Life is Where the Home Is

I recently and somewhat prematurely wrote, “This week I shall be moving house, this time following my own advice, that being to ‘downsize’ to a smaller home”, well, this weekend its happening, something I haven’t done since 1984. Back then that’s what it was: just another house; stone, bricks and mortar. During the past 29 years this ‘house’ became ‘home’, a different thing in every respect. It’s a strange old place, with its origins dating back to the 17th century, becoming for many years the Gretton Stores from which all the villagers would get the raw materials for life. From flour to fresh vegetables and all the essential ingredients for cooking, baking, cleaning: even the odd treat for children. When we bought it, it was in a very poor state of disrepair, yet we seem to have been almost oblivious to the task in hand which may have something to do with enthusiasm oververcoming daunt, after all, we had each other and relative youth on our side. I was 28 and Madeline was 26. We never had enough money to do a complete renovation, having instead to repair, replace and decorate each room as and when finances would allow, yet paradoxically, it was this struggle that kept us working as a team, turning our house into a home. House values too are relative. Profit from anything is dependant on what another is prepared to pay, and moving house is almost certainly the only time that one realises the true value of ones security, barring hearsay or estate agents estimates, from probably the most risky investment most of us will ever make. Well, it’s my time to move on: new bricks, new mortar, new neighbours: new life. I’ve always been sentimental, wearing my heart on my sleeve for as long as I can remember, but I shall never forget the things that turned that old place from a house to a home. The memories: even the laughter of a ghostly past.

March 1984. It's ours! Turning the key for the first time. That's my Madeline on the left. We'd moved out of 47 Finch Hatton Drive in Gretton the previous autumn and had spent an incredibly cold winter as a guest of Sir John Conant at Lyndon Hall, Rutland. We often played with their little dog, a wire haired Jack Russell, called Ruskin. It was there, on a cold winters night that Madeline thought of our house name: Threeways. In the meantime, all of our belongings had been stored at the Hatton Arms bandroom in Gretton courtesy of the lovely Sue Blood.

March 1984. It’s ours! Turning the key for the first time. That’s my Madeline on the left. We’d moved out of 47 Finch Hatton Drive in Gretton the previous autumn and had spent an incredibly cold winter as a guest of Sir John Conant at Lyndon Hall, Rutland. We often played with their little dog, a wire haired Jack Russell, called Ruskin. It was there, on a cold winters night that Madeline thought of our house name: Threeways. In the meantime, all of our belongings had been stored at the Hatton Arms bandroom in Gretton courtesy of the lovely Sue Blood.

Advertisements

Leave a comment

Filed under Uncategorized

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s