I catch a train to work every morning and on the way to the station I pass a car park. Nothing very remarkable about that. But I also pass the remains of a gate. It stands on the perimeter of the car park boundary like an alien intrusion.
It’s a little bit incongruous, in the middle of a fairly barren expanse of tarmacadam splattered with a few lonely looking cares. It seems like someone started and then forgot about building something. That is until you realise that someone did build something and this is all that remains – not a beginning (although once it was that too) but an end.
It’s not that long ago that there was a house here. I have vague memories of it. As far as I can recall it was two stories, cosy looking, maybe ivy clad, with a garden that was bit overgrown but all the more authenic and slightly fitting for being that way. If I remember correctly, it was a fairly large house and rather appealing.
People even wanted to buy it and that it would make a nice home. It was a quaint old building with the certain something that give some houses a character and an appeal all of their own, it was in a good location, with a generous amount of green space.
And then one day it was gone. Bulldozed for some ambitious development scheme during the Celtic Tiger. At this stage, I have no idea what the plans were. I had no interest in the at the time. I thought the house and garden was a perfect little oasis as it was, a bit of a haven of greenery and scenary for eyes and the mind. Then the Great Recession came and the house was gone, the garden was gone and the plans for the wonders to some fell through.
Now there’s nothing but a windswept car park, a smattering of cars and the lonely gate. And the odd thought and memory of the morning passer-by………..