When you live in the city, and visit some of the more remote parts of the UK – north east, north west and the far, far north you definitely notice the drop in decibels. Never complete silence.
There’s always the background wash of sea, river or wind in the trees – punctuated by the occasional guttural claxon-caw of a passing crow. Enough, though, to feel the phantom buzz in your brain, once continually occupied with background clamour, gradually subside.
However, we have noticed, with the rise in the number of cars on the road and planes in the air, that it’s harder and harder to experience the deep quiet of the natural world.
We know mechanical noise, like trawlers or traffic, disrupts habitats and stresses animals and birds, affecting their behaviour. As a species of animal, noise can disrupt our wellbeing in exactly the same way (as you’ll no doubt know if you live directly under a flightpath). There is an argument, then, that we should be making havens for peace and quiet, in the same way we limit light pollution in National Parks.
Where it's generally accepted that urban spaces will be noisy, the contrast between noise and silence is heightened when you're out and about enjoying the countryside.
Check the Countryside Code and there's nothing specific about making a racket, perhaps pointing to an unspoken assumption that if you head out into the wilds you can expect peace and quiet. But plenty of people like to experience the outdoors at a higher decibel level. Microlights, quad bikes, even drones will dominate an aural space for miles around. Even if you don’t think you’re being that noisy, perhaps sitting around the fire at a campsite, playing music, swapping stories on a campsite, there’s bound to be a group of hikers who want to get to sleep. That's going to cause friction.
On the flip-side, when we take families camping the thing they often comment on is how quiet it is, especially after dark. When you’ve grown up in the city, deep silence can feel deathly, especially when that silence is interrupted by a barn owl screeching within a few feet of your tent: a million times more frightening than a siren setting off a few streets away.
So getting the balance between noise and silence right is always going to be tricky, because our perception of what counts as noise, and what is acceptable peace and calm is so subjective.
Reasonable vs Unreasonable
Take another example that occasionally makes the headlines: people moving into houses adjacent to playgrounds and instantly campaigning to get them closed because of the sound of laughing and screaming.
The vast majority of objections to noisy play spaces fall at the first hurdle - principally because, in the eyes of the law, sound only counts as noise when it is ‘unreasonable’. The sound of children’s play, when it’s generally limited to an hour or so a day, is reasonable, especially when the majority of people within communities actively value the sound of children playing and a dedicated space where they're allowed to let off steam.
Making space for silence
So, one of the things we encourage when we’re creating spaces for children and families – on our camping trips, or when we’re helping schools to reshape their playgrounds – is to make dedicated spaces for peace, quiet and relaxation. This is especially important for children on the autistic spectrum, as the full-on noise of active play can be overwhelming. It doesn't have to be one or the other, but it does involve some deeper thinking about how to create appropriate spaces for both high and low decibel activity. When you get the planning right, secluded spaces can readily sit alongside spaces where children are actively encouraged to run, spin, laugh and yell at the top of their voices.
Which leads to the consummate example of a successful compromise: the Midnight Showing of the Rocky Horror Picture Show. It’s a longstanding tradition, the late screening where you get to dress up, throw popcorn, shout out the best lines and belt out the Timewarp until you go hoarse. All in a setting where at any other time you’d expect silent and reverential appreciation of the artform. If you can make a zone for unrestricted mayhem in a Palace of Silence, it shouldn’t be beyond the bounds of possibility to make space for quietness in an otherwise clamorous world.
