Vanishing buildings

Some people come over all nostalgic about buildings and mount campaigns to save them from the demolition ball.  The campaigns have little to do with the intrinsic merit of the building to be demolished and the plans for re-development but have more to do with memories of activities in the building or a sense of loss at a feature of the landscape disappearing.

It is a shock to return to places and note that the landscape has changed.

On a visit to Coventry I discovered that one of my watering holes, The Alhambra,  had disappeared. Chesterfield FC's ground at Saltergate has closed and doubtless will soon be replaced by an housing development.  Roker Park, for a long time the home of Sunderland FC, is now an housing estate.

Railway stations bring back memories of journeys.  Many stations I used in my younger days have gone: Sheffield Victoria, Nottingham Victoria, Whittington Moor, Chesterfield Central, Manchester Exchange to name but a few.

The industrial landscape has changed beyond recognition in many parts of the country: steel and iron works have gone, pits have closed, heavy manufacturing has disappeared.  In some locations it is hard to imagine what was there before.

We like old and familiar surroundings and when things change feel a sense of loss but of itself it is no basis for opposition to change.  Opposition often is based on personal selfishness rather than consideration for the wider need.  It is the former which I believe is the driving force of the ancients  seeking to preserve the Tunbridge Wells civic complex. 

The former Tunbridge Wells Council offices in Cranbrook are in the process of demolition.  My memories of  the building go back to the 1999-2000 when I chaired appeal panels hearing cases brought by residents against the decisions of the Council on housing benefit.   I am not to be drawn into the spat in Cranbrook concerning community facilities, but I am not bereft as the demolition ball swings at the offices, nor shall I should the civic complex in Tunbridge Wells be demolished.

As parts of our personal  heritage disappear, we may pause and regret their passing, but not for long as wallowing in nostalgia, for what has been, is self-defeating.