Sunday 5 June 1994. Snowhills. We reached it just before lunchtime and I had a wander around the village, taking photos whilst Fran and Gill went into a craft fair in the Church Hall.
It was a little eerie actually. Either the entire population were in the craft fair, or they were peering anxiously through their curtains as strangers rode into town... Perhaps they were eyeing us up and wondering what the chances of sudden violence were as though it were the wild frontier town of the Cotswolds. Or perhaps not.
More likely they were indoors watching the footie and it probably passed their notice that I was wandering around with a camera, looking in vain for a shop to buy a drink...
"Here, Henry - there's a chap passed out from heat exhaustion in the middle of the street!""
"Anyone we know?"
"No..."
"Bloody tourists..."
This looked a bit like the hill in the Hovis advert except that everyone knows that that's er.. somewhere else. I'd be able to look it up if I wanted, but I need to set my readers a challenge every now and then because you're getting far too complacent! So comments folks - where's the hill in the Hovis advert?
"Eeh,mi Dad allus used ter leave it on t'step ter cool off. All brown an' steamin' it were..."
Dirty divil...!"
There's a Snowhills Manor. We didn't go in, but when we showed the photos to the family later my auntie said "Ooh, I had to go out of there, it had a right spooky, oppressive atmosphere."
Like the rest of this deserted village then. It's probably fine when the people actually come out. But by the time Fran and Gill came out of the craft fair I was prepared for what they actually said: "That was weird - there was no one in there, just an honesty box and loads of In Memoriam cards on sale..."
Onwards - to the lights, theatres, glitz and showbiz razzamataz - to Broadway! The locals, safe behind their net curtains, looked out at the deserted streets... "Have they gone, Henry?"
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