Hello, how has your week been?
I’m actually away for a week, I’m spending a few days in Wales at Fforest Coast for an autumn equinox weekend of nature and creativity, and then a few days on the coast in Devon with Mike and Gertie. I booked the weekend in Wales just after I knew I’d be having a hip replacement, it feels perfectly timed as I will be able to enjoy a coastal walk and nights around the fire as I meet other creative women and allow myself to be enthused anew. There’s something about being at a physical distance from regular life that gives a different perspective and I’m looking forward to that.
So, I’m being uncharacteristically organised and writing ahead of time so I can schedule this post. For some time now I’ve meant to write about how we came to be living in the house of my childhood, but then I realised that I didn’t know much about how my parents ended up here, so I thought first I’d ask my them the story of how they came to be living in this Somerset village.
When my parents first married my mother joined my father in the semi-detached house he lived in near Bristol airport, in those days it was a tiny regional airport with just a few stackable chairs in the arrivals/departures lounge and a considerably more relaxed attitude to security and passport control! The house they were living in had been constructed by a local builder and since it seemed solid enough they asked him if he had, or knew of, anything locally that might be right for them as they looked for a larger home. It just so happened that he had recently completed renovating a house in Burrington that he thought might be suitable, so a visit was arranged.
My mother recalls walking down the narrow, stone walled lane from the village square and thinking it felt like walking towards the sea; we are at least ten miles from any coastline, but a fifteen minute walk does bring you to a very pretty stream so perhaps she was divining water at least. The house they were to see (called Mendip View - not exactly original around here) was originally a two up two down, previously the village post office and most recently inhabited by an elderly one legged lady who lived in just one room. It had been extended slightly but the builder had outline planning permission for a further extension which would create a four bedroomed house.
Mum and Dad both very much liked the house, they could envisage the possibilities it offered if extended, but as it was the first house they had viewed they felt obliged to look at others, however one in a neighbouring village just didn’t feel right and another in Clifton, Bristol was off putting for its four floors. So, they decided Mendip View would be where they would make home, and that its name should be changed to The Post House. In 1969, the further extension having been completed, they moved in and began family life here. In the early 70's, with three of us girls already in situ they added a further bedroom and a room that was to be forever known as the playroom though I only ever recall eating in there.
Over the years there were further small extensions, just a couple of feet here and there that somehow made all the difference to how the house functioned for them and us. The garden too grew bigger as the opportunity to purchase adjacent farmland presented itself; ponies were loaned then purchased as there was sufficient grazing, the cider apple orchard was planted in the early 80’s (I remember this myself) and stables came just a few years later as the ponies progressed to horses.
My eldest sister and I were both married in the village and celebrations took place in the garden, while my younger sister left from here for her wedding in a beautiful local barn venue. Over the years this house has witnessed not only weddings but many other wonderful family celebrations - Christmases, Easters, birthdays, christenings, dinner parties, bbqs and village drinks parties. My father is well known for his enthusiasm in opening a bottle of fizz and his generosity with a bottle in his hand.
In 2012, after much agonising over the decision Mum and Dad boldly downsized and moved to a village with more amenities (ie. more than just a church and school) just a couple of miles away. Mum says “It has been a wonderful home for us and for our children. We have had some great times at The Post House, and I was very sad indeed to leave it although I knew it was the right time to do so. What a joy it is for us to still be able to visit as Vanessa and her family are there now.”
At that time Mum and Dad moved Mike and I were living in Belgium, I begged my parents not to sell the barn and field adjacent to The Post House which had been purchased by my parents in 1997 but asked if we could buy it from them. It was a giant gamble in hindsight as we spent our life savings on almost an acre of agricultural land with a barn that had been built without planning permission and had been subject to much controversy in the village. I’m not really sure what we were thinking we’d do with it to be honest, but I think having spent so many years overseas by then it felt important to have an anchor in the UK.
‘The Barn’ as it was known within the family eventually became Oak Tree Barn when we converted it in 2016/17 shortly after we came back to the UK from Sweden. It was pretty tiny and has a whole story of its own which I’ll share another time, but we lived there between 2019 and 2022 and investigated endless possibilities as to how we might extend it, but ultimately none of them seemed right and we decided to move. We had found a house down on the Somerset levels that ticked all our boxes, offers had been accepted and we had lots of interest in the barn. Since The Post House had retained an equestrian right of way over Oak Tree Barn I thought I’d be polite and pop round to let the then residents of the house know that we were moving. As we sat outside together the two of them looked at one another and then at me saying in unison “so are we, maybe you’d like to come home?”.
To return to the family home, the place of my entire childhood, was not something I had ever imagined nor aspired to and I wasn’t even sure that it was a good idea, I worried that my sisters might find it uncomfortable, that I wouldn’t be able to feel like a grown up there, that it was somehow weird. Nevertheless Mike and our elder daughter (largely through nosiness if I’m honest) wanted to view the house and so we did. I think there is probably something akin to DNA within homes that means despite the changes that had been made over the years since my parents left it just felt like home; as we walked down the front path after looking around I think all three of us felt it was almost a fait accompli. That was almost two years ago and we’ve now been here 18 months.
We most certainly feel at home here, for me of course it all feels so familiar, but it was the house that we always returned to while overseas so it was a home of sorts for our daughters too. I’m never quite sure whether Mike loves the house or the outbuildings more - it certainly didn’t take him long to acquire a tractor once he had space to keep one, and the garage is definitively his domain into which I’m occasionally granted permission to enter and fetch a bottle of wine (or climb up the ladder into the loft which he’s not keen on!).
So, having lived in Bristol, London, Melbourne, Munich, Johannesburg, Brussels and Stockholm I find myself right back where I began; it sometimes feels rather odd but mostly pretty grounding and I’m very grateful.
Wishing you a happy weekend, with love,
Vx
ps. A thank you once again to those of you who read this far and tap the ❤️ button, I really appreciate it. And for those of you who subscribe rest assured you’ll be the first to know when those rhubarb leaves are ready! Xx
A lovely read. I do look forward to Friday updates! Xxx
Such a lovely story of coming full circle!!! xx