Today we had 40 minutes to kill while waiting for the bus home. Not far away was the museum I used to work in when I was 18. I wanted to go in, I was interested as I hadn’t been inside there since then. I loved my two years there. I would wander round, sinking into history and lives of local people who lived in Victorian Scunthorpe. The skeleton in the grave was still in the entrance, the glass of which I would polish every weekend.
The building itself is very old, it has actual Victorian houses, the little terraced houses that workers lived in, probably 3 families per house, still inside the larger environment of the museum. Unmoved. Silent, low ceilings, cold stone walls. Musty smelling. I would stand there, absorbing the vibes, imagining the many many events that had past in those rooms. The deaths, the births. Happiness and sadness. It was the same, exactly the same today. The creaking floors, the damp coldness of silence. That feeling of being surrounded by ghosts. I wanted to stand there for hours, as I used to do. It was all a little too much however. 21 years ago. I was right there again, 18 years old. Too familiar yet too potent in the memories of being young. I walked out, sad and a bit low. I had absorbed the energy of that museum and its ghosts had stayed with me. For that I am glad. But I mourn my younger days……..
taste: fresh bread rolls
see: confused visions of past and present
smell: musty relics, wooden moth ridden tools
think: how time can go by so fast
feel: sad, nostalgic
hear: the creaks and moans of bygone days
See the museum at 0.26 seconds. As well as the long gone cinema that I used to go to. Trashed to the ground. not even rubble left there now…some empty plastic bottles and newspapers……………so sad.