A tin-shack timewarp…
We were walking over a familiar mine site, one that we’ve explored a good few times over the years. In the middle of the place, there’s an old deserted farmhouse and a ramshackle barn that seems to have fallen down a little more every time we visit. The old barn sits near to a deep flooded shaft and is surrounded by the kind of bog that is almost de rigeur in these parts. As a result, I’ve never paid much attention to the increasingly random-looking rusty structure.
Today, Petra decided to have a closer look. After she’d negotiated the bog, I shouted across “What can you see?” She replied, very quickly…”A steering wheel!” Knowing that I wouldn’t be able to pass up a rusty vehicle, she watched me negotiate the swamp with interest, but the speed of my progress meant that my boots hardly touched the mud.
What a find, too! An old Fordson, of a type similar to the much-loved (by me, anyway) example at Cwt-y-Bugail. Inside the barn it was rather like entering a timewarp; the tractor sat beside an old horse-drawn hay cart, full of old implements. The wind sighed and moaned through the holes in the shed and the tin sheets rattled and fretted in the light airs. I wondered what the place must be like on a windy day.
I’m not saying where this little gem is, even if it probably doesn’t have many more years before the place falls down around it. Because I love to see these things left to rust, to have the robins make nests in their nooks and crannies; to eventually sink with dignity back into the land.