Copyright Sandra Crook
By nightfall, a small crowd had gathered, familiar faces from the past.
We stared in silence, remembering a time. The ruined house had been a sanctuary, a meeting place, somewhere to play, to dream, to act out our ghostly fantasies. Long after it was declared unsafe, kids had still gathered there, though probably for less innocent purposes.
We stayed awhile.
Afterwards, I learned that others also watched their childhood being played out on the crumbling facade that night – like a final film show, a tribute to a generation.
When the bulldozers arrived next morning, the house was just smoldering ashes.
Thanks to Rochelle for choosing one of my pics for the Friday Fictioneer’s photo this week. It’s a local landmark, the former Pier Head Cafe and Tea Gardens. It’s a graphic example of Trompe L’Oeil, if you hadn’t already noticed. For a more detailed (and professional) look at the artwork by Purbeck artists Antonia Phillips and Nina Camplin, click on the following link: https://www.flickr.com/photos/alwyn_ladell/sets/72157648463792835/
castelsarrasin 
We all had a building like this. Thanks for reminding me, Sandra
LikeLiked by 1 person
Yes, the building where I played out my fantasies was an old farmhouse, now nestled beneath several hundred tons of rubble and a housing estate. Thanks for reading.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Old buildings always seem full of memories, a few can make ones hair curl. Like your story this week.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks, Michael. I think even if there isn’t a ghost attached, most kids invent one. 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
This really brings back memories. I liked the way the people who’d made (good?) use of the building took it upon themselves to kill it off before the demolition team did.
Thank you for pointing out the trompe l’oeil factor; I hadn’t spotted it (and I went to Specsavers!). It’s so skilfully executed and an imaginative way to try to stimulate action (although a shame if it hasn’t worked).
LikeLiked by 1 person
Perhaps the building itself (or the ghosts of some of its former users) decided to engineer its demise, rather than wait for the bulldozers. The Trompe L’Oeil is indeed a work of art. Full credit to the two artists.
LikeLiked by 3 people
…Mine was a derelict brick works. Ah, nostalgia!
LikeLiked by 2 people
Wonderful artwork – had me fooled! So many of our memories are tied up in places and buildings – and as we get older more and more of them change or disappear. C’est la vie!
LikeLiked by 2 people
It’s strange, watching the places of our childhood slowly slip away.
LikeLiked by 1 person
There are so many memories attached, Sandra.
Bulldozers and their masters can never understand that…
LikeLiked by 1 person
Just another job, I guess. Thanks for reading.
LikeLike
The death of house is a sad thing indeed. This story beautifully captures that melancholy.
LikeLiked by 2 people
Thanks for reading. 🙂
LikeLike
I can feel their sense of loss.
Beautifully written, as always.
LikeLike
Thanks, Moon.
LikeLike
Dear Sandra,
You’ve written a real memory jogger. I can think of places that meant a lot now bulldozed in the name of progress.
I’ll admit I didn’t catch the Trompe L’Oeil. People who can pull that off amaze me.
Well written piece as always.
Shalom,
Rochelle
LikeLiked by 1 person
I didn’t catch the entirety of it when I first saw the building. And I certainly didn’t know about Edmund Hopper’s Nighthawks, as Penny Gadd pointed out. I had to google it. Thanks for reading Rochelle.
LikeLike
Your usual quality production, Sandra, with something darker underneath, I think.
Great photo.
LikeLiked by 1 person
There’s almost always something a little darker underneath. Bwah-ha-ha. 😦 Lovely to see you again this week.
LikeLike
Loved this story, Sandra. I think a lot of have been there… seen the destruction of icons from our childhood.
Susan A Eames at
Travel, Fiction and Photos
LikeLiked by 1 person
Oops – that should have said: I think a lot of US have been there…
LikeLike
I agree. Thanks for visiting Susan.
LikeLike
Fantastic photo this week Sandra. Full of nostalgia. It’s a sad thing to see a memory raised to the ground.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I’ll be sad to see the back of this one, particularly if they replace it with a block of luxury apartments, as I heard they might. Thanks for reading.
LikeLike
Oh, nicely done, jarring so many memories for your readers and your characters.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks Alicia. Glad you liked it.
LikeLike
‘Others saw their childhoods played out on the crumbling walls’ – made me wonder if there were real ghosts there too that night.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Someone set the fire… 🙂
LikeLike
Excellent story.
“Afterwards, I learned that others also watched their childhood being played out on the crumbling facade that night – like a final film show, a tribute to a generation.” This seemed very dark to me, hinting that the building was torched as an act of revenge, or possibly cleansing for unspeakable acts. But maybe I’m reading too much into it…
Thank you for the link to the trompe l’oeil pictures. I fell about laughing when I realised that the Tea Room is a direct pastiche of ‘Nighthawks’ by Edward Hopper!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks for the heads up on that piece of artwork Penny. I didn’t know about that and I’ve googled it. I like your interpretation too – there’s a fair amount of mileage in that…
LikeLike
The wrecking ball and bulldozer always comes for our memories.
LikeLiked by 1 person
And they take them…
LikeLike
Childhood memories of old, dangerous places, we all have them. Mine usually have a big, dangerous dog too. Good one, Sandra.
LikeLiked by 1 person
There’s a witch in mine… 🙂 Thanks for visiting, Jane.
LikeLike
Witches didn’t figure in my panoply of bogies when I was a child. Maybe because we were taught at school that witches were just poor women who were picked on out of ignorance or spite. Big dogs though, they were real…
LikeLiked by 2 people
If only piles of rubble could talk. – the tales they could tell.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Perhaps that’s why they’ve been silenced… 😦
LikeLiked by 1 person
Love this.. all the stories an old building can tell… I do remember a song in Swedish about this, and that one is now playing in the back of my head. I think it’s a translation from This Old House
LikeLiked by 1 person
Oh dear, I remember that too.
LikeLike
Pingback: Damaged But Still Standing – Friday Fictioneers | A Dalectable Life
Ah! They call that progress. There is this old house in a suburb near work that has had a sudden explosion of apartment building due to it’s proximity to the CBD. It is surrounded by apartment blocks and the news reports are that the old lady has refused to sell to builders. Like a symbol of protest it keeps standing, I just wonder how long the person who inherits it will keep it.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Good for her! I don’t suppose she enjoys living there much now, though.
LikeLike
It’s always difficult to see the changes the world makes to childhood. In our old house we had this beautiful old willow tree. My family moved out of it long ago and the tree is gone. It just doesn’t like like my home anymore. I read your story and think wistfully about years gone by.
LikeLiked by 1 person
The house where I was born had a beautiful cherry blossom tree outside the bedroom window. There’s a car up on blocks there now. 😦 Thanks for visiting.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Pingback: Beautiful Once | Jan Morrill Writes
this reminds me of my father’s ancestral home. as a kid, i spent many happy memories there with my cousins. sadly, it’s been torn down to build a new one.
LikeLike
Thanks for visiting. 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
I really enjoyed this tale of childhood memories.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks Christine.
LikeLike
Awwe, there’s something so heart-breaking about a local landmark being demolished. There are so many memories associated with them, and sometimes, some of those memories get hurt too in the process.
LikeLiked by 1 person
That’s so true.
LikeLiked by 1 person
We had a creepy, rundown house across the road from us when I was very young – grubby net curtains, crumbling woodwork. We used to sneal in the overgrown back garden, investigating – I remember finding a gravy boat there once, though I didn’t know what it was at the time! Lovely homage to youth and an adventure long past and thank you for sharing the link – I honestly didn’t see the trompe l’oeil in the original. Loved the tribute to Hopper’s Night Hawks. Lovely Sandra
LikeLiked by 1 person
Yes, that was new to me, the Night Hawk thing. Congrats but tough luck about the Writers’ Bureau competition. Looks like you had a near miss there, but at least they didn’t print it after awarding Highly Commended. That really irritates me when a story gets used up for no gain. Have you tried Flash500?
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you Sandra! Never imagined anyone would see that – did you enter too? Stupidly, I was disappointed with a shortlisting as I was very happy with the story. I have been trying to find another home for it, so thank you for the tip – have you had experience of Flash 500 yourself. Looks like a good competition. Thanks again and again, a lovely story this week
LikeLike
Yes, I won back in 2015 – here’s a link, if it works. http://www.flash500.com/index_files/wfq2015.html They do a 40 strong long list, then I think 20 strong shortlist, so you can work out how good your story is.
They’ve also got a short story comp (3000 words I think) which closes in Feb. I’ve nothing yet for that, but I won both first and second once one year. That was just about the end of my luck! I entered a couple of F500 shortlisters into the WB one, but got nowhere. Good luck!
LikeLiked by 1 person
That’s a great story, Sandra – I’m not surprised you won. The plot is strong and drives on, leaving us breadcrumbs of information along the way until we know exactly why she doesn’t call an ambulance and that last reaction from the police officer (foreshadowed earlier on) is perfect.
Thanks so much for the link – I’ll give them a go 🙂
LikeLike
That’s nostalgic!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you, Lata.
LikeLike
It seems a shame that such history is reduced to ashes. It probably wasn’t all that safe to be in, mind.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I agree. 🙂
LikeLike
You hit a home run with this one. We all have such a place. Mine was an old log barn.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Mine was an old farmhouse, which is beneath land-fill now. 😦
LikeLike
A lot of memories played out here Sandra. So very well told and that firey last line. Sad but glad they got to control the end
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks for reading, Laurie.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I think I am the opposite. I have no attachment to places or buildings 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
I certainly have no desire to return to my hometown. That’s for sure. Thanks for reading.
LikeLike
what? a Trompe L’Oeil, well now it fits my secret eatery even better.
🙂
and in your piece – I felt the tug of how we felt visiting the land a large family home used to sit upon.
so great job with developing the loss felt –
and love how that single line was placed by itslef:
“We stayed awhile.”
gosh – such a nice pause and evocative feeling in only 100 words
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks for reading. 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
🙂
LikeLike
Pingback: Friday Fictioneers — Memory Stoked | Sarah Potter Writes
This reminds me of a rented terraced house I shared with some friends in my twenties. We loved the place and we had a really cool landlord (an antique dealer) who refused to bend to the demolition order imposed on the place. In the end there was just us, an Italian family next door on one side and squatters on the other, holding out against the developers who wanted the land. When I returned to the town several years later, the houses had gone (plus the antique dealer’s shop in the road behind, too) and had been replaced by loads of glossy new offices. They might have looked posh, but they sure didn’t have any character to them.
Thanks for this week’s photo prompt.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Glad it stirred some memories for you.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Change is sad for each of us when it tampers with his past. Symbolism has quite an impact upon people.
LikeLiked by 1 person
It would seem so. Thanks for reading.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Pingback: Best Beer and Sandwiches in Town (Friday Fictioneers and WPC) – priorhouse blog
And someone will scream “Arson” when all they did was take down a house that was gonna be taken down anyway….lol
mine:
Scott
LikeLiked by 1 person
Memories and change. We hate seeing parts of our childhood destroyed. Thanks for this weeks prompt.
LikeLike
My pleasure, Irene.
LikeLike
It sounds as though some watching had extremely unpleasant memories of the place and wanted it thoroughly destroyed. Thanks for the picture and explanation of it, Sandra. Great writing as usual. 🙂 — Suzanne
LikeLike
My pleasure, Suzanne.
LikeLike
Melancholic and nostalgic, Sandra. Change can be hard to witness.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I think you’re right, Fatima. Thanks for reading.
LikeLike
We go through this constantly here in our small town as people fight over history and modernization. It’s amazing how memories are sometimes a stronger commodity than dollars and sense.
Pun intended.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I suspect it’s known as “progress”. But what about us the people?
Thanks for the prompt.
LikeLike
I find myself wondering if this is a ghost story. It’s very haunted and hints at so much beneath the surface. Well done.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Reminded me of our childhood house, a place where enjoyed every bit of time spent there. Now not at all recognizable. Thanks for this wonderful piece.
LikeLiked by 1 person