What makes a house a home?

Kate Peers - 14 Jul 16

Fifteen.  That is the number of times I have moved since leaving home for university at the age of 18.  From my first rather grubby student house in Leeds to our current bungalow on the beach, I have lived in some very interesting places.

Why have I moved so many times?  I think that I am a little nomadic, I’ve lived with friends, strangers, boyfriends, family. Each time I have moved circumstances have changed for whatever reason and we move on to the next chapter.  The joke of it is, I am not very good with change and I always have a major speed wobbles in the run up to the move but once we have taken the plunge, I love it.

The one thing that has been a big constant for me over the last 39 years is my family home. My Grandfather build the house, my father bought it from him and he lived in that house for his entire life.  This week we are completing on the sale of the house, both my parents have died and it’s time to hand it over to a new family.

“It’s just bricks and mortar.”  So many people have said this to me in the last few months.  I see it differently, saying goodbye to this house is another part of the grieving process and the last physical attachment to my parents. By no means plush inside, the house had a comfy lived in feel.  Each of us had our own bedroom and there was a playroom as well as a lounge.  The garden was something that now, having had my own children I wish I could thank my parents for over and over again.  It was huge, there was an orchard, trees to build tree houses in, places to hide in, bushes for dens, a huge field, a pond, a greenhouse.  We were so very lucky.

My childhood was a blessed one. We played outdoors, most of the time. In Autumn we would rake up the leaves and build huge piles to jump in, most weekends there would be a bonfire with the remnants of my parents gardening efforts that weekend.  We made acorn pies, mixed in with gloopy mud.  We built dens out of wood, put up tents in the garden and camped outside in the Summer.  We played tennis on the lawn, rode our bikes round the house, spotted birds in the trees and played in the woods nearby.  Playtime was a permanent forest school experience.

The house was always full.  Full of our friends, full of laughter and full of us (two brothers and a sister plus my parents made us six and with my granny living in the bungalow attached to the house there was always someone there).  Mum and Dad had an open door policy, our friends were welcome anytime.  And they came.  Particularly in our teens where others perhaps didnt have such a great relationship with their parents at the time, certain friends were like permanent fixtures in the house rarely going home apart from to sleep.

In our twenties, there were many nights at the pub with my parents followed by music and chats round the kitchen table.  We had fun, I adored hanging out with mum and dad at this age, they were always ready to crack open a bottle of wine and chat, there was a lot of teasing amongst us all and humour played a big part in the family.  At Christmas time there were a minimum of twenty and one year around 30 for lunch, singing shows from the kids and party games meant never a dull moment.

Mum died in my late twenties, there was a huge void in the house, it changed.  Being there was often sad, but I felt close to her, many of her things were left around the house, we only took her clothes to charity.  Her mark on the home was there long after she was.  Dad grew older and the house seemed even bigger.  We would trek up north and spend time with him, more memories, adult chats; looking through old photos, listening to his life stories with jazz playing in the background. My kids arrived, we stayed there often with Dad, he was a cool Grandpa, he never fussed over the kids, they were drawn to him for that very reason. He loved watching them play and it was one of his happiest things when we were all there.

A house is more than just bricks and mortar, it is a place where lifetime memories are made. Walking into your childhood bedroom can transport you back into memories you may otherwise never have accessed.  A home is a place of happiness, somewhere you can be yourself and never feel judged, a sanctuary, a place where you are untouched by the outside world.  Two young children have moved into the house, this will be their childhood now, their home.  What lucky children they are.

Kate Peers

Mum to three boys under nine. Writer, sea swimmer and social media manager.

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