(no subject)
A story I've written for our Neighbours. They got married today at Gretna Green.
The House that Wanted to be a Home
Once upon a time there was a House. It was a grand house with strong walls and proud windows. It was tall and practical with stairs that did not creak and doors that opened and shut freely. It was in a row with several other houses just like it, though it fancied itself just that little bit better than its rivals. No 3, to its right, was bought by a noisy family of five or more children and No 7, to its left, was bought by an entrepreneur who spent many noisy hours transforming it into a lodging house. The House, then, thought itself superior in being owned by a Gentleman of some fortune who filled it with tasteful furniture and popular artwork. The House enjoyed its solitude in comparison to its neighbours but at a push would admit to feeling empty when the Gentleman was away.
After several years the Gentleman began to court a Young Lady and, although at first it shrank from the idea, the House began to look forward to maybe having a family of its own. But it was not to be. Tragedy struck and illness carried the Young Lady away from the Gentleman, the house creaked its mourning at her spirit never returning to brighten its halls. The Gentleman fell into a deep mourning of his own, haunting the rooms of the the House like a ghostly spirit, his cries disturbing the servants. Eventually the depth of memories the House held proved too much for the Gentleman and he sold the House away.
The House was alone for some time as its new owner had yet to return from the East Indies, its only company the occasional delivery of new furniture and furnishings. The new owner was a retired military Officer, a bachelor, who spent most of his time and money on entertaining his former fellows. To the House this seemed to mostly involve the imbibing of viscous liquids that made its floorboards itch and the playing of games for money. The Officer was good at the first and terrible at the second. His standards began to slip, his clothes drab and moth eaten, his hair and beard unkempt. Items of value began disappearing from the House, followed by a renewal of gaming and drinking. The servants muttered as they did their best to keep the House well, but it had to admit that they were fighting a losing battle. As was the Officer.
One evening the Officer went out and never returned - there was much bustling and talking within the House and eventually it was revealed that the Officer's debts had caught up with him as last. The House did not mourn the passing of its owner as it was certain he had brought it upon himself. The House passed into the hands of a relative and was eventually sold at auction.
The third owner was a Doctor and the House felt its sadness at not having a family evaporate in the face of the multitudes of patients that now passed through its doors. There were no more servants but instead there were nurses and a receptionist and, after some time, a second doctor. Together the House and the Doctor survived two wars (the House relieved but sad when a shell destroyed one of its neighbours during the second) and much more besides. The Doctor grew old in the House until at last he was too old to continue practising. There were talks about whether the practise would continue in the House or if it would move - the Doctor stated that he liked the House too much to leave, that they'd been through too much together, and that was that.
The House missed the patients and the nurses and the other doctor and the receptionist, though all had changed in the time the Doctor had lived there, it missed the noise and the feeling of being inhabited. The Doctor grew older still, rattling about the House like a man who had lost his purpose. One day different nurses came and took the Doctor away. He didn't return.
The House passed through the hands of many more owners; young men, young women, young couples. Each time it thought there might be a chance that it would finally have a family the people moved away. The people didn't like its creaking floorboards and squeaky doors and it felt the sadness right to its beams and mortar.
Finally, after more years than the House dared think about, a family arrived on its doorstep. The agent trying to sell it described it as 'an impressive period house, with lots of character and even more potential'. The House didn't listen though - all the House paid attention to are the family: man, woman and two daughters - all looking for a new home together. The family liked the House and after some wrangling with the agent they managed to buy it for a reasonable price. The House didn't mind that it could have sold for higher, its pride did not lay in that direction any more. Instead it was proud to inform its neighbours, the rebuilt No 7 on its left and the ageing No 3 on its right, that it finally had a family. And it was finally a Home.
J.B. Addley '07
The House that Wanted to be a Home
Once upon a time there was a House. It was a grand house with strong walls and proud windows. It was tall and practical with stairs that did not creak and doors that opened and shut freely. It was in a row with several other houses just like it, though it fancied itself just that little bit better than its rivals. No 3, to its right, was bought by a noisy family of five or more children and No 7, to its left, was bought by an entrepreneur who spent many noisy hours transforming it into a lodging house. The House, then, thought itself superior in being owned by a Gentleman of some fortune who filled it with tasteful furniture and popular artwork. The House enjoyed its solitude in comparison to its neighbours but at a push would admit to feeling empty when the Gentleman was away.
After several years the Gentleman began to court a Young Lady and, although at first it shrank from the idea, the House began to look forward to maybe having a family of its own. But it was not to be. Tragedy struck and illness carried the Young Lady away from the Gentleman, the house creaked its mourning at her spirit never returning to brighten its halls. The Gentleman fell into a deep mourning of his own, haunting the rooms of the the House like a ghostly spirit, his cries disturbing the servants. Eventually the depth of memories the House held proved too much for the Gentleman and he sold the House away.
The House was alone for some time as its new owner had yet to return from the East Indies, its only company the occasional delivery of new furniture and furnishings. The new owner was a retired military Officer, a bachelor, who spent most of his time and money on entertaining his former fellows. To the House this seemed to mostly involve the imbibing of viscous liquids that made its floorboards itch and the playing of games for money. The Officer was good at the first and terrible at the second. His standards began to slip, his clothes drab and moth eaten, his hair and beard unkempt. Items of value began disappearing from the House, followed by a renewal of gaming and drinking. The servants muttered as they did their best to keep the House well, but it had to admit that they were fighting a losing battle. As was the Officer.
One evening the Officer went out and never returned - there was much bustling and talking within the House and eventually it was revealed that the Officer's debts had caught up with him as last. The House did not mourn the passing of its owner as it was certain he had brought it upon himself. The House passed into the hands of a relative and was eventually sold at auction.
The third owner was a Doctor and the House felt its sadness at not having a family evaporate in the face of the multitudes of patients that now passed through its doors. There were no more servants but instead there were nurses and a receptionist and, after some time, a second doctor. Together the House and the Doctor survived two wars (the House relieved but sad when a shell destroyed one of its neighbours during the second) and much more besides. The Doctor grew old in the House until at last he was too old to continue practising. There were talks about whether the practise would continue in the House or if it would move - the Doctor stated that he liked the House too much to leave, that they'd been through too much together, and that was that.
The House missed the patients and the nurses and the other doctor and the receptionist, though all had changed in the time the Doctor had lived there, it missed the noise and the feeling of being inhabited. The Doctor grew older still, rattling about the House like a man who had lost his purpose. One day different nurses came and took the Doctor away. He didn't return.
The House passed through the hands of many more owners; young men, young women, young couples. Each time it thought there might be a chance that it would finally have a family the people moved away. The people didn't like its creaking floorboards and squeaky doors and it felt the sadness right to its beams and mortar.
Finally, after more years than the House dared think about, a family arrived on its doorstep. The agent trying to sell it described it as 'an impressive period house, with lots of character and even more potential'. The House didn't listen though - all the House paid attention to are the family: man, woman and two daughters - all looking for a new home together. The family liked the House and after some wrangling with the agent they managed to buy it for a reasonable price. The House didn't mind that it could have sold for higher, its pride did not lay in that direction any more. Instead it was proud to inform its neighbours, the rebuilt No 7 on its left and the ageing No 3 on its right, that it finally had a family. And it was finally a Home.
J.B. Addley '07