The Cranford Agreement

The first time I circumnavigated Heathrow on foot I was nearly arrested. My timing was terrible. I had decided to walk around the perimeter of the airport on the same day that Tony Blair had ordered the army to station tanks at the airport. The spectator balcony was closed so I decided to walk around this transport monstrosity.

Over the years the area around Hearthrow airport has morphed ever so slightly. In 2004 I came across an abandoned sofa in a small forest clearing. Fifteen years later the same area is overgrown but still a dumping ground, and you can now spot the roof of Terminal 5 in the distance.

Right next to one of the runways I spot a family of four: a grandfather and three children. They are wheeling an empty pram along the narrow dirt path right up against the fence that separates the airport from the Northern Perimeter Road. The kids are all dressed in yellow. They throw a few rocks about innocently. The setup is reassuring, terrifying and beautiful. The yellow of the children’s clothes glow in the evening sunshine. Jets glide right past them for landing. I wave at them and the grandfather waves back. The children look at me with suspicion. We meet at the bus stop. He tells me in broken English that they came to see the landings, but not the rising.