A few days ago I received a phone call from a chap called Ben Leach - son of John Leach the highly acclaimed potter. Ben asked if I’d be prepared to write a tribute about his father who had just passed away in hospital aged 83. Because I was a friend of John - having known him for over 40 years - I was deeply saddened to hear the news but only too keen to write something for the papers as part of my own tribute to a great man…

The following article-obituary appeared in the Western Morning News and I believe in some other papers - and I also add a couple of other reports about Johnny Leach which I’ve written down the years. He was a good bloke - a very very interesting man and always great company. He will be greatly missed.

The death of one of the South West’s best known artists occurred over the weekend - John Leach was a member of the famous Leach dynasty of potters which gained world-renown after his grandfather Bernard began revolutionising British pottery with his wood-fired kilns in St Ives 101 years ago.

John, who was born at his grandfather’s Pottery Cottage, St Ives, in 1939, eventually settled in Somerset to build the now highly celebrated Muchelney Pottery where he worked for more than half-a-century.

During that time his exquisite wood-fired pots have featured in exhibitions around the world and he lectured in locations as diverse as Scandinavia, the Caribbean and the USA.

Despite the acclaim and plaudits, Johnny Leach (as he was known to his many friends) always remained with his feet and hands planted firmly in the clay-soils from which his art was born…

“In this very immediate, push button, plastic age we live in, it is a very real privilege to be able to make functional and beautiful designs by hand, on the potter’s wheel using the humble raw material of clay.”

This was a comment he made recently while preparing for the ongoing exhibition staged at the Leach Gallery in St Ives, entitled: John Leach, 65 Years a Potter. A fitting swan-song, perhaps, as John was not only born at the pottery, he later returned there in the early 1960s to train for three years under Bernard’s watchful eye.

The exhibition notes state: “Today, John’s Muchelney Pottery production focusses on wood-firing, where careful stoking coaxes the kiln to reach temperatures as high as 1320°c, creating surfaces with subtle flashing and warmth. The Muchelney kitchenware range is as iconic as John’s strong and direct personal pieces: both of which are represented in this exhibition.”

John was the oldest son of Bernard’s oldest son, David Leach, who set up his own highly acclaimed pottery at Lowerdown, Bovey Tracey. “I got on with Bernard like a house on fire - and I enjoyed being apprentice to him,” John once commented. “I am the eldest of the eldest, David was the eldest, and I am the oldest grandson, and I was rather pleased that some of my children - I have got five children with Lizzie - knew my grandfather, their great-grandfather.”

After purchasing a property in Muchelney deep in the Somerset Levels John began wood-firing there in 1976, eventually building an elaborate three-chambered wood-fired kiln at the rear of the charming thatched property over a two year period between 1997 and 98. Disaster then struck with a devastating fire so that the entire set-up had to be rebuilt just a year later. Five years after that the pottery opened its own John Leach Gallery which has hosted vast number of diverse exhibitions ever since.

Johnny Leach once told me: “It is amazing how the years fly by. We bought the place in 1964 and the place was condemned so we weren’t allowed to live in it until we’d brought it up to the necessary living standards. It had been a tithe cottage and it was very traditional with a double pig sty, which we knocked down and turned into the shop. There was also an ideal space for the three chambered oriental climbing kiln.”

John also told me about the day he finally fired-up his famous kilns… “This was the last kiln I needed to build in my working life, so I wanted to start it properly. I couldn’t just light it first time with a box of matches, it would be wrong. So I rang up Phil Harding of TV’s Time Team. I asked him if he could make fire the Stone Age way. I said, ‘I can’t afford your fancy TV fees but you can have a couple of pots from this first firing of my new beast’. He said, ‘You’re on, John’. Good as gold he lit the first firing - it meant so much to me at the time. He got a bow with string and notched wood and he had his own birch bark tinder paper and dried moss. As soon as it started in that little cup he put a bit in - and off it went. That is exactly how the Beaker Folk of Dartmoor would have lit their kilns 4500 years ago.”

The story hints at the sort of man Johnny Leach was. Thoughtful, highly amusing, eloquent, intelligent - and always with his very own way of doing things. His very own man - a potter, an artist, with a difference…

Over the 20 years I worked for the Western Morning News visited Johnny many times, covering all manner of events, but the one which stands out in my mind was the day he gave us a tour of his own nature reserve.

“This,” mused the world-famous potter as he stroked his beard and peered deep into the still waters of a lake, “is the finest thing I have ever made out of clay.”

John was one of those rare environmentalists who was willing to put his money where his mouth was. When two fields near his home came up for sale, he borrowed the funds to buy them with the sole intention of dedicating the site to nature.

“I come from Cornwall where it’s hard to grow trees because of the westerlies,” he told the WMN. “And anyway, grandfather used up all the available wood down there for his pottery. So I always said to myself: if I can ever afford it I’ll buy land and plant trees.”

He added: “I’m a potter and I burn a lot of wood, albeit wood from sustainable West Country plantations. We’re a bunch of pyromaniacs at this pottery, at least, that’s what we like to say.

“The first reason for using the wood-fired technique is aesthetic - because of the finish you can get. You have smoke and flames running through the kiln impinging on the ware, and that is what we love,” Johnny explained. “Don’t ask me to make a pair of anything – that is impossible. The flames are not only carrying smoke through, but also ‘fly’ ash. That’s going on for 36 hours and it combines with the silica in the clay body and provides a sort of sheen - a scorching – and that’s what gives you all the rich finishes.”

As we walked through what is now an officially recognised nature reserve, we came to a lake where the potter disappeared into a dense thicket. Within a minute there was the sound of water being disturbed and a few seconds later John reappeared looking for all the world like some eccentric jolly granddad with a floppy hat and giant beard who appeared to have set sail in an upturned umbrella.

“What do you think of my coracle?” he shouted. “If you dig a pond and there’s an island, then you have to get to it if maintenance needs doing. I don’t want anything with a sharp end and a blunt end. You need something slower – speed isn’t in it - it has to have empathy with the shape of the pond.

He paddled for a moment, thinking profound thoughts about ponds, and eventually he mused. “Most people go to a pond and look in and all they see is water and reflections. I can be in the pond looking out to where the banks are – and that, of course, is where all the life is.”

Some small part of that great maelstrom of life was half a mile away inside the cosy confines of the Muchelney Pottery where so many admirers and friends were offered tea and a chat, sometimes alongside with Johnny’s adored wife Lizzie present, at other times in the company of his potters. Like many people, I shall greatly miss those moments and one of the region’s most talented artists and most grounded of human-beings…

YEARS AGO I WROTE THIS NEWS FEATURE ABOUT JOHN FOR THE PAPERS…

The world famous potter looked deep into the still waters of the lake and stroked his long beard: “This,” he mused, “is the finest thing I’ve ever made out of clay.”

Upon hearing this you might think Johnny Leach was being overly modest. After all, why should a small lake set in the clay of the Somerset Levels be a thing of pride when compared to his pots that are sold and exhibited all over the world?

But if you were standing there, listening to the bubbling enthusiasm of this well known Westcountryman - and surveying the great beauty of the nature reserve he has created - you’d perhaps understand why he makes this curious assertion.

John, grandson of the late Bernard Leach, might be a great potter – but he also one of those rare environmentalists who is willing to put his money where his mouth is. When two fields near his Muchelney home came up for sale a couple of decades ago, he borrowed the funds to buy them with the sole intention of dedicating the site to nature.

“I come from Cornwall where it’s hard to grow trees because of the saline air carried on the westerlies,” says John “And anyway, grandfather used up all the available wood down there for his pottery. So I always said to myself: if I can ever afford it I’ll buy land and plant trees.

“A local farm went into liquidation and there were nine acres available – two fields which I loved to walk around. Fields can give you an ambience of their own and we bought them up at auction with help of my neighbour Richard England – he let me have my piece at same price as all the rest of the land he’d bought.

“I couldn’t afford do anything for a bit and sought advice from the Countryside Commission. But I wanted to landscape it like I wanted it – there were plenty of grants if you grew trees in ranks, but I didn’t want that. I wanted a whole mix of different trees with a pond, not that there was any strict plan.”

Johnny says he trod a fine line: “Of so much gardening, and so much wildness. So I have a mix of trees haphazardly dotted around, and some of those trees are now over 60 feet high. They’re the ones that like their feet in water.

“It’s clay, so it’s nearly all moist – we’re only 23 feet above sea level,” he added, as we wandered through his secret demesne. “We did have a drought in ‘91 and, as trees take up a lot of water, we had to mulch. We used to haul the blanket-weed out of the ponds and spread it all around the roots.”

With this, Johnny seems to remember something and reaches into his pocket. Extricating a large lump of bread he begins to role pellets of dough between his fingers, which he then flicks into the sultry waters of the lake. Suddenly a frenzy of fish is to be seen fighting just under the surface, like so many aquatic wedding guests scrabbling for a bride’s bouquet.     

“Rudd,” said Johnny. “Mostly, anyway. The local thatcher once gave me a bucket with seven rudd in it, and so we put them in and they’ve done well. We’ve also got sticklebacks, eels, pike and tench. 

“And we’ve got kingfishers,” he beams with even greater pride. “I love watching them darting around all the vantage points. They like to be above a bit of clear water. I was watching one just the other day - you could see the sun on his side and back with the iridescent electric flash of blue, and you could see a fish wriggling in its beak and the sun glinting on its underside. Marvellous. A marvellous picture. 

“The reserve has now become an official county wildlife site,” says Johnny with yet more pride. “It’s because of the dragonflies – we have demoiselles, damsel flies and dragonflies. And here’s an extraordinary thing: I didn’t realise this ‘til recently, but three miles up the road there lives the president of the worldwide dragonfly society. He’s called Dr Mike Parr and he didn’t know I had a pond which was a county wildlife site known for its dragonflies. He’s had a look around now, and soon he’s coming back again with a couple of wildlife groups.

“We’ve recorded 20 different species of butterflies, from brimstones to commas and painted ladies. But I can’t say I’m a diligent enough recorder to write down everything I see, year after year. That, for me, takes too much time.”

I put it to Johnny that it was all very well him allowing nature to inhabit a heavenly corner of the Levels, but why had he gone to all the effort and expense of planting so many trees?

“I’m a potter and I burn a lot of wood,” he replied. “Albeit wood from sustainable plantations – almost all from the West Country. Larch and, or, Douglas fir. I get it from a company that uses it for fencing post and I use the off cuts from that process. Eleven big bundles at a time. We’re a bunch of pyromaniacs at this pottery, at least, that’s what we like to say. Actually, we only do six firings a year – but we use plenty of wood to keep warm in winter. The off-cuts of the off-cuts if you like… 

“The first reason for using the wood-fired technique is aesthetic - because of the finish you can get. You have smoke and flames running through the kiln impinging on the ware, and that is what we love,” Johnny explained. “Don’t ask me to make a pair of anything – that’s impossible. The flames are not only carrying smoke through, but also ‘fly’ ash. That’s going on for 36 hours and it combines with the silica in the clay body and provides a sort of sheen - a scorching – and that’s what gives you all the rich finishes.”

John is quite happy to go on using industrial off-cuts while leaving his own beloved trees to do what trees do best – things like providing shade in the midday heat, as well as a habitat for dormice and other sundry creatures great and small. 

We wander onwards through the mown rides, and John keeps stopping to stoop over this plant and that. Even the grasses catch his attention. “This is Timothy,” he says in another explosion of pride, as if he’s introducing me to some brilliant young protégé. No mere blade of grass has ever felt so wanted and loved.  

Eventually we come back to the lake again and the bearded potter dives away into a particularly dense thicket of bushes. Within a minute there’s the sound of water being disturbed and a few seconds later John reappears into view out on the lake. It’s one of those Edward Lear moments – the sturdy granddad with a floppy hat and giant beard appears to have set sail upon an upturned umbrella.

“What do you think of my coracle?” he shouts. “If you dig a pond and there’s an island, then you have to get to it if certain maintenance needs doing. Trimming, maybe things get too big… I have a friend, Peter Faulkner, in Shropshire, and he makes the Severn coracle. It’s an Iron Age thing. Totally biodegradable.

“Look, this is a Charolais-cross-Hereford skin and he clamps it around framework of hazel ribbing with withy duck-boarding and withy gunnels. It’s all stitched with horsehair rope – and the tail is even left on,” laughed Johnny, waving something Eyore may have lost in one of his great big hands. “This tail is my distress signal…” 

I asked if the craft was difficult to control and the potter gave me a deft demonstration of the extraordinary technique – which is like traditional skulling in reverse. “I don’t want anything up here with a sharp end and a blunt end,” he barked across the water. “You need something slower – speed isn’t in it and I don’t make wakes. It has to have empathy with the shape of the pond. 

He paddled for a moment, thinking profound thoughts about ponds, and eventually he mused. “Most people go to a pond and look in and all they see is water and reflections. I can be in the pond looking out - to where the banks are – and that, of course, is where all the life is.”

Then John told me why he’d gone to all the bother of having a pond. “I dug it to sustain my interest in the whole plot – I needn’t have bothered really, but I’m so glad I did it. I dug another little pond in the other field and after I’d dug it water-boatmen came flying in. I’ve never seen that in my life before – suddenly they were flying - and they just dived in and that was that. 

“It is the best thing I’ve ever made out of clay – and this is a potter talking, so I suppose that’s saying something. It will never be sold, and it’s open for everyone to see – the public footpaths come through. And it changes its moods so often. I love the look of it. I love the evolution. There’s no two years that are ever the same. Or months. Or even minutes.

“And I love it,” said Johnny as he paddled off across the lake. “I love it. I love it…” 

AND IN 2014 I INTERVIEWED JOHN WHO HAD BEEN INUNDATED IN THE GREAT SOMERSET LEVELS FLOOD

A world famous potter has been able to light his wood-fired West Country kiln this week for the first time in months. 

John Leach, whose Muchelney Pottery on the Somerset Levels was flooded in November, says his team is more than six weeks behind in their work schedule thanks to the inundation – and some of his neighbours in the village have yet to move back into their homes.   

“The footings of our wood-fired kiln absorbed a lot of water right up to the seventh course - so we’ve had a dehumidifier in each of the three chambers for months,” he told the Western Morning News. “Now we’ve fired up for the first time and hopefully we won’t get any cracking in the kiln - but it is a protracted firing time-wise.

“We lit up at six in the morning and my colleague Nick Rees is in there controlling things - and so far so good, but it’s going a bit slow and sluggish.”

He went on: “Normally we do a firing every two months, so in production terms we are at least six weeks behind. That affects orders - and of course the flood prevented customers coming here, so our retail side just about closed down over the Christmas period.” 

As we walked around his still flood-damaged thatched home Mr Leach explained: “The first morning I came downstairs there was an ominous pooling under the Aga. I’ve never experienced a flood before - we’ve had the other element - we had a fire here. 

“But this is not pleasant - it’s the relentlessness. I was still in a state of disbelief the second morning when I came down and looked over the stable-door into a passageway and there was an old hobnail boot of mine just sort of sailing down in an upright position looking for its partner.”

Unlike the other Muchelney households Mr Leach and his wife Lizzie were able to stay put rather than abandon their home: “There are 10 houses here and we were the only ones who remained on site - but only because the gallery and shop are 13 inches higher than the rest and that saved us. We carried our food out to the gallery to eat. 

“But, because we’re all on septic tanks in the village, it’s black-water that floods the homes. I rigged up a bucket-and-chuck-it, which is not comfortable - and lo-and-behold, sailing down the road in a regal fashion was a port-a-loo,” laughed Mr Leach from under his large beard. “Right on cue, it appeared in my vision – and we managed to grab it.”

Firing up the big wood-kiln takes some 40 hours and then a further two days to cool down, which gave the potter – whose stoneware pots sell around the globe – a few moments to muse on the recent floods…

“Sometimes I think it’s an act of man - I am talking about climate change,” he told the WMN. “Although someone glibly said this is a once in a 100-year flood, that is not going to appease me. The second 100 years could start tomorrow. 

“If people were dredging the rivers like they used to, things would be different. Firstly, you get silting and you don’t have the volume of water going out – and secondly, here on the Levels, you are not building up the banks. 

“Ditches, rhynes, banks… they are just not being managed like they used to be,” said Mr Leach. “I realise there are an awful lot of things we can no longer afford – but at sometime we are going to have to talk about this.”