Fate turned the cards and revealed her benevolent hand, as she so often did for us, and we couldn’t believe our luck when some friends told us the property next door to them had come up for rent, almost unprecedented considering it had been occupied for forty odd years by the same family and they never looked like they would move at all, but time had caught up with them and rural living had become difficult for them, so they decided to call it a day and move to a nearby town.
“You’d never guess what”, said our friend. “They’re moving next door. I could have a word with the landlord if you like – but I will warn you, they haven’t done a thing to the place...” That should have been enough warning, but we pressed ahead, regardless, some would say recklessly. We spoke to the landlord, who said we could take the place, but he’d have to put the rent up. When he told us what to, we took the place, sight unseen, there and then. Ten pounds a week seemed very reasonable...
The place was as described. A hovel, by some standards. Our future home. Nevertheless, it had four walls, and a roof – just. Holes adorned places where plaster should have been. There was no heating, apart from the coal fireplace housing a birds nest. Stripping what wallpaper remained took minutes, simply tearing off in strips. The windows closed, when banged from the outside, forcing the swollen frames into place. The original tiles on the floor could have been from a Time Team excavation. The kitchen was a lean-to against the back wall, providing the only protection to the keyless back door. But we were blind to it all. We didn’t have a vision, or development experience, and we made mistakes. Huge, costly mistakes, often on the back of well intentioned suggestions. “You want to put plaster board up, mate”. So I did. Shrinking what was to become our kitchen by about three inches all round, I put batons on the wall and sheets of plaster board, which I cut with a saw, not knowing any better way, losing countless boards in the process.
We tried papering the walls, after poly-filling the craters for holes, to see the paper lift off within weeks. Paint, we discovered, was more economical if restricted to dark colours. The mould took longer to show through. Storage heaters provided scant heat and the total rewire we paid for took years to pay off. The deal with the landlord was we looked after the inside, he’d ignore the outside. When roof slates started coming off like confetti, he came once to put them back, mumbling something about how he couldn’t be coming up every week to just put a few slates back on. In the end, we stopped bothering him, enduring each windy day with a stoic resolve and started putting them back ourselves. For £520.00 a year you learn to do these things. When the guttering fell off, we put it back. We turned her around, slowly, with some degree of success. Not perfect, some of it just cosmetic, but she became liveable. The kitchen lost three inches around the waist, windows were replaced, floors covered and the roof patched on a regular basis.
It’s been our little haven for 19 years now, and as relationships go, it’s been love-hate. Can you expect much for the rent we were paying? Probably not, but it doesn’t serve anyone any good in the long run. We’d see the landlord once a year, at Christmas, when he dropped off a card and we handed over a cheque. For the last five or six years he’s promised to take a look at replacing the roof. We continued playing the lottery, thinking a big win was more likely. It has been the cottage of dreams and nightmares. In summer, completely tranquil. In winter – merciless. Anyone visiting would remark on how nice it felt though, and it does. It’s a calm house, despite its faults and living here has felt quite spiritual in terms of the grace the house provides, rejuvenating and becalming. It’s wrapped its walls around us when we needed a shield from the world, and kept the rain out, mostly. It’s been witness to the heartache and joy of our lives, as homes do. It’s a wise house, in many respects, giving me the room to grow up a lot over the years. If lives follow pathways, then this, despite everything, was ours. Had I gone somewhere else 19 years ago, I wouldn’t be doing the things I’m doing today – I am sure of that.
This path was the one chosen for me, and for that I am grateful.
But, this sanctuary is less breathing and more sighing, wearily, now. It needs TLC, or else she will crumble to dust, but we can’t provide it, not even for a peppercorn rent. Winter approaches. Nature encroaches. Nature will win. Winters here are too expensive. Trying to keep out the cold is a futile battle, and she’s tired for it. She’s back down on her knees, and we’ve lost the stomach for the fight.
Come October, we’ll be embarking on a new journey, on a different path, in a small house with straight walls, insulation and a strong roof.
I shall always remember her, but for now it’s time to part.
