And now, having typed that, a couple of exceptions have just occurred to me. I'd look out at freshly-fallen snow, because there's something magical about snow I'm sure you'll agree, and sometimes at night, me and my brother used to look out of our bedroom window at the lights of Glasgow (or its outskirts), twinkling on the far horizon like tiny, dancing fireflies or the glint of frost on the pavement when it catches the sun or the beam of a street-lamp. I last saw that night-time scene over 46 years ago, though I've seen the view in daytime on occasional visits to my old home - the first of which was 30 years ago, and the last 27 years back.
I first became aware of looking at the view for its own sake during the countdown to my family (and myself) flitting from my present house to a new one back in 1983. For some reason it filled me with sadness to realise, as I gazed out into the familiar distance one evening, that I'd probably never see twilight again from that bedroom window and that an era was passing. (Melodramatic? Me?) Of course, as many of you will know, just over four years later, we moved back to this house, and I was reunited with my old room and the former view from its window. Strangely, although I'd never wanted to flit to that new house, I now find myself even missing that view, and I'm glad I took quite a few photos of it in the four-plus years we resided there.
Views can change however, as mine has to a certain extent, what with new houses and flats being built on 'spare' ground. Of course, it was never spare (or 'underdeveloped' as the local council later categorised it), it was intended for recreational use, and to alleviate the monotony of the brick and roughcast-bedecked structures surrounding it; to provide a welcome oasis of greenery amidst the grey 'sentinels' which stood on its borders, and to provide a sense of space in what has now become an overcrowded concrete ghetto.
Do you ever think back to once familiar views you knew in your youth, readers, and wish you could return and see them again, even though you know that the harsh reality of time and so-called 'progress' consigned them to the phantom mists of history long ago? Feel free to relive those bitter-sweet memories in the comments section.
(Incidentally, the above photo was taken in August 1988, 16 years after moving away in 1972, and a year and a day after returning to the house we'd flitted to in '72 and vacated in '83.)
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(Incidentally, the above photo was taken in August 1988, 16 years after moving away in 1972, and a year and a day after returning to the house we'd flitted to in '72 and vacated in '83.)
I grew up in a village in the countryside and on clear nights I could see the stellar constellations, unaffected by the light pollution so common in towns and cities. I still see the constellations (the Plough, Great Bear, Orion, Cassiopeia etc) but it doesn't feel magical like it did looking up behind our house long ago.
ReplyDeleteI suppose that things always feel more magical in childhood, CJ. (The only constellation I recognise is Orion's Belt. Can't see his trousers though.)
ReplyDeleteKid, Cassiopeia is shaped like a W and The Plough looks like a saucepan.
ReplyDeleteI often look at the stars (when I'm lying in the gutter), so I've probably seen them, just never associated their names with them.
ReplyDeleteThe thing I remember as a kid were the fogs some like peasoup but as urban sprawl took over thr fogs diminished and in the end disappeared..Sad as it was great fun disappearing into the mist thinking you were lost forever even though you were actually two houses down the road...
ReplyDeleteWe still get the occasional fog up in my neck of the woods, LH. But then again, up here we get four seasons in one day.
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