We and our house are still finding out about each other, getting used to our new relationship. But one thing I have been certain about for some time is that this house wants to be a family home. It has been a while since she has been that, and I am certain she appreciates it. Whatever has happened inside these walls, at some point children have been happy here. I have heard their footsteps, running in the hallway in the old part of the house, on more than one occasion. There have been one or two other things, too. Most of all, though, there is the feeling that this house wants to be loved for who she is, to be a part of a family. When I recently picked up a rocking horse for the girls from an auction, it immediately looked so right in their bedroom, as if it had always been there. I can’t explain it, just that it felt appreciated.
I was speaking about this yesterday to my family who live at Stempster, in Caithness. Their house also has history, and a back catalogue of characters (they have managed to do some research into the house and its previous inhabitants – something I am hoping to do for our own house when time allows). We were discussing how houses desperately want to be homes – they want to be lived in, properly.
Euan had just returned to the sitting room from being in the hallway, and reported that the door handle to my Mum and Dad’s bedroom had been turning on its own (we were all accounted for). “It’s the time of year,” said my sister, cheerfully, “these things happen at Christmas.”
At Christmas, a couple of years ago, when our young niece Ailsa was staying there, everyone at Stempster heard as clear as day a baby crying. My brother and his wife went to check on Ailsa, only to find her fast asleep. There have been other happenings.
It isn’t a surprise that many cultures have a tradition of winter tales, of telling stories together round the fire, often with a eerie theme. Perhaps there is a thinning at this time of year, making the past feel closer. I’m not even sure it is as clear as the past being relived, I think it is more that a house amplifies what you expect to find, and what you share with it.
When I was younger, I used to love the tales of animals being able to speak on the stroke of midnight on Christmas Eve. I am sure that those tales contributed to my lifelong love of and fascination with folklore. I wonder if the same could be true of buildings. On the stroke of midnight, what might our new home share with us? What histories, what thoughts, what hopes? I hope that she knows that we’re doing our best to put her right, and that we look forward to sharing many happy years with her.
