Fast Asleep at Crewe

Folks, I am moving. House, city, garden. Moving away.

I’ve lived in Crewe for 9 years. Fruitful? Yes. Both my children born here, in the same hospital, probably the same room. Same midwives, nurses, same women administering the BCG vaccine because they have foreign blood.

When I first moved here I thought I would only be here a year. Two max. I planted tulips, hyacinths, peonies which are only just about to bloom, and I won’t see them blooming. Beautiful climbing rose bushes from David Austen and two others from somewhere else which are all healthy and doing so well – I will not be here to see them bloom. But I hope someone else can enjoy the scent and colour of them for me. I planted three hydrangea bushes – one of which was mercilessly beheaded by an uninformed brother in law. A cherry tree which is only just bearing fruit, and an apple tree which bore me three apples and didn’t blossom at all this year.

I was ecstatic to discover Crewe mentioned in T.S Eliot’s poem ‘Skimbleshanks the Railway Cat’ – more on Crewe and its heritage later – it’s now just a sad little forlorn and broken down town filled with people who are the shadows and ghosts of their respectable ancestors. Sad but true. Brutal? This country brutalised its people. Flying Scotsman versus Japanese bullet train – the world is leaving this once-great country covered in dust.

You were fast asleep at Crewe and so you never knew
That he was walking up and down the station;
You were sleeping all the while he was busy at Carlisle,
Where he greets the stationmaster with elation.

Not all doom and gloom. April was shower-less but we still have our usual May explosion of frondescence and ambrosia. This country comes alive in the spring, and opens doors to a truly glorious summer. Bees and butterflies and flowers galore.

But I choose to leave. Why? Why not. Never stayed anywhere solidly for a long period of time. I roam this earth like a nomad and stranger, and while deep roots, according to Tolkien, are not reached by the frost, my deep roots are internal, non-physical. My family, my friends, they remain the same. But my furniture and home can be discarded.

Home is where the family is, after all. Let us hold on to that.

Goodbye, Crewe!!!

I have MANY thoughts on Crewe, having lived here for 9 years, and I want to elaborate on them soon.

Watson, Harry; Crewe Number 1 Platform, c.1960; Crewe Heritage Centre; http://www.artuk.org/artworks/crewe-number-1-platform-c-1960-103038

Living in Crewe

Hello bloggers.

I have taken a short break from blogging. No, I haven’t. I just have not blogged for a while. I haven’t been busy, as such. Well, I suppose I have, in the grand scheme of things!

I have edited (finally) my husband’s 24,000 word dissertation. I even did some research on the history of cars, from the designs of Leonardo Da Vinci to the Model T created by Henry Ford. As a non car-enthusiast, I can honestly say I found it all immensely fascinating. What really stood out starkly for me was the revolution in all economic systems that was created by cars. Traffic control systems had to be created from scratch through trial and error, 60% of the deaths caused by careless driving and speeding, at a time when speeding was a concept nobody had ever heard of let alone contemplate, were children. The growth of the car industry was a tragic and nostalgic business. However it sure has saved us a LOT of time and hundreds of feet worth of horse manure! (I speak very literally here when I say hundreds of feet – in the year 1900 the horse population outnumbered the human population in New York city!).

I have also been working on my own dissertation, which is far less fascinating and a whole lot of nonsense, really. I am taking a creative analysis course, where I have to analyse creativity in language. All the theories are entirely subjective, so it’s a little tedious to hear somebody’s opinion on something and quote it as fact. In all honesty, I don’t think much of it at all. But shhh, don’t let my lecturers hear you say that! It would be a travesty and might potentially affect my final grade! The grade which determines the outcome of my degree! Huzzah! It could NOT come sooner, I tell you.

Britain is sunny, the dogs are barking cheerfully and sometimes suspiciously, and the small town I now live in is a piece of literal crap. *insert taped laughter*.

It’s called Crewe, in England, about an hour South-East of Manchester and two hours East of Liverpool and three and a half hours North-West of London. I could cycle the entire town in about fifty minutes, and walk it in around two hours. The people are remarkably racist and treat me as a second class citizen because of my olive complexion and my dark black hair. I know this because they give me English looks of disapproval (I do it myself so I KNOW) and they also make comments about ‘immigrants’ and ‘they shouldn’t let them in’. I am not an immigrant. My maternal grandmother was. So was my paternal grandmother. I am just a very diluted English person. Even if I was an immigrant, one oughtn’t to treat immigrants like that. It’s rude and unwarranted and plainly ignorant. Also inhumane. When I open my mouth they are often taken aback by the British accent. They are uneducated, pro-Brexit and against Islam, brown people, and immigration. They are also remarkably poor, and very uncivilised, often leaving their homes at 3am in their pyjamas (oftentimes without) shouting at each other and toppling bins over.

It isn’t all negative, though. The shop ladies are lovely, and my neighbours are a sweet Polish couple with a bubbly little blonde daughter. Once I was cycling on the road and my long cardigan got stuck in my chain (fashion over logic, in this case, ha ha!), so I had to stop and yank it out on the road. While I was thus occupied, a woman darted out of her house and asked if I was okay and did I need any help? I was mighty touched, thanking her for her kindness. Another time I got my chain caught (on nothing, this time), a couple of really shifty looking young men came up to me when I was trying to fix it. I panicked because they did look menacing, but one of them said, as they drew close, ‘You alright, love!? Need any help?’

I was pleasantly surprised by their helpful kindness. I suppose it isn’t all black and white, and there is some ying in this yang. Or was it yang in this ying?

 

Leaving the Green

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Photo credit: Yours truly.

 

This is a throwback to when it was warmer. I smelled the greenery and grass whenever I opened my windows. When I walked out the main door I was greeted with fields and the blossoming of spring into summer. It was food for the heart, mind and soul.

Now I still have that, and it’s still food; mighty mighty food. The trees may be bare, the fields muddy, but I love it. I can stand on top of my hill and see the meadows rolling away before me, the lake nestled in between cosy looking homes, orange lights twinkling out. It was my special place, and I am leaving so have to make the most of every single one of my last four days here. It’s day two, and I haven’t stepped out of my tiny little attic! Help! I am in a rut!

I don’t want to live in the city again. But I suppose it was inevitable, we aren’t farmers! Although the idea of farming doesn’t sound very distasteful you know.

But here are a few pictures of what it was like back in March.

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