I wrote this poem back in Jan 2005 when I found this old abandoned mansion in Chancery Hill Road. The owner's son had moved overseas and was unable to return because he didn't do his National Service.
The owner had passed away sometime in the 1950s leaving dishes in the sink to wash, clothes in the cupboards, photos of horse racing on the walls - apparently they were wealthy enough to own race horses, and old art deco furniture.
In 2009, the new owners had the place razed to the ground, nothing of the place remains now.
The abandoned house left a powerful impression upon me. And I wrote this poem shortly after I visited the place.
The house on the hill stands silent and still Its front door is locked Its windows are open. Old cupboards are inside Filled with dusty dresses And worm-eaten books The old house waits Waiting for master Waiting for mistress But no one returns