This story begins in 1943. Just before Christmas, the residents of the village of Imber, in the middle of Salisbury Plain, were requested to leave their homes. The MOD needed to use the village for training purposes as World War Two developed. The residents were originally told they they would one day be able to return to their evacuated homes.
That never happened.
That never happened.
The result is that somewhere in Wiltshire, miles from anywhere, surrounded by barbed wire and military warning signs, there is an empty village which is stuck in time. The army have continued to use the village; some of the original houses and other buildings abandoned in the forties are now joined by a number of purpose-built shells of houses for various training purposes. It is still an operational facility. But on a small number of days each year, the village is reopened for public visits.
We visited on Easter Sunday which meant that the place was teeming with visitors. I had been expecting quite an eerie location, but the swarms of families meant that it felt more lived in than many housing estates I've dared to pass through. I was happy however with the number of canine companions accompanying their owners. Dogs of all shapes and sizes joined the crowds on the exploration mission. I can't blame people for joining me in wanting to visit this slice of history; Imber is a unique story and an opportunity to travel back in time.
A visit to Imber allows you to see some of the buildings and locations that formed part of the everyday lives of the people of this village back before their lives were irrevocably uprooted. But as we wandered around these physical markers in time, a more interactive form of time travel was clear to see all around us. We had travelled to a time before the dreaded killjoy of 'Health and Safety'.
Yes, we were on a functioning military training location (albeit one on a bank holiday hiatus). Yes, we could wander in and out of many buildings that had questionable standards. And yes, we found discarded debris of plastic shells, tin cans and cracked glow sticks littering the floors. But no one was around to warn us of any dangers or guide us as to which precautions to take. We, and by 'we' I mean the general public, were left to fend for ourselves in this giant playground of danger. It was like having a whole village as an adventure playground. You can explore shells of houses by ducking through old timber door-frames; you can climb well-worn stone stairs to reach rickety, creaking upper floors; you can peer out of the gaping hole that once was a top floor barn window with nothing to warn you that it's possible you could hurt yourself if you fell out. The risks we took!
I took great heart from watching the families run around this odd, time-travel playground. This week I had heard a report on the news about how children didn't play outdoors as much as they did in the past. But here was a little slice of common sense prevailing in the most random of places. A couple of times I heard the excited calls of make-believe battles: kids hiding from their playmates in preparation to jump out at them at an opportune moment, with a blatant disregard to any dangers that might befall them. At one end of the village, a giant, fallen tree added another dimension to the playground. The kids (and adults, to be fair) swarmed over it like ants. Who doesn't love to climb on a tree?
The journey to Imber took us back in time in more ways than one. The echoes of the people who once lived there are etched on the worn walls and the surrounding landscape. But they are joined by the spirits of the more recent visitors. It is a place where your inner child can play like it used to. I hope Imber forever remains a playground for the inner child of all who dare to climb its walls.
We visited on Easter Sunday which meant that the place was teeming with visitors. I had been expecting quite an eerie location, but the swarms of families meant that it felt more lived in than many housing estates I've dared to pass through. I was happy however with the number of canine companions accompanying their owners. Dogs of all shapes and sizes joined the crowds on the exploration mission. I can't blame people for joining me in wanting to visit this slice of history; Imber is a unique story and an opportunity to travel back in time.
A visit to Imber allows you to see some of the buildings and locations that formed part of the everyday lives of the people of this village back before their lives were irrevocably uprooted. But as we wandered around these physical markers in time, a more interactive form of time travel was clear to see all around us. We had travelled to a time before the dreaded killjoy of 'Health and Safety'.
Yes, we were on a functioning military training location (albeit one on a bank holiday hiatus). Yes, we could wander in and out of many buildings that had questionable standards. And yes, we found discarded debris of plastic shells, tin cans and cracked glow sticks littering the floors. But no one was around to warn us of any dangers or guide us as to which precautions to take. We, and by 'we' I mean the general public, were left to fend for ourselves in this giant playground of danger. It was like having a whole village as an adventure playground. You can explore shells of houses by ducking through old timber door-frames; you can climb well-worn stone stairs to reach rickety, creaking upper floors; you can peer out of the gaping hole that once was a top floor barn window with nothing to warn you that it's possible you could hurt yourself if you fell out. The risks we took!
I took great heart from watching the families run around this odd, time-travel playground. This week I had heard a report on the news about how children didn't play outdoors as much as they did in the past. But here was a little slice of common sense prevailing in the most random of places. A couple of times I heard the excited calls of make-believe battles: kids hiding from their playmates in preparation to jump out at them at an opportune moment, with a blatant disregard to any dangers that might befall them. At one end of the village, a giant, fallen tree added another dimension to the playground. The kids (and adults, to be fair) swarmed over it like ants. Who doesn't love to climb on a tree?
The journey to Imber took us back in time in more ways than one. The echoes of the people who once lived there are etched on the worn walls and the surrounding landscape. But they are joined by the spirits of the more recent visitors. It is a place where your inner child can play like it used to. I hope Imber forever remains a playground for the inner child of all who dare to climb its walls.
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