What Makes a House a Home?

I have lived in my present home for eighteen years, we moved in when my daughter was two weeks old and her big sister was two and a half. It was so stressful that I vowed that I would never move again – and so far I haven’t! In one sense I don’t like my home, it is a bit shabby and it is hard to keep it looking nice, but it is sound and strong and built to last. It was built in the early 1950’s as a police house and it is roomy and functional but not especially imaginative. It is a semi detached house with a utility room at the side and a garage next to the utility room. The garden is big enough to keep me busy, but not so big that it is impossible to cope with.

I have not always been happy in this house but it holds so many memories, my children grew up here, they made cakes in this kitchen, they played in this garden, hung their stockings at this fireplace and listened to bedtime stories in these bedrooms. My first husband enjoyed so many family times in this house, his cars sat on this drive, he grew ill here and this house watched as he lost his fight against cancer. My daughter wrote a poem on a theme set by her teacher which seems to sum up what I have been trying to say

My Bedroom

Through half closed eyes, at night

The memories are played.

Of different times

In this same room

Of younger, carefree days

I see the cheerful colours

And teddy bear designs

That once I loved,

In this same room.

The happiest of times

I hear the gentle voices

Of a younger dad and mum;

                            Reading to me

In this same room.

Of fairy tails and fun.

I recall the doll’s pram

And the much loved teddy bear

That used to be

In this same room

When make believe reigned there

I see the Christmas stocking

That Santa came to fill

With childish gifts

In this same room

When magic charmed me still

I remember details

Of how it used to be,

When life was young

In this same room.

Time was eternity

Ever present memories

Of warmth and love and care

Surround me now

In this same room

A love that’s always there.

By Laura

Sometimes I think I am ready to move now, but I have very nice neighbours and I’m not ready for all the aggravation that moving involves. It would mean packing up and sorting out eighteen years worth of junk and I really couldn’t face it!

Style and decoration is important to me, but so is remaining solvent, so I tend to put up with things as they are for far too long. Anyway a home has to be a home, clean and tidy, but not so posh that you can’t relax. I like to remain sympathetic to the period and style of the house, so I have restrained myself when it comes to ripping out original features. We bought a new dining table last autumn, it is in a light oak with drop leaves and a pedestal base. It is space saving but functional and the matching chairs are plain wood so there is no fabric to get grubby if things are spilled. The previous year we bought a pair of brown leather sofas, I wish they had been slightly smaller, but they are smart, practical and very easy to keep clean. We decorated the lounge about a year ago, I stripped all the wallpaper off the walls, tidied up the surface and painted the whole room in a cream colour with just one contrasting coffee coloured wall. I wanted it to be simple because I have several paintings on the walls. I like Nicholas St John Ross and I have a number of his prints in my lounge, they remind me of Cornwall and of the time when the children were young and they loved the beach so much 

I like simple clean lines, functional but simple items, I don’t like frills flounces or twiddly bits. Shaker style appeals to me. On the whole I like older styles but nothing fussy or cluttered. If I can’t find what I want, I wait until I find it and as I get older I am less willing to compromise. My taste is my own and it is totally different to that of my present husband, my first husband and I had similar tastes, but being different doesn’t really bother me, I like what I like and other people can do as they please as long as they don’t impose their preferences on me. My husband bought me a huge wall clock for my birthday he loved it and he was sure I would too, it was very much like him, larger than life, loud and impossible to ignore. I tried very hard to like it, I even put it on the wall, but after a day I knew that my sanity depended on telling him the truth, the clock had to go!

My fantasy home would be Victorian, it would have several storeys and a basement so there would be lots of space. It would be in it’s own grounds in a rural setting, possibly an old farm house. It would have coal fires as well as central heating; there would be a big farmhouse table, a Belfast sink in the kitchen and big comfortable leather sofas in the sitting room. That is just a fantasy, it is not the building that makes the home it is the people in it and the community around it, I already have all that