Albion, Art, Life

Clayton…

***

These reminiscences have come about… As a result of again bumping into… Mark and Bob… After many years… One thing we all agreed on… The Windmill Inn… Should not now… Be a supermarket… Commercial concerns… Have no sense of sanctity… Old Tufty, I fear, would turn in his grave… If he’s dead… Yet, it’s true… We never had much… Probably never will… But what we did have… Which was a sort of community… Well, we invested our heart… And soul into it… And the Windmill Inn… Was a huge part of that… For a year, maybe more… Though it felt like a lot longer at the time.

***

Conferring value in this way… Is alien to a lot of people… Experience does not become treasured… Unless its shared… It should not be difficult to see how this works… In an energy sense… Its alchemy… A retort of time, and place, and people… There is something else with The Windmill though… As a landscape feature it has prominence… And it’s hard not to speculate that there was once a windmill where the Inn, which is now a supermarket, once stood… The other thing to note… Is that it stands at a cross-roads… Meetings that occurred there… And there were a few… Somehow held significance.

***

Once bumped into Mum… Unexpectedly… Across from The Windmill… And coming the other way… Walking down the hill… Into Clayton… Where the Cemetery is situated… On the long way home from sixth-form… I once passed Jo Cass… Pushing a pram… It’s what she had always wanted… From a very early age… That child… If it survived… Would now be… Oh, forty years old… And there’s every chance… If Jo Cass herself survived… That she is now a Grand-Mum… What a thought, eh… Glad she didn’t get… All shot to pieces… Like in the film.

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