The sky was a crystal blossom of azure paint, and so my son and I took to the bustling streets of our local village-like area to capture moments of the past before they disappear into modern civilizations ever-changing fruition of the mind…
We found dimensional signs on top of their elders hidden behind a veil of green mist. Locks and stoves, passageways and warmth…
Preparations of the past now closed in with new layers of bricks… our little adventure had to continue beyond the ventilations of our minds…
Off the beaten track we came, tired and lost in need of repair, but the medium for the attention of our care was not for our bodies but for the humble dwellings of our habitat…
To further fuel the wild fires of our imaginations, we needed gas, iron and of course a plumber…
And as the adventure continued we had to yield to the tremors of our stomaches and settle down for a moment’s respite and fresh slice of brown bread…
No rest or meal is complete without a bit of news from afar and a matchbox to light our fire. We warm, we were filled and ready to move onwards…
To press on beyond the road ahead we had to stop and decode the faded print above our heads…
To bring back to life what was once lost we had to reach out for our fountain pens, and place our ink against the walls…
For the house of minds we needed colourful light in abundance. And to create the magical world to which we were vessels of its creation, we acquired windows, oils and vanished them with love…
Cryptic makers of Hackney’s past had already shed their skin long ago, but for those with patience and observing eye all will be revealed under a moonless night…
We were in need of something, some potion of sorts. So we danced between shadows and floated to the sky on elven cotton spinners…
From above we were transported to more than a hundred years ago, and we marveled at the street in all it’s former glory, and were happy to see that not all had changed, not quite, not yet…
The ground was wet from the tears of the sky, but that didn’t stop budding adventurers, my son and I…
As we came to our ending, the signs of Old Stoke Newington began to pull over its sheets to sleep beside a busy lullaby, but someone out there wasn’t quite ready to say goodbye…
When the sky turned grey we knew it was time to retreat, for the heavens above now had others to do. They left their places and with it faded out the sunlight, but before we could return home we had to check the time, only to find it had stopped long ago…
The old signs of Stoke Newington if only by the photos the locals take, can now live forever, long after their physical traces have been submitted to bricks and paint.
Photos and text by B. L. Crisp
“Old Signs of Stoke Newington Photo Tour | Spirativity | B.
L. Crisp” was indeed a delightful article, cannot
wait to read through a lot more of your posts. Time to squander some
time online hehe. Thanks for the post ,Ralph
Hey Ralph, thanks for dropping by and for your kind words. Much appreciated!
Ohh, this is great. I love old signs like this. They tell such an old tale.
Yeah… each with the own stories. What were the owners like, the customers, the atmosphere at the time, etc…
Funny how these old buildings and signs look pretty much the same almost anywhere in the world.
Well done.
Haha… yeah… they certainly belong to a particular time in world history. Thanks Jamie
Nice retro adventure!.
Thanks Frances
This is amazing and so informative. thanks for sharing
Thank you Valerie!
Amazing photographs just wow ! I love that you have found the beautiful old amongst the new in this world x
Thanks! Blessings to you! It had been on our minds to take photos of the old signs for some time, but either we had something planned or the weather wasn’t right. Glad you liked the photos.
x