Rundown Abbey could be found at the end of the street the opposite end to Runup Abbey.
Rundown Abbey was old school, full of history, misery and poise. Runup Abbey was just that, something created in a hurry and full of pretension. It thrived in its materialism, while the Abbey down the street displayed its historical contempt.
Over the years Rundown Abbey suffered from neglect. The gardens were overgrown, nature was having fun reclaiming parts of it, and the old clock was stuck at 3.45 or 9.15 depending on how you saw it.
There were ghosts within the building, souls stuck in the past, from moments in time when life was sucked from them in often the most distasteful of ways. The life taken from them their souls were left in bewilderment as to what was to happen next they wandered the corridors of the Abbey never sure as to which way to turn.
It had served as an orphanage in my younger days. I remember some of the occupants attended the same school as me. Tired and withered children, little to no spark in their eyes as if being an orphan had removed from them any hope in life.
We had little to do with them as each afternoon they trudged back down the street to be locked behind the gates of the Abbey seen over by Miss Ethel Mary, the meanest looking woman I ever laid eyes on. They were never allowed to attend our parties, never took parts in the class plays and ate the same stale looking vegemite sandwiches each day, all sitting in a row, shackled more to each other than in some defined physical way.
By the time I went to High school Rundown Abbey was closed and the children moved away, we never heard where.
The building was closed and left to rot, which in some ways was a just ending for the misery I’m sure it dealt to all who lived there.