The Park

When I walked through the park the other day I was left wishing I hadn’t. It’s some years since I was last there and its deterioration was depressing. It had the appearance of being given just enough attention to stop nature reclaiming it but not enough to stop it from looking desolate and uncared for. I hear they don’t even bother to close and lock the gates at the end of the day any more; there’s no one there to close them and there’s nothing left in there for the vandals to damage.

There used to be a full time team of keepers at work in that Park. We kids were the bane of their lives; keeping them on their toes when we would climb trees and make dens in the bushes, and play football on the meant to be kept off grass. We had nicknames for some of them, and they had curse words for some of us.

Near the entrance to the park there were facilities: Six tennis courts that were mainly empty for 50 weeks of the year, yet still kept in good order. During Wimbledon fortnight people queued to get onto them. There were four assiduously tended and pampered bowling greens in front of a long, roofed pavilion. They were in constant use. Retired men, mostly old miners, spent their afternoons on them, taking their games very seriously. One old fella used to make us laugh; he would trundle his bowl down the green and then trot along behind it, following it to its destination; watching over it as if to supervise its progress. And, for the duration of the short journey, he would maintain the body position prevailing at the time the bowl left his hand: Bent forward at the waist, in a stoop, and one arm stretched out with an upturned palm of the hand.

I once heard of strange goings on in the toilets; things beyond a child’s understanding, or at least beyond a child’s understanding of the reason for them.

Long gone are the well kept flower beds with paths running through them and a fountain in the centre. They were mostly filled with wall flowers and snapdragons. I remember there were lupins and red hot pokers somewhere; I would never have suspected that I would one day even feel nostalgic about those. There was also a rose garden with heavy wooden trellises between high, brick pillars. There were four benches in the rose garden and four cherry trees, set out in a square. All that’s left now are the cherry trees, looking a bit out of place just standing there on there own.

I wish I hadn’t gone into the park the other day; I wish my memory of it were still the one I had before I did. I don’t think I’ll be going there again. I could say that park is a metaphor for my life but it wouldn’t be true. My life never really had a heyday, and I always ignored the weeds in my flower beds.