Castle Rock

CASTLE ROCK

Stark contrasts dominate Nottingham’s famous castle grounds. Urban and rural, ancient and modern, affluent and underprivileged, dawdle and hustle are all apparent from this spot. The intrusive noise of a city intermingling with the gentle humming of nature. Industrial, dusty fumes invading the ozone-filled air of the castle grounds.

         In the far distance an uneven horizon; a patchwork of various shades of green, interspersed with the occasional garish splash of yellow; the odour of rape not discernible from this distance, but stored in the memory and equally as repulsive as its colour. Pylons, spires, cranes and industrial chimneys reach up into the vast stretch of sky, mottled with lazily drifting clouds. The labours of the city discernable from this distance; workmen drilling, lorries unloading, the grinding of machinery as another bin is emptied into the jaws of the evil-stinking refuse collection vehicle.

         Historical churches mingle with modern monstrosities, high rise car parks and offices merge with solid brick and stone buildings. A contemporary housing estate nestles by the side of old terraced houses, Victorian bay windows glistening in the sun. Gaudy coloured cars and buses speed along roads or stand motionless in traffic jams, impatiently honking horns. The roar of a motor bike as it zigzags through the queue, elsewhere the sound of skidding. Sirens peaking and fading almost constantly become just an accepted part of the hectic pace of a twenty-first century city. A high speed train rushes into the station, while in the distance the sails of Green’s Windmill rotate at a leisurely pace in the breeze. The ‘Trip to Jerusalem’ offers a range of beers or spirits to its many visitors; opposite a Chinese restaurant displays a menu of tempting oriental dishes. The past and the present fused together in a city buzzing with life. The fusty tang of age and timelessness outweighing that of synthetic modern life.

         At four, a nearby church chimes a jaunty tune, followed shortly by the resounding boom of the Council House clock. Which is correct and who really knows, or cares for that matter? Lives are beginning and ending in the clinical smelling wards of the University hospital to the left, while details of those somewhere in between are stored in the musty records filed in the offices of County Hall, to the right.

         Close by, the elegant castle, steeped in history, stands overlooking the city. Tourists stroke the uneven, stone surface of the walls; tiny fingers outline the names carved in statues as childish voices struggle to read aloud the unfamiliar names. The castle is surrounded by shrubs of varying shades, grassy banks, colourful flower beds and majestic trees. The subtle scents of laburnum, bluebells, horse chestnut blossom and liverwort assaulting the nostrils like a sweet, yet bitter-tinged spring bouquet. Passers-by tentatively caress the sticky leaves of unusual plants in the borders, sucking in breath when camouflaged nettles sting.

         The wind whispers secrets old and new in the branches, newly adorned with fresh spring leaves. A child traces her small hand over the gnarled trunk of an oak tree, stroking the smooth bumps then withdrawing from the sharp points of surrounding bark. Birds of many varieties go about their business in the peaceful surroundings. A pigeon basks in the sunshine, cooing softly. A female blackbird wrestles with a defiant worm, a tasty supper for her, while the handsome partner looks on trilling his enthusiastic song. Squawking rooks take flight from an ancient cypress tree, their flapping wings alarming a nearby toddler, sending her scurrying back to her family. A fresh rush of tears and wailing as her mouth-watering ice-cream plops onto the path, but soon pacified enfolded in her mother’s soft arms as she offers reassuring words and the promise of a replacement.

         People of all ages and nationalities wander from the gatehouse to the castle entrance, or sit pensively on wooden benches, enjoying a sandwich or snack. Everywhere the buzz of human voices, conferring, laughing, squabbling, enquiring, in a rich variety of languages and accents. The pungent whiff of foreign cigarette smoke drifts in the breeze. Love struck young couples, families, pensioners, Goths and the lonely all find solace here. Groups of foreigners pose by statues, hands caressing the smooth stone, lips smiling, as someone records the moment for posterity with the tiny click of a camera button.

         A child’s kite tugs on the end of a length of string over the castle green, tail beating rhythmically as a captivated youngster giggles infectiously. Young feet scuttle excitedly along the paths, others shuffle softly, stiletto heels click unsteadily over the uneven stone slabs towards the castle doors. People recline on cold metal chairs outside the café sipping tea or quenching thirsts with fresh fruit juice. The aroma of freshly-brewed coffee wafts from the open doors, amalgamating with the subtle scent of sun on warm skin. An elderly lady sits alone, a spoon tinkling against the side of her cup as she stirs absently, her thoughts obviously elsewhere. She wraps her woollen scarf around her more tightly as the sun disappears temporarily behind a mass of darkening cloud.

         The last of spring blossom dances on the slab stones, fresh green ferns wait to unfurl and the spongy moss of decades clings to the castle walls. By the empty bandstand a young couple sit on a weathered bench, fingers entwined, oblivious to the roughness of the splintered wood as they talk softly; eyes locked in the newness of love. Her exotic heady perfume a contrast to the spicy fragrance of his cologne, yet neither as sweet as the lingering scent of new mown grass. Dappled shadows of trees quiver on the pathways like monochrome kaleidoscope patterns. A feather spirals lazily from the branch of a chestnut tree; a sycamore leaf drifts across the grass, buffeted by the gentle wind. The snap of a twig as a stranger passes, the gentle kiss of a courting couple, the soft buzz of insects and the creak of the gate as another visitor escapes from the city turmoil to the sanctuary of the castle grounds. Peace prevails.