I got lost the moment I arrived. The new station was not as I remembered. The dark and dingy shopping centre that had covered it was now a light and airy, bright windowed affair.
And I didn’t know the way out. I felt lost in a way I never have before in a place that should have been familiar.
So much has changed. As 3 year veterans, I remember us pouring scorn when Selfridges appeared to herald this future. Now I feel somewhat bereft.
Back then, from the train, you could see a Victorian, columnated building that was isolated in a sea of concrete emptiness. I used to wonder what the building had been and what it was now, if anything.
I found out today, I went up close because that area is now mostly developed; and was my destination.
The building is still unused, though a plaque, almost as old as me and looking as dated as the building, informed me that it had more of a past here than me; and, it later transpired, more of a future too.
If I was an idiot, I would feel sick; I would claw at the history books and try to bring back the Birmingham that I knew. My nostalgia would cloud my mind and dim my view.
As it is I smile at this new place and I put the old, dusty tapestry back in the attic, where it belongs, before returning to the living room.
Written for entry in The Bridport Prize, 2016.
And I didn’t know the way out. I felt lost in a way I never have before in a place that should have been familiar.
So much has changed. As 3 year veterans, I remember us pouring scorn when Selfridges appeared to herald this future. Now I feel somewhat bereft.
Back then, from the train, you could see a Victorian, columnated building that was isolated in a sea of concrete emptiness. I used to wonder what the building had been and what it was now, if anything.
I found out today, I went up close because that area is now mostly developed; and was my destination.
The building is still unused, though a plaque, almost as old as me and looking as dated as the building, informed me that it had more of a past here than me; and, it later transpired, more of a future too.
If I was an idiot, I would feel sick; I would claw at the history books and try to bring back the Birmingham that I knew. My nostalgia would cloud my mind and dim my view.
As it is I smile at this new place and I put the old, dusty tapestry back in the attic, where it belongs, before returning to the living room.
Written for entry in The Bridport Prize, 2016.
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