Regeneration...

Today I paid an emotional visit to the village I grew up in.  It was emotional because over the last 3 years the part of the village where I lived has been slowly demolished in the name of regeneration.  New modern housing and amenities are planned.  

Now whilst I realise that in the long term, this can only be a positive thing for my little village, it is still heartbreaking to see the destruction of the place I called home for the first 22 years of my life and strangely, still think of as home despite having been away for the same length of time.

My old house was the last one to be pulled down in this first phase of regeneration.  Over the 3 years since the demolition began I have visited regularly and each time a few more houses are down but I always took comfort from the fact mine was still standing.  Today it had gone.  All that is left of it is the pile of rubble you can see to the left of the post box.

I took loads and loads of pics but this one jumped out at me because, whilst you will look at it and see some rubble, wasteland and a battered old post box, I see an altogether different picture...

-  This is the post box where I posted all my letters to Santa.

-   This is the post box I climbed on top of and cried when I couldn't get
    down  again!

-  This is the post box exactly half way between mine and my best friend's
    house where we used to walk each other to, from whoevers house we'd
    been in and watch while they made the rest of the way safely home.

-  This is the post box I would give my final wave to my gran and grandpa
    from as I made my way to school as it could be seen from the window of
    our house and they insisted on waving till I was out of site.

-  This is the post box our gang met at when it had snowed, with our bin bags / trays to sit on and slide down the hill past the cherry tree.

-  This is the post box I used to stop at on my way home from school in the
    12 days before Christmas in great anticipation to see if the Christmas tree had been put up as a surprise for me.  If the lights were twinkling in our 
    living room window the last 50 yards home were galloped!

-  This is the post box where I would let go of my secret first love's hand as it signalled the fact we were in site of my house.

-  This is the post box I trusted with my wedding invitations.

And all around this post box were the houses of friends and family.  The houses whose doors we safely knocked on every Halloween when out guising.  The doors we knocked and ran away from, squealing with laughter!  The doors I went around bob-a-jobbing.  The doors where everyone knew everyone and if you needed a telling off you got it....from whoever's mother was nearest!   It was a  bustling little community with its fair share of colourful characters!

Today the birds were whistling and the breeze was gentle and I was gripped by the quietness of the place.  I closed my eyes and let the laughter and voices of people long silenced wash over me.

Memories are wonderful things....