A place of sadness

Sunday of last weekend was spent in finally finishing my book, which was emotional to say the least, then a walk at a nearby demolished manor house site, which was… emotional to say the least.

The walled Summer Garden – the only walls left

A fairy house, and, surely, the entrance to Wonderland?

Not everyone understands when I say that I feel the joy or sadness or desperation or fear of a place, but I believe people, events and even objects can leave a sense of themselves, and this place was terrifying. At one point Dapper stepped out amongst these mossy walkways and I thought I’d be physically sick – I was rooted to the spot.

It was only when I exclaimed aloud that we were leaving that the feeling of the place went from utter fear to desperate sadness, and I felt an almost overpowering desire to just sit on the wet leaves and cry my heart out. I didn’t, needless to say…

I think one of the eeriest things about the place was the lack of evidence of humans. Holes in tree trunks were devoid of hamburger wrappers, and only an old wooden tackle box and some very old tin cans suggested the once presence of a fishing party. And whereas funghi this size would usually have been kicked free of their roots, here they grow to epic proportions:

Much to my distress, we got a little lost, and ended up loitering into the gloaming. As we wandered amongst the enormous and ancient Redwoods and Yews, I informed Dapper with rising panic I would not be venturing back here!

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7 thoughts on “A place of sadness

  1. Not that I wish to downplay your feelings about this place, but your pictures are goth-tastic, I love them! Where was it you went exactly? Sounds and looks like a very interesting place to visit, and right up my street x

  2. I completely know this feeling. There was an amazing old priory in Tavistock that we went to look around when it was being sold, although with 20 bedrooms it was somewhat above our price range! My friend and I were terrified the whole way around – some rooms were boiling hot, some freezing cold, the whole place was choc-a-block with fear. Even the garden was terrifying, with a little stone circle on the grass. We were pumped full of adrenaline when we left!

  3. There is actually a bridge here that goes over a lake, and anytime I drive over it, I feel the lake. It calls to me and begs me to join it. I don’t ever ever drive over that bridge myself for fear I would listen.

    I swear, I’m not crazy. I just really believe that places hold feelings. I think that bridge must hold the desperation of all those souls who HAVE jumped.

  4. I’ve always thought that places hold a vestige of personality and emotions of the people who’ve been there before. Some have an instant sense of welcome and others of fear, even if what you actually see is somehow incongruous with what you see.

    I am somehow reminded of the conversation we had on the way to Blenheim a couple of years ago….

  5. I know I shouldn’t be judgy on this sort of thing, but I find it hard to believe that people can’t appreciate that buildings, places, homes and monuments can’t retain some kind of energy/emotion when so much stuff has happened around and in them. I absolutely understand the feeling you describe – but it doesn’t happen absolutely everywhere historical, mainly due to the fact I think you do have to be in a certain frame of mind to “feel” it.

    I’d be genuinely curious to see the place, I have to say – hugely so. Just to see if other people get anything there too, really!

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