Mysterious walks in ordinary places

Words by:
Maxim Griffin
Featured in:
October 2024

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.



Never miss a copy!

Big savings when you take out a subscription.

A gift to enjoy throughout the year.An annual subscription to Lincolnshire Life and The Lincolnshire Poacher will brighten the Christmas stocking of anyone who relishes life in our wonderful county. Subscriptions are priced from £36. You can order online at www.lincolnshirelife.co.uk or call 01522 689671. ... See MoreSee Less