Geraint Roberts - Ramblings of a would-be published novelist

Progress

A recent weekend in Aberystwyth allowed me to revisit my childhood. I could potter along the beach, getting stones in my shoes. I could visit town and browse, not buy, like any good Cardi. I could visit many of the scenes from my writing and see how it is now.
It was a beautiful weekend, the sun shone, the sky cloudless. A vicious wind put a chill on the proceedings, but that's what the coast does for you.
I passed a block of new flats, on a hill, all blue and white, looking ready to be sold for a nice profit. My heart sank, for these were on the site of the North Road hospital, until 1969 it was Aberystwyth's hospital.It was old and outdated. Huge heating pipes populated the corridors and the lift looked reminiscent of Lord Peter Wimsey, but it was the place of my birth. The place where my Nain died and all, when it was an old people's home. Dad was manager from about 1958 there, it's been in the family for generations, you could say..
It's pleasant winding entrance was up a steep hill and was beautifully mainured. Now all destroyed in an outpouring of builder's rubble. Progress, eh?
My mother was born in a pub - or above one, in Liverpool. The Prince George in Warbreck Moor. My Dad was born in a house, next to Lucas in Caernarfon. At least you can still see these places. We even have a painting of the pub on the living room wall here.
For me, though, I only have memories. I can't revisit to see it all and somehow, I feel a piece of me has gone with it. There's a gap in my life, every time I drive past. Progress...

posted by Geraint @ 6:39 am