I've been back at my parents this weekend. It's out in the middle of East Anglia, about 60 miles northeast of London, the same southwest of Norwich, and just about equidistant from Cambridge and Colchester.
So, it's pretty much as out in the sticks as you can get in south-eastern England, which, as people are forever pointing out, is one of the denser population centres in the world. This is generally a pain in the arse- it's almost impossible to get to by public transport, for example. But it does have one outstanding advantage.
Today [1] is my last day here. Just as I was off to bed, I went back into my old room to get a book or two to read, and looked out of the open-curtained windows, and saw a bright light. Leaning out of the window, I saw stars. Now, in London, you don't see stars. Well, you do. About a dozen. And that's out at Manor Park, which is relatively unlit. In the centre, you're lucky to see five, so it was one of my vague ideas this weekend to go and have a look at the sky. So, sod it, I went.
It was pretty nice as soon as I walked out of the front door, but I thought I'd head for somewhere darker; thankfully there's a concrete path out to the Hermitage, which, as you'd expect, is a bit away from the main town [2], and as it's been raining walking out along that is a much better idea than going on one of the soggier grass paths.
A mere five minute's walk from home I'm standing on a slab of concrete bridging a burbling brook, wind blowing the mature trees above and behind me, and swinging round looking at the most amazing sight- the night sky. Sure, you can get it darker, even in Britain, but compared to what I've been seeing in the city, this is wonderful- I almost have difficulty finding the 'guide stars', the Plough and so on, and Casseipea is embedded in the beatiful strand of the galaxy we're embedded in- the Milky Way- while around me there are thousands of points. I stand, and breathe, and listen to the men on the housing estate a hundred metres or so away, the rustle of trees, the distant rumble of a plane (whose lights are the brightest in the sky- nothing's perfect).
These stars- this sight- is more or less the same for anyone within a few thousand miles east of here (and the fish a thousand or so west); probably the sky over remote Afghan villages isn't too dissimilar, provided, of course, it's not cloudy.
Turning, watching, sighing. I feel remarkably tranquil; if I was stoned, I could probably stand here all night. Walking back, slowly, almost reluncantly (for it's not cold out there tonight- warm southerlies blowing straight up from the Sahara, bringing dust, or so they say) and coming back under the remit of the streetlights that go out to one of the newer housing developments in the village (average price, £200,000; villagers need *not* apply) the display fades, the Milky Way becomes a fuzzy patch rather than a dazzle of points, and the placeholders- the sky I know from being a kid, and walking the streetlight roads just south of this point- take again their stance as the things that you see. And yet, even so, it's something most kids never see- and that I won't again until I either come home again, or persuade a friend to drive me out of London. (Mind you, I could always find out the last trains out to the hinterlands of the city, the borders with Essex, but even then, I doubt I'll find the same spaces in light that you get here.)
I feel there should be a conclusion here, but I did my bandstanding earlier. Maybe the fact that, however crap this is, I felt compelled to write it whilst the thoughts were strong is an indication of how much it meant to me. Time for sighing, and sleeping.
- Whenever you read this, at the time of writing it's 2200 UT on 2001-10-15 as I write this
- Technically it's a town, but as only 2,200 people live here, and it's barely a mile from end to end, most people would call it a village.
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