Just found a diary entry from 1986, nearly 20years after I left as a boarder at Lancaster Royal Grammar School.
Visited Lancaster. What a small town, and on what small scale it is built. Change was minimal, but it appeared that inertia was the cause, not conservation. The school was deserted, but open. Not a brick had changed, no texture altered. The same paint on the same door into Ashton House, and I stood looking until I could hear it slam twenty years ago, and feel my own feet leaping up the stone steps and the texture of the red tile floor. I went inside to the smell of muddy rugger boots and dubbin, wash basins and the same hard pink washing soap. Drove around for a while with a sad feeling, but I know not why.