Another story waiting to be written…

Out for a country walk and we found a trail which took us along beside a river. Now this waterway was just a river but we could see evidence that it had formally been used to provide water for various mills, and that it would have been used in a variety of ways whereas now it is just for our leisure.

There was a particular part where a mill must have been and on its site was a factory – nothing to do with water, it was just there on the area where a different sort of industry must have taken place. We followed the footpath which crossed the river, and there, at the edge of a field, was an old house, now abandoned and empty. it was very typical of the area, and typical of village houses i remember from my childhood, made of a local brick which when I was young I hated, a creamy sallow grey. As an adult now I thin the bricks are rather attractive, but I didn’t like them at all as a child, I felt rather unsettled by houses of that colour.

If this particular house had been occupied with children’s toys in the garden, washing on the line, and shrubs and plants settling themselves down for autumn, I might have passed by with barely a glance. But there it stood abandoned; the windows were dark and empty and round the back were rickety extensions, sheds and greenhouses, all falling to bits.

The house just asked to be written about… I’m not sure what I will write or even when I will write, but as it is the National Novel Writing Month coming up on Sunday – November 1st, then maybe it could be an inspiration for me!