Shadows

After work we went for supper and to see All of Us Strangers.
A real J G Ballard feel, especially with the link to Sanderstead area and it felt really weird revisiting the Whitgift Centre of my youth.

Croydon by John Betjeman
In a house like that
Your Uncle Dick was born;
Satchel on back he walked to Whitgift
Every weekday morn.
Boys together in Coulsdon woodlands,
Bramble-berried and steep,
He and his pals would look for spadgers
Hidden deep.
The laurels are speckled in Marchmont Avenue
Just as they were before,
But the steps are dusty that still lead up to
Your Uncle Dick’s front door.
Pear and apple in Croydon gardens
Bud and blossom and fall,
But your Uncle Dick has left his Croydon
Once for all.

… my Uncle Dick lived there too so lots of shadows of the past.