Naughty girl that Debbie, shame on her.
Have you ever some across a really old photo, one you'd forgotten had even been taken and had to go back to keep looking at at ? like a moth to a flame you keep getting drawn back,
A mate of mine once gave me a photo of me with a young lady taken way back in the mists of time when we had gone on a trip to Amsterdam, I was fascinated to see us dressed in the height of fashion.
I spent ages looking at that picture trying to remember what we did, and who were the other people we travelled with, little did I know that over 45 years later I'd be writing about it on the then unheard of internet.
No Facebook, no Twitter, no digital influencers, no Instagram, no online bullying, no email, no email ? bloody hell you had to write a letter, with your address at the top, and a date, and then put a stamp on it, walk it to the post box, dodging the white dog poo which abounded on the pavements of the time.
The anticipation of waiting for the rely from Jimmy Saville was intense, but when it eventually plopped through the letter box, oh the joy.
Primitive times people, primitive times, you were even expected to talk to your peers, like face to face, about real things,
Enough of nostalgia, enough I say, so lets have a bit more nostalgia.
I came across something last week which held an equal measure of fascination, some footage from a really old report done by a chap called Ian Nairn, after his career as an RAF pilot flying Gloster Meteors he got into architecture in big way.
He is most well know for his Book Nairn's London in which he describes the often overlooked gems in terms of places and buildings in the city.
Sadly some of them no longer in existence, and some changed irrevocably.
He does this with an eloquence I don't posess and he does it with passion, and a degree of sadness, as he could see things changing even as he wrote.
Most reiews of his work will say "he taught us to look at the world" and how many of us rush around consumed with doing whatever we think is important at the time, and miss what is all around us.?
Watching this the first time made me feel both happy and sad, happy that someone had had the foresight to film this and was obviously passionate about what was possibly about to happen to this lovely old building;.
Sad because I remember my Mum taking me there on one of our trips into town, she died about 5 years after the arcade was demolished, ripped apart as my life was when she passed away.
What replaced the bulding was a poor subsitute, some things are irreplaceable.
If you listen to Ian's commentary he is saying essentially what a lot of the towns populace would have said at the time, a petition was raised to try to save the building which got around 10,000 signatures, it made no difference.
Planners, who would have thought of a nice dining experience where as you eat your poppudum the vista before you is a garage forecourt, ah the aromatic delight of 4 star.
This is not in Northampton BTW which supprises me as I'm sure the council would promote this as a good idea, probably hold lots of consulations, and then ignore the majority of the peoples wishes and go ahead anyway.
Looking back at the Emporium Arcade with it's many little units anyone with an ounce of imagination could see the opportunity it presented, a unique building full of character, so much potential.
Northampton's councillors in their infinite wisdom bought the site with the express intention of demolition, and as Ian Nairn rightly says "what an admission of failure".
They also said it had "no architectural value", you have to wonder at the mindset that comes up with that little gem of silliness, but there is worse to come m'duck.
Things don't seem to have improved with Northampton's councillors -
With all the talk of people being poisoned by diesel particulates our esteemed leaders have built the new bus station right in the town centre, guaranteed to make the air where most people will be walking around, dirty.
We can't afford electric buses, the coffers are bare, so let's stick to diesel, a few bits of soot deposit in the lungs won't kill you, all aboard, get your tickets ready for inspection.
And apparently they didn't consider the road layout as a factor at the time of design, you can only wonder how these muppets would manage in a real job, I would say if they had brains they'd be dangerous, but they are dangerous anyway, to our health.
At least the old bus station was pretty ;)
Shame the building was empty, I'm sure quite a few of our councillors could have been accomodated in there on the day.
The old bus station seen above being demolished caused a lot of controversary with its nickname "The Mouth of Hell", apparently being voted one of the ugliest buildings in the UK.
Pretty it wasn't but at least it kept any pollution away from the majority of shoppers, and it gave them a direct access to the shopping centre.
Now the building is long gone and what's left ? a hugh expanse of nothing, and I suspect that will be the case for a very long time, an improvement ? no not really.
Every time I turn on the telly it seems to be fanny time, every aspect of the dear old things is up for discussion, too dry, you must need some new fannytastic cream to combat the parched state of your vagina. Conversely do you need something to dry it up a bit ?, make it something like death valley for dryness, every scenario is catered for.
Just an observation on my part, nothing to get all worked up about. But maybe a bit of balance is required, so lets see more adverts for willys, todgers, trouser snakes, whatever you choose to call them, or rather products for the application of.
I had a nice walk this morning, a bit of a trip down memory lane.
The picture above shows Boughton Crossing as it was in 1959, to be specific June 1st 1959
the level crossing had just become the towns new boundary, why am I posting it up ?, because I spent many happy hours as a sprog playing in the fields, on the river, and even on what was then a working railway line, as I lived not far away from that signal box, it's now a walkway / cycleway for the public.
You can just about make out the signal box and level crossing gates, just in front of the lorry, the old fashioned sort of crossing gates that the crossing keeper had to come out to close, and that sealed the the road right off from the track.
There was no nipping round them in your little Honda Jizz, mainly because the gates would have prevented such irresponsible behaviour and also because little Honda Jizzes didn't exist at the time.
Me and some other kids once spent an afternoon waiting on the corner of Brampton Lane which is the other side of that signal box waiting for the Queen to pass by so we could wave at her.
The picture above is the same scene today, the signal box is long gone as are the level crossing gates, and the house has changed a bit, but then in 60 years you would expect a bit of change.
Talk about a trip down memory lane, I even saw this is a field, do you remember Homepride ? it's the flour your Mum used to make cakes mixes with, and you used to wait until the end of the process and full of expectancy you would say "Mum, can I lick the bowl, ?" and she would say "No, flush the chain like everybody else". halcyon days.
The wind in the wires
Not quite the Wichita Lineman, but an atmospheric sound on a cold bright morning.
Having taken my after photo I had a wander down The Brampton Valley Way, which is what was the railway line between Northampton and Market Harborough, the wind was whistling through these overhead cables, a nice sound I thought.
I had the River Nene (pronounced Nen) to my left, fields to my right, and the beginning of the track the rail enthusiasts have laid over the years to run restored engines along.
There was even a bit of blue sky.
The hours the volunteers spend doing up these old wagons is amazing, taking something which has lain unloved for possibly years and making it look if not exactly new then not far off.
On one of the the engines I manged to zoom in on the builders plate, these were still the days we used to make stuff.
Looking back I had the privilege of growing up on the edge of town, I had a large garden to play in, sometimes I'd help my Dad dig the soil over, although I was probably more of a hindrance as I seem to remember putting a fork through my wellies and piercing a toe.
My Dad even built me a sandpit, which I spent quite of lot of time in with my matchbox diggers and earth movers building whole road systems,
That garden was the scene of so many adventures, it hosted many big bonfires on November 5th, I sometimes used to set up my tent and camp on the back lawn with some mates, many an airfix model aeroplane was shot up whilst hanging from the washing line by a couple of lengths of cotton.
The other great thing about my garden was that we had an Anderson shelter next to the shed, that served as a nice place for me and my mates to plan what we were going to do for the day .
I once set the wooden fence alight which separated us from our neighbours, I loved playing with fire, still fascinated by fire to this day, sitting in front of one not setting alight o anything I should add.
I remember laying in my bed at night and the sound of the trains that ran along the line from Northampton to Market Harborough had a sort of soothing sound, as a kid I always thought the best place to be on one of those trains was in the guards van.
If you walk far enough along the BVW you'll come to Kelmarsh Tunnel.
In the early 1850s, the London & North Western Railway promoted a line linking Northampton with Market Harborough, the intention being to capitalise on the huge amounts of ironstone found in the area.
The route was engineered by George R Stephenson, nephew of his famous namesake, and George Parker Bidder. Work got underway in 1856, with Richard Dunkley of Blisworth awarded the contract to build it. 16th February 1859 brought its official opening.
The single line was forced to penetrate hills at Kelmarsh and Great Oxendon, the former being driven through strong blue clay. On Sunday 11th April 1858, Sergeant Rawson from the local constabulary attended Kelmarsh Tunnel and found Thomas Thompson busy assembling some timber centres, whilst four other labourers loaded bricks into a wagon.
All were charged with working on a Sunday, despite the engineer protesting that their exertions were necessary in order to correct a defect in the tunnel. Each was subsequently fined five shillings; the contractor paid costs totalling £2 7s 6d.