A radio feature about a town's sound map

Attitude, opinion and inference

1. a) He realised he could not remember the old ferry hornAfter the ferry horn was replaced, he found he could not recall its pitch, and that prompted him to record in earnest.
2. d) They matter more than recordings of special eventsHe says the ordinary ones are the most valuable, because anyone can record a festival.
3. b) She found it slightly foolishShe says she thought it was a bit daft and was bemused at first.
4. c) A child's comment gave her a new way of hearing her shutterA boy said her shutter sounded like a dragon waking up, and she has not heard it the same way since.
5. d) Sudden loud events have become more common, although the average is similarThe average level has not risen much, but the peaks have become far more frequent.
6. a) It depends too heavily on him aloneHe worries that he is one man with one microphone; only if the town took the project on would it outlast him.
7. c) To make them notice sounds before they capture themHe says the machine only captures what the person has already noticed, so careful listening comes first.
8. b) Paying attention to everyday sounds can preserve a place's characterThe feature shows how recording ordinary sounds helps people notice and keep what makes their town distinctive.

Listen for details

1. six / 6The narrator says he has been doing this for six years.
2. three / 3Idris says the old ferry horn was replaced three years ago.
3. four hundred / 400The narrator says the map holds just over four hundred clips.
4. roofOne of the clips is rain on a tin roof.
5. dragonThe boy compared the shutter to a dragon waking up.
6. ThursdayThe feature begins on a grey Thursday morning.

Narrator: On a grey Thursday morning in the harbour town of Selmouth, a retired electrician named Idris Vane is standing very still beside the fish market, holding a microphone in a fluffy grey cover. He has been doing this for six years. His aim is to build a sound map of the town: hundreds of short recordings, each tied to the place where it was made.

Idris: People think a town looks like something. I'd say it sounds like something, too, and that we only notice when a sound is about to vanish. The old ferry horn was replaced three years ago. Nobody complained, but I went down that week and found I couldn't remember the pitch of the one I'd heard all my life.

Narrator: That loss prompted him to start recording in earnest. The map now holds just over four hundred clips, and local schools use them to teach history. A good few are unremarkable by design: a bus door, a shutter being pulled down, rain on a tin roof.

Idris: The ordinary ones are the most valuable. Anyone can record a festival. It's the Tuesday morning sounds that nobody thinks to keep.

Narrator: Not everyone was convinced. Odile Marsh, a shopkeeper whose shutter features in the collection, admits she was bemused at first.

Odile: I thought it was a bit daft, if I'm honest. Who wants to listen to my shutter? But then a boy from the primary school played it back, and he said it sounded like a dragon waking up. I've never heard it the same way since.

Narrator: The project has a practical side as well. Acoustic researchers are using the recordings to measure how noise has changed along the seafront since the new road opened. Their early finding is that the average level has not risen much, but the peaks, the sudden loud events, have become far more frequent, and those, they suspect, matter more for sleep.

Idris: What worries me is that I'm only one man with one microphone. Were the town to take this on, it would outlast me. At the moment it's a hobby that happens to have grown rather large.

Narrator: He has begun training teenagers to take over, starting with one simple rule: listen for a full minute before you press record. As Idris puts it, the machine only captures what the person has already noticed.