What stories do our old buildings tell? A New Blog

Yesterday I sped past a castle
That held no king,
And briefly, I wondered about its history
As dark windows stared at me,
Unblinking eyes telling the story
Of a once powerful legacy.

Stollmeyer's Castle, Port of Spain, Trinidad. Image Source

I love old buildings. To me, they are like the worn covers of yesteryear's diaries, or like yellowed pages in old books, or even like scrolls that contain rich history.

Sometimes buildings are preserved and recognized as monuments, like this one.

In my country, Stollmeyer's Castle is recognized as a national landmark.

Standing opposite the country's biggest park, and recognized as the oldest building to be constructed in the area for miles around, this building, which was first owned by Charles Fourier Stollmeyer and later changed hands a few times before it was acquired by the government, was designed and constructed from 1902 to 1904. And though it was first called Killarney and not a castle, the Scottish Baronial architectural design for this building was influenced by a Balmoral Castle in Scotland.

Though there is a detailed story about the history and legacy of this building and a few others like it, some buildings, far less imposing, designed and constructed by poorer families, lie scattered and abandoned across the country, sometimes like relics, sometimes like accusations as broken windows and falling roofs scream neglect.

These buildings will not be preserved and, with time, they will fade as undergrowth overtakes their columns and their roofs cave in and collapse, and as thieves salvage and make off with what they can, until the Earth once again appears untouched.

Of course, no slight is intended by the above statement, as it is merely a statement of fact. One can hardly expect that every single building be preserved. I certainly don't.

I am, however, fascinated by the sometimes seemingly nondescript buildings and the stories one may unearth or even imagine about their past, because I figure that while they may not measure up to the castle's material wealth, some of these simple buildings may have once housed a kingdom's worth of dreams.

At some point in the past, someone would have dreamed of them. Someone would have designed the plans, laid the first block. Someone would have been excited by the progress of construction. And when the buildings were finished, if children lived there, at some point in time, there would have been the sounds of loud laughter and running feet. There'd have been the sounds of windows slamming, doors being locked. Those houses would have been someone's pride and dream.

And wouldn't it be interesting to know, or at least imagine what happened before a building fell into disrepair? One thing I always wonder is, are the people who conceived plans for these buildings even still alive?

Very often, dreams die with the dreamer, don't they? And it's sad to come after they're gone, and to see their dreams wilting, like once proud flowers now drooping, petals darkening , no longer turning their faces to the sun.

Makes me think of bigger things, like political ideals and policies conceived by men and women with lofty dreams who pass on, leaving their thoughts like an inheritance for younger ones who can hardly relate and sometimes poorly translate their concepts once they're gone. And then when the roof collapse, we blame the house for the neglect and not its present occupants.

Anyways, I think this concept, recording old buildings and their history- in my country, and maybe even in the Caribbean- is one that I'm going to continue to blog about over at @blurtcaribbean as I arm myself with a stronger camera and wander through the streets, snapping pictures, starting conversations, and asking of course, Do you Blurt?