Game: Name that road!

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ColinJ

ColinJ

Puzzle game procrastinator!
Nice!

Like our local Widdop Rd. On steroids. In nicer weather... :laugh:

559996
 

robjh

Legendary Member
They all looked pretty similar!

Not quite as impressive a view this next one, but similar weather....

View attachment 559992
Hmm, not that much to go on. Looking probably west-ish, a village with a large elongated green, and houses with no obvious regional features. There are places like that from Suffolk through to the Midlands and probably beyond. Why are the cars parked there? Is it an event, or a popular pub just out of sight?
 

MontyVeda

a short-tempered ill-controlled small-minded troll
Hmm, not that much to go on. Looking probably west-ish, a village with a large elongated green, and houses with no obvious regional features. There are places like that from Suffolk through to the Midlands and probably beyond. Why are the cars parked there? Is it an event, or a popular pub just out of sight?
also on a bus route, and it looks like that could be a beacon being prepared on the green, where the orange thing is?
 

Tribansman

Veteran
Suffolk wasn't too far away, and it's looking South. No event, there is a pub (with an alliterative name) across the green. It is a beacon you can see too.
 
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ColinJ

ColinJ

Puzzle game procrastinator!
No event, there is a pub (with an alliterative name) across the green.
Quick check on dictionary.com to see what that means.
I remember my English Literature teacher explaining it 50 years ago...

Wilfred Owen said:
Anthem for Doomed Youth BY WILFRED OWEN

What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?
— Only the monstrous anger of the guns.
Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle
Can patter out their hasty orisons.
No mockeries now for them; no prayers nor bells;
Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs,—
The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;
And bugles calling for them from sad shires.

What candles may be held to speed them all?
Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes
Shall shine the holy glimmers of goodbyes.
The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall;
Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds,
And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.
 
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