It was hard to look at that place after so long.? The trees had grown and the grass needed cutting but, apart from that, nothing had changed.? There were more grave markers in the churchyard next door – obviously – but the overall feel was unmistakeable.? I looked at the windows for signs of familiar faces, but there were none.? No laughter spilling from rooms around the building, no good food smells drifting from the kitchen, no sounds of wheels on the gravel driveway.? Even the gigantic iron gate seemed sad and despondent.

As I peered through the bars, as small shiver went through me, a feeling that there was something nearby that wasn’t there before.? Something that knew me well yet was so distant in time that it might walk straight past me.? I turned.? There was nothing.? I would have liked to have run, in my bare feet, across the grass to the imposing front door, played hide and seek in the Long Gallery with my friends, sneaked into the kitchen for a secret taste of tonight’s meal.

A hand rested on my shoulder.? A soundless voice whispered close to my ear:

“Time to go.”

My hand was taken and I felt myself rising into the air.? Now I was looking at the house at an angle, now from above.? It drifted out of view behind the clouds and was gone.? It was always the same.? No-one I know and nothing to see.? In another hundred years it would be the same.