I grew up in a small town called Marlborough, that is located in Wiltshire, England. This town is described as the archetypal English market town. It consists of one very wide high street, where the market set up twice a week, and the fairs came in to town twice a year. It was a wonderfully safe, quiet town to grow up in. We walked or cycled everywhere, as nowhere was far away. Not much happened, and everyone knew each other. I loved it, but then again, I probably left at just the right time, before it all became stifling and boring.
I moved away from Marlborough when I was thirteen, or rather, my parents moved away, and left me behind. But that’s a whole other story for another time! So, when I was twelve years old, it was actually the last year that I would be living in the only house I had ever known. I am not sure I knew that at the time. Certainly things were starting to rock my once stable boat, but I had no idea how much things would change in the coming year.
For the time being, aged twelve, I was still oblivious, and still enjoying my life, without a care in the world. I loved my house. It was nothing all that special really, but it was my whole world. My parents purchased the house when I was still a baby, in the 1970’s. It was built in Victorian times, when toilets were still located in outhouses, and were the old chain pulling style.
I knew that house like the back of my hand, and I still have dreams set there. Besides being the first house I knew, it had special memories, as my mother and father spent every spare second making it the perfect home.
Life revolved around the kitchen in our house, and so this was the first room to be converted. The wall was knocked down, making one large room. It was very bright and looked out to the garden. I spent hours there, helping my mother to cook, doing my homework at the table, and practicing on the piano that sat in the corner. Everything I needed was right there. I even learned to roller-skate in that room! The lino floor had the perfect shiny finish to help me glide from one end to the other!
My next favorite room was the attic. I was a very imaginative child and I loved to steal away up there, among the boxes of old books and clothes, and create stories. After many years of living in the house, we converted the attic in to a room, which I loved too, but it lost some of the intrigue that it had held before.
When the weather was good, which it was not all that often, I would play in the garden, on the swing set, and oil bunker (yep, we had an oil bunker, not sure why, I guess we used oil for fuel?). I would also climb over the hedge to my neighbour’s garden and play on their climbing frame with them. Evenings were often spent in the nearby housing estate, playing kick the can and other running games. Life was good back then…