History

There were so many images I could have used today. For not only is it Mothering Sunday, it is my sisters birthday too and we decided to try to find 'my' secret garden for a picnic.

When I was little my Grandfather would walk me over to his Aunt Biddy's garden. It wasn't attached to her house, but was a little piece of land near the village pond. I loved it. Climbing tree's, standing out on a bough over the pond - hearing my Grandfather talk tales of skating on the pond when it was frozen over, of his friend crashing through the ice - and thankfully surviving, of the 'child eating pike' that were in the water - so I shouldn't "get too close". Happy memories indeed and I haven't been back there in over 20 years. My mum had never been - it was out of bounds when she was growing up, so we decided to try to find it today, for a family picnic.

I found the door to the garden though, as if it were yesterday. The garden was terribly overgrown and not a bit as I remember. Much smaller and it was hard to see where the grass, flower and vegetable beds once had been. We found a clearing, enough to spread the blankets out for our lunch and passed a very pleasant afternoon away.

We fed the ducks and swans and I told my own children about the 'child eating pikes' lurking under the water - though from the looks I received, I don't think I was believed! We then decided to drive past our old home. Only being us we couldn't just drive past. We pulled over and stood on the verge. We must have looked an odd bunch, and slowly a car came down the lane. The driver wound down his window and asked if we were alright. "oh yes" came my reply, "we used to live here, years ago" I offered by means of an explanation. The driver introduced himself as the owner... and said he'd bought it off my Grandfather in 1982 and offered us a walk through the gardens and orchard.

It was an incredibly moving experience. I only knew this house for 8 years, my mum had been born here, and we'd even lived here together. My middle sister was just a few months old when the house was sold, and my youngest sister had never been here. My grandfather didn't have the money to pay for a new roof, which he'd been told would be needed very soon, and so the decision was made to sell it the house. The roof has never been replaced, though I think it probably needs it now.

Tucked away behind the house is the bakehouse with 2 coal fired bread ovens - if coal hadn't been in such short supply during the Second World War I'd have been the eighth generation to have been baking here. It dawned on me today that maybe this history is the reason I enjoy baking so much - it's in my blood.

I didn't realise my husband was taking photographs, and finding this one has moved me to tears. I see my son, playing in the garden - just as I used to. Memories, history and emotion, all tied up in one photograph.