The Park part 1

Took a walk down Sam Gori Park last weekend. It's the venue of my 1st wedding to Jeongju (there have been 3!) and it hasn't changed much at all, they've spent some money on it adding ultra safe stepping stones over the lake and building a huge concert venue stage behind the pagoda in which we held our ceremony. Essentially though the park itself is as was and we had a nice family stroll round, me and JJ re living that famous day, from the ceremony, the priest and the speeches, to watermelon man (i still can't believe i saw that; a man came running out of the woods, painted purple and blue (nice colour scheme) screeching and bellowing in animalistic revelry and proceeded to smash watermelons over his head!! He finished his 'act' by getting a volunteer to take a run up and smash the biggest watermelon over the top of his cranium... It was exiting but much more, it was bizarre! who hired him by the way??), through 88 MPH's epic debut gig and off through memoryville past the chickens and back to town! It got me thinking though, thinking about parks and my history and if you just wanted an update don't read any further as it's been a pretty dull week and we're heading back into the history archives of Royston. We did go out last Friday with the visiting Matt Manchester-Stoneham (i think that's his name, it's definitely double barrelled!)but that's the only thing of note that's happened all week!. Anyhow parks....


I'm in a tree, it's my tree and it's in my park. Why is it my park? Well that's because i live here. My tree overlooks a path that runs through the park and if you follow that path you go past a gate and can walk about a half mile further to the other side of my park. If you don't go past the gate and go through it then you enter an old ramshackle farm with 3 fields. One field is on a hill and has a couple of precariously placed caravans, one has two horses and the reamaing field has 3 more caravans overlooked by the old and impressively held together farmhouse.

Imagine if you will an Orwellian hero, turn of the century British (no not this one, 1890's), building a farmhouse in some far flung colonial outpost. Brick by brick, stone by stone, and then standing with his pipe smouldering and appreciating his workmanship in his stiff upper lipped way, whilst being fully aware that if it rains, he's fucked! This was the farmhouse and the old Colonel who ran the place only needed a big blunderous musket and one of those safari hats to transport him back the 100 years to where he belonged.

The bottom caravan is ours, mine and my father. It's 30 foot long and it used to be blue before the sun drained it of all its colour, probably 10 years or so back. It's the shape they made caravans before they invented rectangle and has the impression of a soaking wet sponge held up gently in the middle! If you look under the 'van it's still got some bright and happy blueness but as you work your eyes upward the colour fades duller and duller to the roof which is a sun bleached almost white.

This is home, inside there's all you'd need for a weeks holiday in Rhyl! It does have a wood burning stove which heats the whole thing in about 3 seconds when it gets going and a gas cooker too. This was the first place i cooked french fries, the reason being that we never had that much food and a potato made into french fries is a plate full of french fries and when you add salt and eat them one at a time, you can believe you've had a meal, whereas a potato made into chips is about 8 chips! ahh the lessons we learn so young. How old am I, well i think i was 12 now and as i was saying, i am in a tree.

I'm waiting for someone, i know she's coming 'cos she said she would, and they don't lie. My Dad should know that but he's down the pub. He was also there last time, when she caught me at home. That was my mistake, i popped home to raid the ashtray and replenish my tobacco pouch and there she was: 'Knock knock open'. Not 'knock knock wait' like you're supposed to do but 'knock knock open', cheeky bitch! I guess she must of seen me through the front window, as she walked up the path.

"Hi Roy, why aren't you at school?", 'oh shit', I remember thinking, I'm usually so ahead of the game but she's got me banged to rights. "Sick" doesn't cover it and there's more, "and where's your father"?  I lie and I lie again, he's off studying at University or he's got a job, anything but the truth. "Why were you ripping up the contents of the ashtray"? So she was watching through the window, damn! "I'm just bored... playing?" but she knows. You can see the look of pity, and there really is nothing worse than someone pitying you so I inwardly cringe whilst outwardly trying to look as innocent as possible.

She plays along with my tales and tells me to make sure that my Dad is home next time. She writes a note, seals it and stands it on the 'kitchen' table and then she's gone, off to do good to someone elses' life. Her moral high ground obvious to anyone or anything she'll pass on the way out of my park and back to the safe middle class, 3 bedroom, semi detached neighbourhood she's undoubtedly from. I use the old kettle on the burner and manage to get the letter open without any damage, it's contents though are pretty straightforward:

Mr Freer, I am very concerned, you seemed to have ignored all warnings. I'm coming next Monday at 1pm, you NEED (big letters to emphasise!) to be here, signed Ms busybody!

He's not there though and she's coming now, over the bridge with that self important swagger. My tree is in the midst of a long row that create a tunnel like path, shielding the sun during the day and creating an eerie moonless dark at night. I can follow her down the path for about 6 trees before I even have to think of breaking cover or climbing down. I let her pass then I ease myself down, circumnavigate the path and sneak though the horse field. If she knew anything about the real world the horses would tell her where i was, the big white one stares at me as i invade his patch and watches me all the way up the field!

She's too busy though, busy contemplating, and I'm sure I catch a glimpse of sadness in her face as she tries her knock knock open technique only to find the door locked! No one's home. I'm a safe distance away but now she looks round, has she sensed me or caught my scent on the wind?! It's strange how we, as people can do this. I'm sure our senses are more than capable of knowing we are being watched but we've forgotten how they work many moons ago and although she looks straight towards the mound of rocks that I'm lurking behind she doesn't trust her instincts and quickly looks back to the door.

She has a letter and doesn't know where to leave it, we have no letterbox and she's struggling with the whole concept of this before finally deciding to squeeze the letter under the door! She self consciously readjusts her too big face covering glasses, hunches her shoulders and shakes out her permed head before starting her journey back to civilisation. I follow her back for a bit, but the game's run its course and something else grabs my attention, I even forget about the letter as another day in my kingdom of the park unfolds.

My park ends, or begins, with a bridge over the river. The bridge is a solid steel construction, very metal and square and boring. The river though is a fascinating beast, some days after a heavy rain it rages and standing on the bridge with just a touch of imagination it's pretty easy to transport yourself onto a speedboat racing through the waves. The river runs right through my park, in places it's serene and pooled to create ideal swimming conditions, in others fast and dangerous slapping rocks and racing off to continue its journey to the sea 5 miles away. Within my territory, so to speak, the river has created two islands, one a small and boring little step across a quiet and shallow stretch of river but the other one is an adventure just to get to. Impossible after even a half decent rain, and how it rains in Bethesda, but negotiable if you know the way on a calm and dry day. I have a 'base' here, a safe place with a few keepsakes that no one will ever see, my island, in my park, not many 12 year olds have that!

Across the bridge is Bethesda, a town that flourished in the late 19th century and early 20th due to its resourceful slate mine, roofing half of Wales and beyond in its long and industrious life. Sadly Bethesda has now got to be one of the most depressing places on earth, sitting in a valley and enclosed on three sides by big imposing mountains. The mountains dwarf the town and the mined mountain (what's left of it) is surrounded by huge piles of blue grey slag. These set the tone of the landscape, miserable and grey, cold and unforgiving. The other mountains encircle with a little more colour and a lot more atheistic quality and 5 miles further inland is the Ogwen mountain range, very popular with mad hiking types!

The mine's closed now and it is basically just a huge hole in the mountain, fascinating to look at if you took the trouble to climb up there. A huge hole dug with it's levels of mining running down and down like cliff edges all the way to the bottom, each level representing about 10 years work until they could go no lower. They've filled it with with water recently and it's a popular suicide spot. It is truly a miserable place but this is solely because of the weather, it rains for about 320 days of the year. On the days when the sun shines and it's warm the place transforms, it's a whole new world of bright sunny mountains, blue shiny heaps of slate and the lake that was the mine is a perfect aqua marine colour that any sea would give it's right ear for!

part 2 coming soon!!