The Post Bag: Letters To Squall

Obituary For A Crescent

Squall 08, Autumn 1994, pg. 53.

Dear Squall

It was a bright, Wednesday morning for a funeral. All local government departments were represented at the entombment of Park Crescent, Church Street, London N16.

The first to arrive were the travellers for the ceremonial removal of the last trailer on site. This was conducted with due respect, as far as the on-looking crowd of constables were concerned.

Then the residents were awoken, as is usual in these rituals, by the appointed Sheriff and two merry constables. This particular ceremony had the additional honour of two handmaidens bearing cages, fire extinguishers and other tokens to honour the raging pitbull.

By 11.30 most of the congregation had arrived, some still busy dismembering the corpse.

The ritual sacrifice to the council's destruction order was intervened by a traveller who pleaded for the life of an old Worsley and succeeded in reducing its sentence to indefinite time in a police compound.

There were also several groups of bystanders eager to be seen at such a momentous occasion. There were the high-ranking representatives of the LMP force with their servants. There were the three round council workers doing their best to look happy in such miserable circumstances, but failing to cheer the mourning residents, grief stricken at the death of such a hallowed place. Then there were the other councillors, dressed in hippy camouflage, trying to be concerned, whilst their camera-flashing attendants recorded the twisted history of a Hackney'ed council.

Then finally, the plastic-hatted undertakers set to work on the incarceration of the gutted remains. This was the noisiest point of the ceremony, as earth-eating dragons had to be used to install the plywood walls and iron gates. This Particular entombment included an ancient Egyptian superstition of including 'scorpions' as security (men) to keep out the tomb robbers.

The scale of the event was costly and extravagant, but nevertheless, all due respects were paid by all to the death of yet another creative community.

Michelle.