On no headstone do I read the inscription 'Robert Leckie, Master
Salesman', or 'Jeanette Addams, EstateAgent' or'William Montgomery,
Instrument Artificer'.
This
town has no room for identity anymore; unless it's made of plastic
and subscribes to Sky Digital.
In the grassy oval of the oldest section - the sense of community
is a radical maximum. Not from beneath the ground - but in the
spirit and in the air. These people remain together.
Like in a computer enhanced Aerosmith video on MTV, the townsfolk
of 1850 slip from sepia to full colour and rise from the gravel
and the grass and the hovering headstones to continue their daily
business again locked perpetually in a daily routine......
DOUGLAS WRIGHT,
Master Mariner, 1821-1885 who sailed the seven seas - but still
came home to Ardrossan. Perhaps he wouldn't these days. Not now
the Post Office is part of a fancy goods store.