Mark 
Revisiting this pillbox near Carhampton for the first time since 2017, I found myself drawn back as part of my ongoing exploration into psychogeography and the affective themes within my photography. This practice-led approach allows me to interrogate how places resonate emotionally, culturally, and historically. The pillbox, once a site of defence and vigilance, now stands as an isolated monument to a collective memory. Its presence in the landscape stirs questions of connection and disconnection – between past and present, between those who occupied this structure during wartime and those who now encounter it as a historical artefact.
Standing amidst the stark expanse of a post-harvested field near Carhampton, I approached the weathered hexagonal pillbox with care, conscious not only of my steps but of the layered narratives embedded within this unassuming structure. As a practice-led visual researcher, my purpose here was not merely to document its physical presence but to interrogate the cultural and historical resonance it carries. What compels us to preserve such remnants? How do they shape our understanding of wartime memory, identity, and landscape?
The pillbox, built between 1940 and 1941 as part of Britain’s defensive network against a potential German invasion, stands defiant against time. Its concrete walls, with visible signs of weathering, evoke the urgency and improvisation of wartime construction. As I framed my shots, questions arose: Does this object act as a marker of resilience or a symbol of fear? Are such sites preserved to honor the sacrifices of those who defended them, or are they simply remnants we are reluctant to discard?
Similar explorations into the relationship between landscape and memory have been addressed by researchers like Paul Gough, whose “A Terrible Beauty: British Artists in the First World War” (2000) examines how war reshaped not only physical spaces but also how those spaces are remembered through artistic representation. Gough’s insights encouraged me to consider how my images might contribute to this dialogue. My photographs of the pillbox, like his study of artists’ work, are not neutral; they seek to frame this defensive structure as both a historical artifact and a site of reflection.
As I moved closer to the structure, I imagined the men of the Home Guard who once stood here, their lives intertwined with this place. This narrative aligns with Gillian Rose’s arguments in “Visual Methodologies” (2016), where she explores how visual research engages with social practices and historical contexts. By positioning myself as both observer and participant in this landscape, I sought to bring their untold stories to life. Were they hopeful or resigned? Did they view this pillbox as a symbol of protection or entrapment?
The act of photographing this pillbox also draws on Tim Edensor’s work in “Industrial Ruins: Spaces, Aesthetics, and Materiality” (2005), which examines how neglected structures provoke questions about time, decay, and cultural value. Much like the industrial ruins Edensor discusses, this pillbox is a palimpsest—its layers of concrete, wood, and metal tell a story of wartime urgency, post-war neglect, and eventual preservation. Its presence in the field is both incongruous and poignant, a stark reminder of what once loomed as an existential threat to the nation.
Why do we preserve this narrative and this landscape? Perhaps because it anchors us to a past that feels increasingly distant, providing a physical connection to the lived experiences of those who endured the war. Yet, as a visual researcher, I must question whether this preservation serves as a critical engagement with history or a sanitised remembrance. The pillbox is both a relic and a site for interpretation, its continued existence challenging us to reconsider how we frame and engage with the narratives of war.
As I packed my camera and left the site, the questions lingered. My role, as both photographer and researcher, is to keep asking them—to keep looking, questioning, and creating space for dialogue through the images I produce.
Field study is featured within Defencology, issue 2025/2
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Image Description
A Second World War pillbox near Carhampton, west of Minehead, remains remarkably well-preserved, offering a tangible reminder of Britain’s wartime defences.
Constructed of concrete in a hexagonal design, this pillbox originally sat nestled in the corner of a field. However, the removal of hedgerows in 1994 has left it standing exposed in the middle of the field, with its door facing northeast. Aerial imagery suggests the structure was strategically positioned to face north, with its entrance likely located on the south side.
The pillbox features an unusual, non-standard design. Inside, a concrete step, approximately 1 foot high, leads to a raised platform measuring 3 feet by 3 feet and standing 2 feet high. The entrance is notably low, at just 3 feet in height, a feature typical of such defensive structures. An internal ricochet wall further demonstrates its defensive purpose, designed to minimize the risk of direct fire reaching occupants. Interestingly, part of the roof appears to be metal, supported by wooden rafters, with wood cladding applied externally. Historical records indicate it was once camouflaged by a hedge, blending it into the rural landscape to obscure its presence from potential attackers.
© Mark Stothard MA ARPS
ref MSP20171124_102936_D3S8092
First visited 21-11-2017