Mysterious walks in ordinary places

By Maxim Griffin.

In search of some kind of silence, you go for a walk – perhaps a dog or a child or two in tow – you have been asked about the specifics of the walk – the destination, the duration, the possibility of refreshments – there are no clear answers, just the prospect of a walk – leave your telephone – it’s full of adverts and fascists and horror – a handful of change, a tenner maybe, just in case – and there you go, walking.

Late September – not big coat weather yet but the teeth of the Hydra are closing on the year – there are mince pies in Morrisons – you walk – people on your road wave as you go by – you wave back – you turn a different way at the corner – you don’t usually walk this way – good – bear that in mind – there are new houses going up where the brambles were – you quietly wish a haunting upon them – you pass bungalows with names – Avalon – Hill Rise – Wolds View – a cul de sac you’ve never been down – down you go – lace curtains and concrete garden shapes – a caravan – a face in a window – you look around – huh – a cut through you never knew existed – because you hadn’t looked.

Beyond the bridge
At the junction of red houses and a larger road – a woman who reminds you of the past is running for exercise – you step aside, scraping your arm on a tendril of bramble – a flesh wound – you cross the road and turn onto a street of semi-derelict light industrial buildings – Victorian mostly – one’s being gutted and turned into flats, another is barely visible under a cloak of ivy and knotweed – there’s the hum of machinery but you can’t find the source – an arch of brickwork has been tagged – it reads FAITH – you’ve seen this a lot and are uncertain of its meaning – you walk on.

A fence of metal and spikes does not keep the thistle in – a little blizzard leaks between the railings – you hear traffic and freight – through the weeds and tangle you see a hamburger restaurant and a place where people buy cups of coffee without leaving their cars – you consider a beverage but this will require forcing the boundary – a train rumbles beyond, hauling mysterious black carriages to elsewhere – a footbridge – good – you stop at the top but no trains are coming – beyond the bridge are roads you’ve never walked down.

You emerge from a labyrinth of semis and bungalows with the lingering feeling they are still watching you – a man came out of his house, you smiled and said good day but received no reply – there was someone at a window – a couple with small dogs stood and looked as you crossed the road – they were still looking as you turned the corner and made it to a green space – you cross a small, ordinary park – you read a sign – No Ball Games, No Fouling – you intend to do neither, at least not here, and cross the green in a roughly southern direction – keep the shadows behind you – a ball is kicked – good – become ungovernable.

Refreshments
You thirst – there is an unchained convenience shop at the end of the road – you consider a can of pop but go for chilled water – the gentleman at the till is an enthusiast and addresses you in a cheery but formal way and asks if you would be interested in any half price chocolate – having paid the man you need to choose another direction – you follow your nose – grilled things and spices – same as it ever was – even way back when this was a Roman town – meat on sticks and flatbreads – you turn a corner and cross the main drag – busy – too busy – you aim for elsewhere – keep walking.

An apple that hangs over the wall is fair game – it smells good – you eat – it is good – you follow the wall – apples on the pavement – there’s a sign – something something business park – you cross the threshold – you cross a vast and weedy car park – no cars – there are apple trees round the edges – what was this place? Big buildings – late Victorian hospital? No, later – interwar – it’s in the little details, the way even small windows are finished with panache – this is a strange business park – signage reveals that a self-storage facility is that way and an outlet of the Latter Day Saints is this way – there are bigger buildings beyond a wire fence – you see broken windows, exposed beams, tangle – a white van slowly passes – you smell coffee and cigarettes – you lean on a lamppost and drink a long draught of water – you look up – no lamppost should be this pretty – cast concrete, elegant, art deco angles – there’s a rusty plate at its base – Concrete Utilities LTD – nice – you make a note of it as you head off in the direction of apples – a man walks a big dog along an unmetalled track at the back of what appears to be a gymnasium – he’s got a carrier bag of apples and nods over his shoulder to an avenue of apples and pears – the possibility of crumble in the near future is high – you fill your knapsack mindfully – apples first, then pears – the bag sits awkwardly in the small of your back and you point yourself in the direction that may lead you home.

It’s hazy now – a little chill to the air – there’s still walking to be done, silence to be sought – you cross a main road and cut through the municipal cemetery – no one you recall is buried here, this place has no significance to you – rows of polished black granite headstones face away – old flowers in clear plastic wraps jangle in those little aluminum pots – you walk along yew trees to an iron gate which sighs as you go by.

What time is it? You left your phone – no matter – must be teatime or thereabouts – you cross the road at a zebra crossing and remember the Beatles – there’s a pub on the corner – the Prince of something – did you go there once before? Was it a wedding or a wake? No matter – you’ve change left for a pint and a little more silence.

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