Return to the Heygate

The only real change that was visible was that of the slow-marching exodus, yet more boarded-up flats creating a pallete of steely grey and ageing concrete against sombre peach and green tones. The winter sun reflected off the windows, net curtains gone to reveal a smorgasbord of decorating schemes. I snaked my way along the walkways keeping an eye on the unmarked police car gliding up to an old couple, trying to catch snippets of their terse conversation. The England flags had left, along with their owners, probably to pastures further down the Walworth Road as opposed to the shiny new flats that never surfaced. I walked on, a constant eye on my back but comforted by the calm of spaces once inhabited but now left to just be, buildings returning to their constituent materials: glass, tiles, stairwells.

I snaked back past the elderly couple as they unlocked an untold number of locks and security screens, the gentleman eyeing me closely as I walked past, following me to the corner and staring as I kept walking. His quiet implied paranoia was the exception though, most people said hello or gave a cursory nod; exceptional for London but not so much for Elephant and Castle, my two weeks in the Duke of Clarence had taught me that. A gentle reminder of humanity amongst the coldness of the winter city: we are all still people underneath our layers.