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| The school on April 26th, 1988 |
I recently regaled you with the tale of how I obtained the plastic letters which comprised the 'CLASSROOM 7' sign of my very first room in my old and now deserted (and soon to be demolished) primary school. (Okay, who yawned?) I was accompanied on that particular visit by a representative of the local Educational Authority, but, back home later that night, I realised I'd left my chisel in the classroom. 'Twas too late to do anything about it then, but the very next day, I 'phoned my contact to explain my oversight and to see if he'd mind me trotting along to the security portacabins in the playground and getting someone to retrieve my chisel for me.
No problem, so off I trotted and saw the fellow who had allowed us access the previous day. I'd expected him to fetch the implement for me, but he handed me the keys to the main door and let me retrieve it myself. When I got to Room 7, there was my chisel sure enough - but there also was my hammer, which I hadn't even realised I'd left behind. They're both now safely back in my possession, but such trivialities are not what this post is about, you'll no doubt be relieved to hear.
No, what I want to share with you is how strange it was to walk the corridors of my old school with absolutely not another soul in the building - apart, of course, from the 'ghosts' of all those who'd trod those hallowed halls in days gone by. To have the entire place to myself was almost to experience what it must be like to be the last human left on Earth, after the rest of the population has departed for another planet in a far-distant solar system. The classrooms were empty of desks or anything else, with not even a blackboard duster in sight.
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| The school on July 22nd, 2011 |
It was an eerie sensation - and for me, a momentous moment laced with poignancy, as I tried to accept that this would most likely be the final time I would ever be able to revisit the interior scholastic environs which had once been so familiar a part of my childhood from the age of 7 to 11, and to which I'd often returned for jumble sales and tea & coffee mornings over the years. Now that point of reconnection to earlier days would be denied me, and I know that once the building is gone, I won't be able to pass the area without stealing a glance at the spot it once occupied and feeling a pang of sorrow at its absence.
Should it be demolished ere I can once more return to gaze wistfully upon it from beyond the gates, I can at least be thankful that I got to spend some time with it alone, and to say my final goodbyes in private, without any uncomprehending witnesses wondering why the imminent demise of an empty building can so affect anyone to such a degree. It will survive in photographs, videos and memories, but the old neighbourhood will never be quite the same again, alas.
Nothing seems to be the same anymore - I must be getting old. But then again, aren't we all?
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| The school hall on October 31st, 2013 - the day before my 'last' visit |
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Actually, I was able to return on one more occasion, on Saturday, January 11th 2014. Half the school had already been demolished, but the dining hall area still stood awaiting its fate. The building was cordoned off, but I managed to penetrate the defences and, risking life and limb, I scaled a half-demolished wall and gained access to its interiors. A large fox, which I at first took to be a dog, was startled by my sudden appearance and hastily vacated its spot on the floor, leaving me to snap a few more photos and drink in my childhood school environs for one final time. (Thank goodness for cameras - I don't know what I'd do without one.)
2 comments:
I think it was the law back then, Kid, that Scottish primary schools had to be particularly ugly places. Yours looks to be on a par with mine: one big building and a couple of smaller ones, surrounded by an odd-shaped paddock that passed as a sports field. The main thing that stood out when I returned a few years later was just how small it actually was, maybe because I was all grown up or maybe just in comparison to my secondary school.
Believe it or not, GB, the school is actually all one building, with two big football pitches on the far side of the first photo. (At least there was - until the new school was built on top of one of them.) I remember me and a friend getting a full tour of the school when we were about 18 (for the first time since we'd left); everything seemed to be on the same scale as it was when we were kids as far as length, depth and height of the building was concerned - but the desks seemed tiny, and the sinks in the toilet seemed almost like foot-baths, so low down on the walls were they.
Funnily enough, 'though, on my last two recent visits, the place seemed far smaller because it had nothing in it. (A bit like my livingroom, in fact, which somehow seems bigger the more furniture it has, and smaller with less.)
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