening walk, November 2021

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Croydon at night, December 2020

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View of Croydon town centre from the top of Duppas Hill Recreation Ground, January 2019

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Feeding horses at the bottom of Duppas Hill Recreation Ground, January 2019

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View from the Addington Hills viewpoint, January 2022

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Smoke from the incinerator, November 2020

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Home, April 2018

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South Norwood Lake and Grounds, November 2019

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East Croydon on a late summer evening, September 2017

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Looking over the train bridge in Waddon, February 2020

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Home, March 2020

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View of Croydon town centre from Purley Way Playing Fields, May 2020

Thank you to:

Josie Atkinson, Jessamine Thoemmes-Tondowski, and the team at RRB Photobooks; Shaniqua Benjamin for elevating the book with her poetry; Bev Jones for contributing her magnificent painting of Croydon; Moa Taylor Hodin at Stanley Arts and the National Lottery Heritage Fund for believing in this project; Wild in the City who opened my eyes to many of Croydon’s wild spaces and helped me understand the magic of our everyday nature; the gorgeous people of Croydon; the more-than-human world of Croydon; mum, for accompanying me on my many walks; Emma, for all the support given; and finally, to all who helped me make this book happen.

This book was launched as part of Croydon’s 2023 London Borough of Culture programme.

RRB Photobooks, July 2023 Photographs © Ameena Rojee Text © Shaniqua Benjamin Cover illustration © Beverley Jones ISBN 978-1-7397023-5-9 rrbphotobooks.com