Page:Charleston • Irwin Faris • (1941).pdf/231



F Charleston to-day, what can be said save that it is no longer Charleston but only a few scattered remnants of it, that scarce suffice to locate the sites of bygone busyness and gaiety?

It had its booming, heyday times; its times of meditation and regret; still, after all, “’tis better to have boomed and burst, than never to have boomed at all”; the boom-tide leaves so very much to look back upon and dream about “when to the sessions of sweet silent thought” we “summon up remembrance of things past.” Charleston is dead—yet, long live Charleston; as it ever does in many hearts and minds.

The Police Station still stands, also the Courthouse, now serving as the official garage. There are the State School, the Church of England and two cottages on Darkie’s Terrace Road; the Post Office; two cottages in Camp Street (Sections 145 and 354) and the European Hotel in Prince’s Street—these are now Charleston. There are three houses at Broomielaw, two up the Nile River near the Back Lead, one on Nile Farm, and two north of the river—these represent its suburbs. Lovable Charleston is lovelorn, forsaken.

A few stalwarts remain, buoyed with a hope that dies hard; they are of those who, everywhere and under all conditions, give fading faith “another go”; like “spotters” whose next drink is always going to be the last. No repining, no grousing about fate, no despondency.

Charleston lived to the full for a score of years; lived moderately for another score; and then gradually faded away; was once a land of promise and golden visions.