I recently had the opportunity of revisiting my late grandparents house, I last walked out of the front door of that house around 15 years ago when my dear Nan passed away and it was sold. The house where she was born, my dad was born, the house that saw lives begin and some lives end. The house that protected and held the family together in tough times such as my Grandad going to war, and the blitz that saw nearby houses obliterated by bombs. That wonderful house that had lots of love floating around and held so many magical memories for me growing up. I drive past that house all the time. I always look to see if I can get a peek inside or spot anyone living there. I often wonder if I got the opportunity would I stop and tell them that their house holds a special place in my heart. I drive past and hope that whoever is living there, cherishes and looks after that house the way my Nan and Grandad did and her parents before her. When a For Sale sign went up and I found out there was an open house, I was torn whether to go or not. I still wanted to hold on tightly to those special memories, walking into a house that a stranger had lived in for the last 15 years, would those memories be still there? I decided to take a chance and go … I'm so glad I did. I walked back through that door and the spirit of my childhood was right there, waiting patiently. That day, I really did take a trip back to my childhood …..
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| In the greenhouse |
I stepped into the room that was the hub of the house. The back room where I used to eat toast and marmalade and watch Noel Edmonds Swap Shop on a Saturday morning, sat on the red rug in front of the fire in my nightie. Where I used to watch for the little birds lining up on the wall outside, ready for their fill of bread crusts. The back room where I used to warm my hands on a cup of hot Bovril after a frosty walk to the shops for fresh bread. The back room where my Nan taught me to sew and knit, where I learnt to make pom poms, where I played with my dolls, read Twinkle, drew pictures, wrote little stories and poems, made crafts with glitter and glue, built little houses with lego, drew swirly patterns with spirograph and played with fuzzy felt. The back room where my Grandad used to sit and watch Grandstand on a Saturday afternoon and I used to play hairdressers, combing back his brylcreemed hair. The window that he sat opposite where, if I was playing ball games or skipping outside, I used to pull silly faces at him and he used to pull them back. The same fireplace/hearth where my Nan used to put the butter dish to thaw out the butter before lunch, the fireplace where the brass shoe lived with the little mice hiding, the egg timer that I used to love playing with, watching sand pour through time. At tea time on TV, Pink Panther, Tom and Jerry, Basil Brush, Boom Boom!, eating scrambled egg in a pale yellow cup with a spoon. The back room where my Nan used to sit on the sofa and knit gorgeous little outfits for my dolls, and squares for blankets that she used to make for the children's hospital. The back room where she used to read me Ladybird fairy stories and I used to snuggle up next to her and listen to her heart beating.
The kitchen, still with cupboards that my Grandad made, the kitchen where I used to bake with my Nan, where we used to make lemon curd tarts and apple pie to take home to my Mum and Dad, where we used to sit and chat popping peas from their pods, where she made tea with a teapot and had a biscuit barrel never empty of biscuits. The kitchen leading to the back yard where a green house once stood. The greenhouse, where she grew tomatoes, where I used to water her plants. The greenhouse with its own tap where I used to while away time playing with water, using a bucket and watering can, filling and emptying, filling and emptying.
The back yard where the shed once stood, where my Grandad secretly spent many hours meticulously building me a perfect Sindy wooden bed and wardrobe for Christmas. Painted white with pink flowers, the little bed with homemade frilly bedding and the wardrobe with miniature wire coat hangers. I will never forget the surprise and feeling that Christmas morning when I saw that beautiful furniture for the first time, I felt like the luckiest child alive. I truly appreciated how much time and thought had gone into it, I felt the love. The back gate, still there, where Nan and I used to walk out onto the cobbles to visit neighbours, Mr and Mrs Littler and their rocking chair, Mrs Smith and Mr Hopkinson and his boiled sweets.
The steep stairs with the same wallpaper, up, up, up. The back bedroom where I slept when I stayed over, the bed cosy and warm, heated by an electric blanket. The little wooden rocking chair, next to the bed, which I now have in my home for little people to enjoy. The back bedroom, where Nan used to sit in front of the window and do her sewing on her Singer sewing machine. The back bedroom where we used to have little chats as she sewed, where she used to tell me stories about times gone by and family tales, where she used to teach me nursery rhymes … Sing a song of sixpence, a pocket full of rye ...
and then it was time to go.
I walked around that house touching everything and taking every little piece of it into my very soul. I walked out knowing I will probably never set foot in that house again and it was emotional. It was emotional but I was thankful, thankful that the essence of my past was still floating around, thankful that I had the opportunity of reliving my childhood memories so vividly, thankful that I got a chance of reconnecting with the spirit of my grandparents who gave me a simple, magical childhood that I will always cherish and never forget.
Since revisiting my Grandparents house, I 've been thinking a lot about how times have changed, how modern childhood is a rush, wanting too much, receiving too much, expecting too much. When I think about the time spent at my Grandparents, it was simple, it was real, nothing fancy, no frills, just plain simple love and kindness. A place where there was a gentle rhythm to the day, where I could just be myself and felt true belonging. I will always cherish those memories and they will never leave me, they are embedded in my heart and soul, they are part of who I am. That simple 'feeling' of just being, of calmness, belonging and connection… children today need that ingrained in their hearts more than ever, they really do.
