Streets going somewhere with modesty
It has been a long time since I posted a writing prompt on the Hysteria website; in fact, the last one was ‘Whatever Happened to Kim‘ in February 2023. Between then and now, I published a writing prompt most weeks on the Substack I closed earlier this year. I now ask myself why I did that but don’t have any particular answer other than it felt like the right thing to do at the time. Today, at the end of August 2026, I have decided the right thing to do is to start again as, lo and behold, that little creative spark is once again being fanned into flames.
Over the summer, apart from gathering data for my dissertation on the impact of technology on astrology (if you are an astrologer and want to take part, you can find the questionnaire on my own website here: https://lindaph.co.uk/the-impact-of-technology-on-astrology-in-the-2020s/), I have been working my way through Alexander McCall Smith’s 44 Scotland Street series.
Aside from being mildly suprised by suddens shifts, such as why Ranald Braveheart McPhearson suddenly finds himself at the Steiner school when he was attending Watsons, I have enjoyed the poetry of his character Angus Lordie, which completes each volume. At the end of The Peppermint Tea Chronicles, he recites a poem about Edinburgh and I was struck by the following lines:
But you will find harmony here,
You will find the quiet
Resolved beauty of streets
That go somewhere with modesty,
I find myself reflecting on the idea of streets travelling modestly around the country and wondered how I might reflect on the roads, lanes and streets that make up the little corner of Dorset in which I happen to live.
Your challenge, should you choose to accept it, it to similarly reflect on the city, town, village or land that surrounds you. How does it travel, is it pretentious, energetic or quiet and calm. I’d love to know your thoughts, if you care to share them below.
(Image by Albrecht Fietz from Pixabay)
You can take the low road, and I’ll take the high road.
I’ll be in Bridport before you.
I like the low road. Twisty and undulating. It follows the coast and is a motorcyclist’s dream, but it’s the death of many.
No. I’ll take the high road. Up on the ridge with views to the right of Askerswell and Loders. Away to the left, the vineyards at Litton Cheney. The village of Puncknowle, and in the distance the coast, with the sea glistening on the horizon.
Just once. Maybe you could spare the time to turn off this A road, drop down into Shipton Gorge and follow the lane. To meet the coast road at Burton Bradstock.
A journey into the unknown.
I know all three roads well Arthur, and I know the vale between the high and the low that lies hidden, with its villages and hamlets nestling in the hollows.
Thank you for your comments Linda. With harvest over and the logs for next year all bagged up. I shall be back at the Chesil writing group.
You’re welcome Arthur, it will be good to see you on Thursday evening. And by the way I really enjoyed your Substack post: https://arthurajwestlake.substack.com/p/the-perfect-cottage
In 1980 I came here, not long married. It was a very small village, an oasis half hidden off the side of a major motorway. The Downs one side sheltered from the worst of the weather, the sea on the other side offered a history of fishing, oysters and centuries of close families.The number of locals were few then, swollen mainly by the influx of students to the two local schools. I was an outsider myself, married to a born and bred local it took time to be accepted. Through the years of children and walking them to school, part time work in the local shop, trying and mostly failing to make friends, I have fitted in. Nearly everyone was a nodding acquaintance at least.
Sadly, most of the locals have gone the way of all things, through age, infirmity or simply moving away. Now I am one of the few remaining locals, crowded out by the new build houses and their occupants, some of them only here for summer. We few who remain have become an old community, the children at the local schools are mostly not locals and I can pass by on the street with hardly a cheery comment from anyone I know. It’s perhaps the way of the world for our places to grow and change, not always for the better.
Our children couldn’t now afford to buy a home here if they wanted one, the incomers have pushed up the house prices to an impossible height. The village itself has changed from a rural, horticultural society, led by the seasonal changes, to a suburban dormitory for wealthy city folks looking for an idyll that no longer exists.
Oh my gosh Valerie, I so understand the feeling of being crowded out of your ‘place’. I am fortunate in that our tiny bit of Dorset is between more desirable holiday villages and so we are still a community that knows most people in the area. You paint a clear, clean picture of change, of ‘development’ with all it’s concommitant expressions. To paraphrase a podcast I was listening to earlier on, it begs the question of whether all change is good. In my minds eye I can see the path from where you’ve come from to where you are now.