Cherry Island

Fifteen metres of rubble and fire sit atop a medieval castle wall on Cherry Island, forcing two eras to share one small footprint. The kiln cut through ancient defence to burn limestone into quicklime, perhaps treating the castle ruins as mere convenient stone rather than sacred history. One and a half metres of accumulated ash now buries the wall that once kept invaders out, turning a place of martial pride into a workshop for ordinary mortar. The island remembers both the hands that built the fortress and the hands that broke it open for fire.