Southend U3A

Writing for Fun

August 2021

House Of My Dreams - Diane Silverston

There it stood, hidden behind the overgrown hedges, surrounded by a neglected garden. It was obviously empty. A derelict building, with broken windows, crumbling plaster, woodworm infested wooden frames and a roof with many holes. It stood down a winding lane on the edge of a small but bustling Cotswold town, with buildings of honey coloured stones, small family run shops, an ancient church and pubs just off the green.

It was so different. It was an eye sore. The Town and Parish councils were determined to change all that. The property was so bad, it would probably have to be condemned. It had been empty so long, no one could really remember who owned it, who lived there last, It would have to be sold quite cheaply if they wanted someone to take it on. Perhaps a builder would take the plot and apply for a new build.

Finally it was put into a public auction for various buildings in the surrounding area. The asking price was quite low as they realised a lot would have to be done.

It was strange that I was there, at the auction in the nearby city on that day, Sheer fluke. I just happened to be staying for a few days whilst at a conference, I saw the signs and had spare time, so thought I’d go along and see what happens at an auction.

Sitting in the hall looking through the brochure, at the various properties up for auction, I came across the picture of the derelict house. Something made me look twice. A sharp memory came into my head. Why? I had never been to this area before. I felt a connection, obviously not looking like this, but as it would have been.

The auction started and I watched as building after building going under the hammer, sometimes for the asking price, sometimes for a lot more, Then it was the turn of the derelict house. I still felt a strange tingle. Why? The auctioneer stated the lot number, and mentioned that a painting of the property had been found dated 100 years ago, As the usher held it up, I knew the connection. My Grandmother had the same painting in her Dining room. Years ago I had seen it when I visited as a child. She always said it had been connected to her Mother’s family a long time previously. I wished I had listened more carefully when she told the stories, but she had died 5 years ago. I looked more carefully at the brochure. Very few people were bidding, one could be a builder. Suddenly I found myself involved. I made a bid. I had just returned from the USA and was thinking of buying a home. It had not occurred to me to look in the Cotswolds, but why not? I worked from home so was not tied to any area. There was only one person bidding against me. It was not long before I found myself as the owner of the house. Now I had a challenge ahead of me.

Some months later there it stood, in some ways it looked even worse. The contractors had moved in … hedges uprooted, garden cleared, scaffolding surrounding the building, workmen busy, materials piled up everywhere. I had to leave it in their hands and travel abroad for 2 months. What would I find when I returned?

Now here I was, with my suitcases in the car and a removal van parked in the lane, ready to be unpacked. There it stood, looking so picturesque, tidy Laurel hedges surrounding the garden, a neat lawn, colourful flower beds, a bird table in a prominent place. The house a sparkling white, clean new windows and a deep red door, welcoming me into my new home.

My first action as I entered the hall was to hang the old picture of the property. Memories of my Grandmother flooded into my mind, Her family had returned.

Although the outside was the original building, inside was completely new a beautiful open plan downstairs, keeping some of the old features. Upstairs the views from the windows showed the Cotswolds at their best. Once I had my own furniture and ornaments out of the removal van and in place, I felt immediately at home This was going to be my space, my haven. The house of my dreams.