A humble cottage had been half hidden

behind tall hedges

spindly latched wrought iron gates waist high

these past twenty years

reaching behind two lanes in a triangle

its occupants long gone. 

 

One day a notice was clipped to the gates,

telling nothing but a reference number. 

This remained for six months.

One day a car was parked inside. 

 

The time was dawning for change. 

In the other lane from the entrance

a chunk of hedging was removed,

locals became restless,

speculation. 

A busybody from down the lane

was looking in on the neighbours,

 

She had seen the plans,

a large house with prayer room.

We began to see Sikhs onsite, a digger fuming,

cement lorries blocking entrances

altercation.

 

I waved in a friendly manner, smiles. 

Breath was bated as a base went down,

was it to be garage or the prayer room? 

We awaited minarets,

finally bricks, windows, curiosity. 

 

In double quick time an edifice arose,

up and over door, a funny angle for 

access in a car,

maybe a powered wheel chair I surmised. 

when a new fence with double doors went in 

the dust settled. 

 

Still the cottage stood

like an old lady isolated.

Trenches dug for mains and services,

the full width of hedging removed in the other lane. 

All the roof slates stacked and stored. 

The English team moved in for the big build

making me think the garage must have been

a prayer room after all sensitively constructed. 

 

As of now barring rainy days

the ghost of the cottage gone,

another base down too large for access

to the other building.

Just imagine

all this in the crux of two back lanes,

the talk of the town.