One of the things about my home town (as I'm sure it is with yours) is that certain aspects have changed so much over the last twenty-five years or thereabouts, that some areas are almost unrecognizable to what they once were. To anyone who moved away in the early '80s and has never been back since, the town remains preserved as it was in the amber of their memories. If ever they were to return on a visit, I'm sure they'd be in equal parts amazed and horrified at some of the changes which have taken place.
Truth to tell, I'm almost envious of them. To gad about on the other side of the world somewhere, thinking, in a blissful state of ignorance, that one's home town remains as it once was seems a reassuring notion to me. In that way, the playing fields of your childhood remain forever inviolate. Same goes for people; if you don't know someone has expired since you last saw them, they're still alive to you and will be for as long as you are. What does it profit you to learn that their life's race ended halfway through your own?
I remember being in a camera shop a number of years ago and running into a schoolpal who once sat beside me in technical drawing class (and probably other classes also). ALAN PARKER was (and is) his name, a fact which won't make this tale one whit more interesting, but which I feel compelled to mention for no other reason than that it happens to be the case. The conversation ran something like this. Me: "Hi, Alan - what're you up to these days? Him: "I'm on holiday at the moment." Me: "Not going anywhere?" Him: "Yes - here!" Me: "Eh?" Him: "I emigrated to Australia a couple of years back, and I'm over visiting my folks."
To be honest, I can't actually recall whether it was Australia, New Zealand or Canada he had gone to, but Australia will suffice for the purpose of our tale. I was actually quite surprised by the news, mainly because it didn't seem like anywhere near two years since I'd last seen him - five or six months at the most, I would've thought. The realization that he'd been living in another country and pursuing a new and different life for that period, while I subconsciously imagined him to be still tripping merrily around the streets of my town, ready to run into at any moment, was a sobering reminder that things aren't always as we perceive them to be. In my life, nothing much had changed; in Alan's, a whole new horizon lay before him - and he was already several steps on in the journey which had taken him beyond the narrow (if comforting) confines of my own world.
A few weeks back, myself and a friend I've known since I was seven years old, took a wander around the new housing scheme which now sits upon the sizeable area of land where once resided my old secondary school. It was a strange experience because, inside its boundaries, there were no visible 'landmarks' to indicate our location. We could've been in any new-built housing scheme in Britain; it was as if we'd walked through a dimensional portal and found ourselves somewhere else entirely. Beyond and out of sight, lay the familiar environs we'd known since childhood, but within these strange new streets we were in an unknown place in an unknown land. It was with a sense of relief that we returned to our own world some minutes later, back through whence we had come.
In my more fanciful moments, I sometimes wonder if the 'dear departed' (assuming they survive death in some form) are aware of what goes on in the place they left behind; or do they imagine (like the distant wanderer) that everything remains the same as when they left it? If granted a day's visit to their home town from whatever celestial realm or dark netherworld they may inhabit, would they be surprised and dismayed to learn of the changes which have taken place in their absence? "What? My old house has been demolished? The old cinema has been gone for twenty years? My favourite toyshop is now a newsagents? The Cairneys don't live at number thirty-three any more?" Or would such trivial concerns be beyond them in their joy at feeling the wind blow through their hair once more, and again experience a sun-kissed walk through green fields for however brief a period?
Try and let me know if you go before I do, will you?
On Saturday night I watched 'When Dinosaurs Ruled The Earth' on YouTube which was the first film I ever saw at the cinema in 1973 and it struck me while I was watching it that the 'Castle' cinema where I saw it was demolished a couple of years ago. But the place where the cinema stood is now a large paved area which actually looks nicer than a derelict cinema I must admit. I think we have to remember that buildings we grew up with were built on the space where previous buildings were demolished to make way and those previous buildings must have had memories for an earlier generation. As long as you remember the building that's gone is what matters - I'll always have fond memories of the 'Castle' cinema even though it's now history. "When Dinosaurs..." had a nude scene that's always been absent from every TV showing and it was absent from the YouTube version too - drat !!
ReplyDeleteBeing the selfish, self-obsessed individual I am, CJ, I just prefer things to be the way I remember and prefer them. I don't need to be reminded of how transitory life is by having all the landmarks of my youth demolished and built on. Have you tried Googling 'Nude scene from When Dinosaurs ruled the Earth'? Worth a try.
DeleteI have told you about my dear Uncle Bill ( who bought me bundles of comics, that sledge, etc. ). Well, I often chat with him on the phone ( usually reminiscing about those good old days ), but when he tells me about all the changes ( for the worst ) to my home town, the more determined I am never to see it again! I have told him that I have kept it preserved in my mind exactly the way that I left it and he said that it is probably for the best that I keep it that way, as I wouldn't like what I see.
ReplyDeleteFor you though Kid, it's different as you've actually seen the changes they've made and "horrified" is an apt word to use. "Saddened" would be another. The only therapy I can suggest is take pen to paper and take another walk around the town in your mind the way it used to be and write it all down in a book. Draw lots of detailed street maps, marking where every thing used to be. It's a big job, I know, but doing just a little bit at a time, you will finish it one day.
How do I know?
Because that's what I did!
What I did, JP, was to take loads of photos (and, sometimes, a video) whenever I learned of upcoming changes to places that were familiar to me from my childhood. Sometimes I learned too late, but I got my three old school, two of them in extensive detail.
DeleteBrilliant blog. How do you do it?
ReplyDeleteMagnificently, of course.
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