When I walked past this house in a local village and then turned back to look again at the very old and shabby exterior, I felt I could almost be looking at the residence of a character in a novel by Dickens. The shutters are cracked and crooked, all of them closed. The hinges are rusted and the door knocker in the shape of a frail hand looks as if it has not been raised since the 19th century. There is a jagged and rusty security bar across the skylight over the door as if there may once have been valuables inside worthy of protection. The house is quite large, built over three storeys and probably, once upon a time, quite imposing.
Now the only sign of life is the modern wheelie bin standing in front of the arched wooden gates. I found myself wondering who may live inside. A dusty wizened clerk perhaps, caring for his aged parents and still awaiting promotion after 50 years of loyal service in the Circumlocution office. Or perhaps more likely, as this is after all a house in France, a distant relative of Sydney Carton who waits after more than two centuries for his own special moment to do a ‘far, far better thing..’ ………… Perhaps you might like to suggest other possible inhabitants?
ALL PHOTOS © JANE MORLEY
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