A HUMBLE COTTAGE
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,
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
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.
all this in the crux of two back lanes,
the talk of the town.