Creative writing submission from the Rest Less community – submit your entry here.
A dear friend of mine was left a wonderful gift by her Grandfather that enabled her to buy her own property, mortgage-free. From the beginning, I unashamedly muscled my way into the house-hunting process. I wanted to show her what was possible, but also help guide her.
I cannot deny it; I’m that annoying friend who wants to be in on every house hunt from the beginning. Why, I hear you ask? Well, I’m nosey. I also just love architecture, houses, design and how people live.
As a small child, when visiting my grandmother, I would spend hours drawing the rooms of her flat, then redesigning and furnishing them. I would have piles of sketch books with neatly drawn and coloured furniture in various positions, and I never got tired of creating my future home.
When I was on my house hunt after moving here from London, I initially told Paul (a wonderful man) at the estate agents I had a completely open mind. It turned out I didn’t. It quickly became apparent that I harboured a special penchant for the Victorian era, and wouldn’t entertain anything built after 1930. I think it’s the proportions, the high ceilings and generous windows. I love the materials, the red brick, local stone, wood panelling, window shutters, skirting boards, picture rails and cornices with ceiling roses.
There’s something beautifully romantic about a corbel, a twisted spindle and a curved bannister; the softly rounded newel cap that fits perfectly in the palm. Oh, and if you really want to get me excited, a volute, the gentle turn of a handrail which often resembles a scroll and speaks to me of more graceful times: ladies in rustling skirts and men in flat caps.
Victorians actively made things decorative and beautiful simply for beauty’s sake. Their care and craftsmanship were second to none, so even basic things like toilet roll holders, ceilings, and door furniture were all exquisitely made and, more importantly, made to last. A prime example is the masterpiece, the Crossness pumping station. If you haven’t seen it, look it up.
With an old house, indeed, there’ll always be a patch of damp somewhere, and the lath and plaster walls mean hanging a picture is a tad tricky, but these houses have already stood firm against everything thrown at them. Bombs, storms and floods have battered their walls for over one hundred years, and when I am a long time dead and buried, they will still be beautiful homes, occupied by families for another hundred years.
Imagine what I felt when my friend turned out to be in love with ancient, period properties with their sloping floorboards and wonky windows.
To cut a long story short, she purchased a beautiful early 1800s cottage nestled right in the centre of Dorchester. Yet, it feels like it is miles from anywhere, in the heart of the countryside. I fell madly in love with this little house the first time I saw it and was desperate for my friend to make it her home, which she has now done.
It’s quirky, characterful, and whilst there are no ghosts, there’s a quiet, otherworldly peace to the place that speaks warmly of the past and brings all who enter an innate sense of calm.
It has gently worn tiles and polished wooden floorboards, their patina portraying a thousand pairs of feet. Panelled walls and dust motes sing gently in the muted sunshine that filters through the downstairs windows. The painted wooden staircase gently curves past the first floor, to the top, where a large bedroom has been built into the eaves. This is no conversion; it has always been there, with exposed beams crisscrossing the room and a church-like end window letting in subtle light.
It has a vaguely ecclesiastical feel, a wonderful combination of old and new to create a space full of character and old-world cosiness. Standing in the warm, stillness of the eaves, I see generation after generation of small children huddled together, top and tailed in the same bed, keeping each other warm on straw-filled mattresses. Up here they sleep soundly, safe from all harm, their parents and Grandparents sleeping peacefully in the rooms below.
The gardens, though small, are full of character and rustic, slightly dishevelled charm. Country cottage plants like ferns, Primroses, Geums, yellow Poppies, Foxgloves and Honeysuckle crowd each other. A bleached, rambling, white rose with subtle fringes of soft pink, edging the petals, climbs up the front of the building, framing the window.
Meandering cracked paving slabs are filled with moss, forget-me-nots, thyme and Aubretia, their flowers overflowing and scattered like tiny jewels against the hard, grey stones. A pair of neighbourhood ducks fly in occasionally to sit along the roofline while a host of tiny songbirds come to drink and bathe in the bird bath, nature comfortably living alongside the humans.
If you’re in any doubt, I’m in love with this cottage, and I love that someone so young and vibrant has been completely seduced by its quiet age and timeless beauty. Its unconventional and eccentric charm has called to her to make it her home.
On our first viewing, it reached out with tiny fingers and wrapped them around her heart. She was ensnared and now she is its guardian, hopefully for many, many years to come.
As Shakespeare once said, “I like this place and could easily waste time in it.”
Are you feeling creative? We are proud to have a hugely talented community on Rest Less, which is why we’re so excited to open up a section of the site dedicated to showcasing the wonderful and diverse writing of our members. If you have a piece of creative writing that you’d like to share with the Rest Less community – you can do so here.