The first park I ever knew was the Sompting Recreation ground, a decidedly modest expanse of playing fields in the village on the south coast where I grew up. Canopied by electricity pylons, it was as utilitarian as its name suggests: the recreation then taking the form of either football or cricket depending on the season. Some running, the odd game of Stoolball – an old Sussex bat-and-ball precursor to rounders and baseball – and not really much else. It didn’t have tennis courts or a bowling green. The vegetation was mostly grass and treated by its spiked and studded boot-wearing users in a manner not dissimilar to lampposts by dogs. But beyond the churned-turf pitches littered with the discarded peel from halftime oranges, there was nevertheless a rustic-looking pavilion…
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The Simple Things (Digital) - 1 Issue, August 2023