A House is not a Home

Today

After much agonising and searching, we have settled on the house we want to buy. It's called Spencer House and is in Oakhill, a village about two  miles away. It's a very gracious house and offers all the accommodation we need.

However, I can't help feeling anxious; we have lived here at No 7 for over twenty-five years and I find myself worrying about the new location, the unknown night-noises and how long it will be before it becomes our home.

In My Day

I can't say that our first glimpse of 7 Mead Close in 1986 gave us the tingle factor. We had come to Somerset to follow up the opportunity at Flare, and needed somewhere to live. The weather seemed persistently gloomy and the house rather dreary. The carpets were dingy and of an awful design; decorations were scruffy and the whole house was cold with a heating system out of the ark, whose peculiarities required much effort to unravel. It was, however, within our limited budget.

There were barely three bedrooms and Becky was stuffed into a tiny room over the stairs and we had to take the door off to give her some floor space.

It was a long time before we could start to do any work. I was driving all over the country for my job and weekends represented recovery with little time for decoration and remodelling. The isolation of the village meant that we spent much time driving the girls to various places and we had little cash to spare.

Over the years we gradually turned the space into somewhere that was truly ours. As soon we could afford it the old heating system was replaced and we fitted a proper fireplace. The house was extended and we grew to love its calmness and the surroundings of the Close.

Quietly and in its own time no 7 became a home.

I'm sure that we are doing the right thing; it's just that we have to allow ourselves the time to make Spencer House as much truly our home.