When J.R.R. Tolkien’s was young, his Mother moved to Sarehole, a rural area outside of Birmingham. The small village had a mill, a river, and numerous paths for a boy to explore provided an idyllic haven in the midst of Tolkien’s turbulent childhood.
The family moved from there to the industrial city of Birmingham. The city was dirtied by years of industry. The factories for pottery and fine china belched their waste into the air. Even in Tolkien’s day, the city was a vast sea of industry covered by a veil of soot.
It is likely no coincidence that the seats of evil in The Lord of The Rings are based in towers that would resemble the destructive smoke stacks of the industrial age. It is easy to see a critique of the destruction that can be caused by industry in the words of Treebeard, the Ent. Speaking of Saruman, he says, “He is plotting to become a Power. He has a mind of metal and wheels; and he does not care for growing things, except as far as they serve him for the moment.”
Birmingham continued on the path of industrial development during Tolkien’s lifetime, becoming the center of England’s automobile industry. But over the years, as manufacturing jobs left England for cheaper labor overseas, the factories slowly became shadowing empty hulks.
On our way to the Ribble Valley, we rode the train through Birmingham. It is a city that I am sure has beautiful spots—the train certainly doesn’t go through any of them. In a way, Birmingham is England’s Detroit. Flight from the city has left behind the grime and waste of over a century of manufacturing and empty buildings.
I couldn’t help but think about how prescient Tolkien was. Birmingham looks like a city that is all used up. Everything of value has been taken and all that is left behind is the waste that was left in the pillaging.
It doesn’t take much imagination to ride the train into Birmingham and see the road through the gate of Isengard towards Orthanc or another road in the story straight into the heart of Mordor.
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