In Search of Oldton

Here's the level crossing that Elaine remembers so vividly.

As we come up to the edge of the town, there is less and less to see, as if the town is fraying at the edges and getting smaller and smaller over time - not unlike a toddler's much loved, much chewed comfort blanket.

Where the road out of town leads to is anybody's guess. The view looking back to Oldton would be not unlike the phonepic I snapped out of my car window on the way to Nottingham once: a vista of fields and hedges and in the distance a place I will never bother making the detour to see, another experience by-passed.

I wonder if my dad looked back at all as he drove down to the beach.

Writers for the Future