The Telephone Box, not the time travelling blue one but the everyday, sometimes slightly smelly, red one. Once a feature on every street corner, they are now disappearing at a faster and faster rate, their purpose in life falling victim to the now ubiquitous mobile.
They still have some reason to be though, in areas in the UK where a mobile signal is as ephemeral as a crock of gold at the end of a rainbow or as unlikely as me winning the National Lottery. Some live on as defibrillation points, others find local love as mini libraries for swapping books and some become miniature allotment greenhouses for local edible share schemes.
This quiet hero stands guard by the magnificent entrance arch to Birkenhead Park. Sheltered on windy days and high days by friendly trees. Like they say, if only they could talk, what stories they could tell. Perhaps it’s for they best that they don’t, discretion and all of that.
Categories: England, Heritage, history, Nature, Photography, travel, United Kingdom
Tags: Birkenhead, England, photography, street photography, street scene, telephone box, tourism, travel, travel photography, Uk, Wirral
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