That Place You Used To Go

I am consolidating my writing on this blog, so this is the first in the ‘Little Things that make life good’ series


That Place You Used To Go

  As a teenager living in Stafford, in England, I would sometimes go on an evening run after eight o’clock to try to escape the slightly claustrophobic feeling that comes with close living in the suburbs. My route would take me along Sidmouth Avenue, across the Yelverton playing fields, through to Torrington or Falmouth Avenues, and then onto Porlock Avenue. On warm summer evenings (to all those Australians reading I promise they do exist in England) there were times when I went up the old bridle path that snuck between two houses and led through to the fields beyond. This marked the edge of the town.

Where the path came to the farmland there was a fence and stile that provided a secluded and quiet seat. From here I could gaze out to the east over rolling hills covered with golden fields of cereal, or the green forests of Cannock Chase. On a still day, I might see the columns of steam from Rugeley Power Station soaring up like solid pillars supporting the sky. I would shut out the houses behind me, the road, and Walton High School to my right, and just concentrate on the rolling hills that glowed in the soft evening light.

The gentle evening breeze would agitate the crops, each stalk waving at me from across the hill that curved away to the east. The gentle puffs of this wind extracted tension with the ease of the hands of a well-practiced masseuse. Sitting with my back to the houses, fully hidden from my vantage point behind high fences, this was a little sanctuary of peace only five or ten minutes from home. I might continue the run from here, five-miles in total, or if I was feeling suitably relaxed I might just amble slowly home.

This was in the late 1980s, and that view unfortunately no longer exists as I remember it; the powers that be have plonked houses by the road below. Such is life. However, that was my little piece of open space, and ever since then I have been able to find such places wherever I have lived. Just a little bit of patience is all it takes to find yourself a personal space where you can escape. I can still go there every day if I want to, despite it being 12000 miles away. These places are one of the little things that bring a moment of happiness to any day.


About George Fripley
I am a writer who enjoys writing humour, satire, poetry and sometimes a bit of philosophy. I live in Perth, Western Australia and occasionally get a poem or article published. It's all good fun! I have two books available for unwary readers, Grudges, Rumours and Drama Queens- The Civil Servant's Manual (This contains all that anybody could ever want to know about why government runs so slowly) and More Gravy Please! - the Politician's Handbook. (available through Amazon). Real name Peter Tapsell...just started off writing under a pseudonym and kept going.

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