I woke up in total darkness early this morning and for a few moments thought I was back in my house in London. In the darkness I thought the wardrobe was on my right and the windows straight ahead at the end of the bed, as they were in London. I realised fairly quickly where I was and gave myself a little lecture about the correct orientation of the room, but there was no light to confirm it and for a little while I seemed to be swimming in a strange blend of the two rooms.
I’ve always thought it an unfortunate feature of the way we buy and sell houses that the change from one house to another happens so suddenly and irrevocably. The appointed date arrives and you must move out. In fact, you can never come back again. If you tried to come back, you would be a trespasser or worse. I’ve quite often found myself wishing I could go back now and then and spend a day at my old desk, just for fun, looking out at a certain view which used to divert me. In London, it was a view of very tall treetops, with nests in them in springtime. When the winds blew, I watched the birds sitting on their nests as the high thin branches swayed in the wind and the nests almost seemed to be turned upside down. I felt some kind of bond with those birds.
Of course there have to be rules about leaving houses when you have sold them to someone else. The new owners wouldn’t take kindly to me asking if I could come and sit at my desk occasionally, maybe write a page or two. But it has often seemed psychologically quite violent just to have to walk out of the front door and never walk back in again.
It can feel equally strange to walk in to a new house on the appointed day and then have to stay there. This is now your home, although it may not feel like home for quite a while.
Obviously new owners need security. They can’t be worrying about former residents turning up with a nostalgic look in their eye. But I wonder if there’s anywhere in the world where the process of moving house is less severe?
On the two occasions I’ve revisited an old home ( once as a child with my parents who had been invited back a year after the new owners had ‘ improved’ it) it had changed beyond all recognition. In my parents case they were appalled that the garden had gone to seed whereas we children marvelled at the deep pile carpets, working central heating and endless bathrooms.
As an adult I was asked back a week after selling the ‘ family home’ by the young couple who were struggling with various quirky things. In a week they had changed the function of several of the rooms. Their furniture made the house look completely different. Fortunately having had the experience as a child I knew that it was no longer ‘ my home ‘ in the same way that I was already altering my new home to make it fit my circumstances. My advice is only to go back in your dreams!
Interesting thoughts, as always. By coincidence I have today had a new living room carpet laid, and clearing that room reminded me in a lesser way of the trauma of moving house. Our homes are in some mysterious way more than objects, like part of our bodies, and any major disturbance almost feels like surgery. Though luckily I am responding well to the smart new transplant!
Hallo James, I really like your phrase ‘any major disturbance almost feels like surgery’. Enjoy your new-look living room!
I’ve had a similar experience when waking up in a hotel.
Earlier this year, en route to Peterborough, I went back to the remote farm in the Fens where I spent my first 18 years. Google Street View had not visited since 2009 (when it was starting to look a little dilapidated), and I was curious about the last 15+ years.
While the house appears to be unchanged on the outside, the yard and buildings are in a very poor state, and the site generally overgrown. It is no longer a farm.
Perhaps it was just as well that the owners were not at home!