A very evocative find out on the fens. An abandoned railway carriage sits at a deserted platform as if having collapsed on its final run up from March to Spalding. Sun-bleached peeling paint, cobwebbed windows, but still the sandblasted glass firmly saying 'It's OK, come in here and light up your Woodbine, Churchmans, Passing Cloud or Sweet Afton. No 'customer services team member' to report you to the Tobacco Police, no disapproving looks from your travelling companions. Now it's just the wind through the hawthorns blowing in from the quiet fields, the occasional badger or fox stopping momentarily to sniff the cold air. Do they catch the ghost of the last blue wreath of smoke curling up out of the ventilator? I do hope so.
Halifax, West Yorkshire
4 days ago
4 comments:
There's a point just before a bulb blows (an old-fashioned filament one, not the new energy-saving variety) when the light burns suddenly brighter for a moment. You know it's doomed, it's going to die, but just for a minute everything is brighter and more perfect that it's ever been. Some of these decaying structures are like that – more beautiful and bright in their ruin than they ever were in their previous, functioning life. And then they're gone, and no restoration, no Farrows or Balls will bring them back...
Bit like women then ?
Quite. Not sure where the Farrows come in, though.
Damn fine post Squire Ashley
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