Not only is the 'Magic' different things to different people, it's also different things to the same given person at different points in their lives.
When I was a child the Magic was coming face to face with these gigantic machines that I could be ushered into, that made strange noises, that made other people make strange noises, that I would never see in normal daily life. Then these strange machines would carry me and throw me around in unusual ways and I would then make strange noises just like the other people had before me. It was a completely different world from anything I was used to. The Magic was being close to my parents and my brother on these rides, seeing each others expressions on our faces as we experienced these strange machines together, feeling none of life's worries that slowly become more apparent as age catches up with us all (inevitably, and impossible to avoid), my parents seeming old and very mature, when I now realise that they were themselves still relatively young by today's standards, and still finding their way in the world and learning about life.
The Magic was the same old cassette that memory instructs me to believe was always played on the journey there once or twice a year, whilst we eventually passed Ronny The Robot (the strange structure next to the JCB Headquarters, the name coined by my Dad most probably). The magic was finally overcoming my fear of the Thunder Looper that I had been too scared to go on, on a couple of previous visits, when I was finally dragged so far down the queue for it that I may as well carry on and go on it than head backwards down the queue, then enjoying every second of it and re-riding it relentlessly. The Magic was seeing fine views of this magnificent countryside from the top of 1001 Nights through the lashing rain when it had stopped, as it seemed to when I was young, for a minute at a time. The Magic continued, as it had always done, year after year. The absolute Magic was enjoying these new, strange, and ongoing experiences with the people I love. Seemingly always a new experience to encounter together year after year.
Then the Magic stopped. Or so it seemed. Or was it still there all along? Life happened to me, and to thousands of others who had experienced the same thrills and experiences that I had. In my late teens, Alton Towers and its haze of 'something' became completely distant, it disappeared into a chasm of nothingness, with not a single thought thrown in its direction. Life's trials and tribulations and serious worries about outside influences allowed no thought for this distant place, even if I had wanted to. The Magic was dead to me.
Then, in the early 2000s, some friends had arranged a trip to the Towers 'off the cuff' and naturally I was encouraged to go along. I would go along and I was 'the one who knew all about the Alton Towers rides and the way around as I used to go there all the time'. But it was a very strange visit this time. It was the same place, but somehow it wasn't, all at the same time. I would walk towards what now is the Dark Forest but instead of looking forward to the contraptions in that area that could throw me around in all sorts of ways, I was looking up at this stack of bricks to my right thinking: "What is this building, why is it even here, and why does it look like it does"? What on earth is it doing in the middle of all these modern rides? Just what has happened here? I saw the same sights when travelling on the skyride over the gardens, but no longer was I holding onto the seat tightly, I was craning my neck to look over at these structures dotted around the greenery below me. What is all this stuff doing here and who bloody put it here? I had always had a bit of an interest in history, but now it had reared its head in what should have been the most obvious of places for me, where I had previously somehow been oblivious to all of it. The Magic that this large plot of land in Staffordshire had provided when I was younger was forcing itself upon me in a different way, when I least expected it, in its beautiful natural and built environment. The years after this 'enlightenment' of the place's history, where I would make efforts to discover, study and explore more and more about it (and still do) were honestly some of the most Magical times I've had with regards to the Towers, almost as good as enjoying those scream machines of years gone by with my family. Years came and went and I did a degree in History as a mature student and got a 1st class honours, and my dissertation was on the Gardens at Alton Towers.
The Magic is still there if you know where to look for it, and it is different for everyone. Where is yours? I know where mine is.
When I pass Ronnie the Robot I feel the Magic, when I turn that song up when driving through Denstone (any one of the ones that used to be on the old cassette) I feel the Magic. I definitely feel the Magic when I pass over the bridge, past the Station Lodge and up the winding roads in Alton/Farley. I feel the Magic when I'm lying down on a stretch of grass in the Gardens looking at the Pagoda in the middle of summer. I feel the Magic when I touch the bricks of that big old house and wonder what was going on there almost 200 years ago. I feel the Magic when I smell the fresh air whilst watching the rain pour down outside from a hollow window frame whilst standing in there. And I definitely feel the magic when there is a brand new ride there the following year for me to experience from scratch
