When I was 15, we moved from my childhood home to a bungalow around ten minutes walk up the hill from us. I am not lying to you when I tell you that I was devastated. That house held so many memories for me that I could not bear to leave it.
Memories of my dad reading The Far Away Tree to me on a Sunday morning, being pushed on the swing in the garden, the huge cherry blossom trees that used to tap on my window. Family parties and birthdays, so many memories that I did not want to leave behind.
The street where we lived on was quite an unusual choice for a family. The majority of residents were elderly and I think that I spent more time on that street talking to old ladies than I did children. There were no outdoor playgrounds nearby either so much of what I did was based on things made up in my head.
I remember spending many an hour throwing the ball on my driveway, unsuccessfully learning how to ride a bike (my balance is bad, what can I say?) and making what I used to call potions with our elderly next door neighbour.
Starting primary school with so many children was a big of a shock as I was not used to it. It did not stop me making friends or halter my progress. If anything, not having many children around in my first few years I think it led to me having a better imagination which has benefited me throughout my life.
I have started walking past my old house sometimes when I take the puppa for a walk. I wonder how it has changed and sometimes take a sneak peak through the window (from the pavement, not up to the glass haha) while I am walking past.
I can still see myself as a child running around that street, the elderly neighbours getting visits from me and the stories of their lives they used to tell me. It was an innocent and wonderful childhood. If I ever see that house up for sale, I will be the first one having a look around!
*Collaborative post
