What is(/are) this(/these) place(s)?

My experience of Longford prior to my most recent visit was limited. I visited intermittently in my teens, playing sports in St. Mel's College. What defined Longford? I held memories of a busy town set in productive terrain. Reflecting on the journey, I recalled a flat landscape, largely uneventful since passing Lough Owel. A derelict hotel and a tall factory punctuated the last miles. I remembered the prevalence of car dealerships, offering almost every marque imaginable; McDonalds on the bypass; curiousities found in few Irish country towns.

In early October I revisited Longford, hoping to get an idea of what it holds for citizens and passers-by. I learned a great deal through meeting locals and exploring the town's streets, squares and parks. Longford's built fabric reveals a town of two sides which are very distinct, architecturally and socially. The crux in the urban dialogue is a stone bridge over a small tributary to the River Shannon, at which two very different settlements meet without amalgamating.

South of the River Camlin, a market town thrives. Concentrated along a succession of streets running north to south (really one street with many names), this Longford provides places for gathering – Market Square. It receives through transport hubs – the train station and bus stops. Cafés and shops bustle. Lanes and alleyways are busy. This Longford is alive – it is loud – and it buzzes with commerce, exchange, chance meetings of locals going about their business.

On the Camlin's right bank, an empty shopping centre lurches over the river. The town's north-south axis terminates at an abandoned army barracks. The lost axis kicks east at the gates of the barracks, passing a row of tall, elegant Georgian buildings before resuming its northern march in what could be Rathgar. Detached houses, mature trees and generous lawns prevail. This is a quieter, cleaner settlement, with suburban character. Civic institutions reveal the true character of this imperial quarter – a Freemasons' Hall, a Protestant National School, a Methodist Church, an Anglican

Church. Pedestrians are fewer, traffic moves with ease. The feeling is altogether less sociable – buildings are set back from roadsides and footpaths. Garden walls provide a hard boundary, backed up by vegetation.

In the aftermath of my visit, I reflected on this schism in Longford's architectural and social character. I was particularly struck by how one side of the town reveals its age while the other reveals weathering. The lively commercial streets south of the Camlin constantly self-renew. Evidence of refurbishment, changing uses and new development are everywhere. These processes counteract the effects of weather, and the town's prosperity at any one point in time might be gauged against how well the built fabric is maintained. Wooden shopfronts, plastic and metallic signage all affect their own temporality. It may be chaotic, but it is much more textured – inhabited – than the clean, organised reaches of the northern town. There, only age is evident. The buildings are sparsely inhabited, certainly not worn. There is lesser evidence of weathering, more the signs of age – widespread use of masonry in construction, maturity of vegetation, institutions catering to a selective community rather than society at large.

What is this place? A market town with evidence of former colonial presence. It is fragmented, some parts are more people-friendly than others. The southern town has heart, but the interface between north and south fails both quarters and their inhabitants.