Sunday 12 April 2015

Bridges and Boundaries II: The blue car

We walk past all the Idas - Ida Terrace, Ida View, Ida Mount: three little blonde girls in falling-down socks and our Sunday frocks. We pass the infant school, ghostly with echoes of hopscotch and Mr Wolf. We pass the concrete works; no dusty workmen with floury faces and bloodshot eyes there today. The walk gets lonelier now. No streets, no factories - just  a sooty hedgerow that borders factory playing fields and wasteland. There's a pavement on this side of the road only and no other pedestrians at all. Mums are cooking the Sunday roast, dads are in the pubs and clubs having a pint.  Cars rumble past and are sucked into the black entrance of the tunnel that looms ever closer. We start to look out for our own portal - a gap in the hedge that leads to the banks of the beck. We're not supposed to play there in our best clothes so we'll have to be careful not to fall in. A dark blue car slows down just ahead of us, then stops. Its passenger door swings open, partly blocking the pavement, but no one gets out


The Idas 

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