Whenever i look at the rich and abundant awe inspiring architecture, sitting neglected and derelict in nooks and crannies of Bradford i literally feel like crying ..I wish there was a father Santa who could foresee the potential this city carries, the profound history if harnessed with modern mindset can prove to be a major tourist attraction.
Behind many a broken doors are stories that the city tells, stories that are unheard of and stories that might be well forgotten. The classic, almost signatory sooted Yorkshire stone is a warm constant, a leaf from this book thats left alone with its pages crumpled.
Its heartbreaking to see this city.
I’ve never the city but there is something about it that is so inviting, something that makes you like it, makes you want to be associated with it, read and comprehend it.
The city which stood tall in view of late 18th Century Industrial Revolution, a hub of mills and their fortune, modern and majestic, the city boasted life and limelight. A city whose days spelt frisk fashion, evenings filled with mirth and music. The New Victoria Cinema hosting lively gatherings in its humongous ballrooms. Posing a venue to exuberant ballets and orchestras. This and much more defined this city of colours and city of class.
I just look at the Bradford today and ask : Where did it all go wrong
and more importantly, is there a way to restore what we lost. Is there a way we could start over. Can we all get together and regenerate the city which once burned so bright it melted !!