Pyschogeography and the alleyways in old Poole

I am very interested in the idea of pyschogeography - it seems to me that if you looked carefully enough, if your senses were sufficiently enhanced, then you would see, in the urban landscape you walked through, images of past times - you would hear lost voices - you would smell forgotten scents - you would become aware of different layers of reality - 

You might become aware of dark stories, of strange coincidences - Walter Benjamin said that to lose oneself in a city is like losing oneself in a forest - signboards and street names ... must speak to the wanderer like a cracking twig under his feet, like the startling call of a bittern in the distance - 

I felt like this, just for ten minutes or so, when I wandered through alleyways in old Poole - I was walking idly back up Poole Old High Street, watching my cheap black umbrella buckle in the drizzly wind - I passed by men smoking, looking at items in an army surplus store - women were wearing grey trackies - 

Suddenly, I saw an alleyway to my left - a sign on its wall told me it was called Bowling Green Alley - its paving stones glistened from the rain - fallen leaves were scattered upon the slate grey stones -

I walked into this narrow corridor between high brick walls - a black wrought iron lampost stood at its junction with another alley - once inside the alleyway, I could hear no noises from the street I'd left - 

The lampost could have been planted in The Lantern Waste - I remembered, quite clearly, seeing the delicate yet unsettling illustration in my copy of The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe -

A tunnel, with rounded brick archways, took Bowling Green Alley under the first floor of a silent building - I looked at its shuttered windows and blank doorway - I could be visiting Innsmouth I thought - I listened, very carefully, for any sound - 

I looked down at the paving stones - I could sense the people who'd walked here - their words were woven into the air - I thought of their faces, flickering like leaves in the rain - 

After a what seemed an age, I turned, and walked back to the Old High Street - I looked at my watch - ten minutes had passed -