It had been their dream home 60 years. Mum had left her parent’s house upon marrying in 1954 and moved into this newly built bungalow. She and my father were so happy together in “Madonna” no. 34 Merville Road that they never moved again, except to the graveyard.
So today it was a case of keep or chuck and my youngest brother had made a head start on the job.
Walking up the short driveway I saw an object that once a year had pride of place in the house and now lay cast and unloved on the wet driveway. The Christmas tree and decorations, that until that morning stood for months each year in their sitting room. I knew it straight away from it’s old fashioned wirey green branches and plastic leaves. Lying next to the dissembled tree parts were the plastic multicoloured lights and kitsch decorations, bought in the ’60s that look pretty ordinary now.
I picked up the small plastic reindeer with the Disney “Bambi” appearance, her short pert tail covered in gold sparkle.
How many happy years had she hung in that front room, surrounded by sparkling lights, presents at her feet and the warmth from the real coal fire that burned furiously in the open fireplace opposite?
How many Christmas’s had she watched over as we opened our presents, watching as we grew from tiny kids to huge adults?
When we reappeared along with our children?
How did she feel the first Christmas he wasn’t there, 2004?
When she died in 2012 the tree remained packed in its box unopened. A year when Christmas bypassed the house left unoccupied and up for sale. How did it feel to be unwanted after 60 years of bringing joy and happiness?
As I crouched over the tree and Christmas past I saw the wood from the shelving and cabinet unit he lovingly built for her. When in situ it ran the length of the wall, a good 20 feet and 15 feet tall, with a dark brown mahogany finish, gold handles and glass. He was so good with his hands. As a child he used to get a copy of “Hobbies Weekly” in the 1940s, a practical journal on how to make model planes, boats and even a radio, using the basic materials available in those post-war years. He was great with the fretsaw and many were the black and white photograph that appeared in newspapers of the day of a young unnamed lad proudly holding a large model plane he’d just completed. The pictures would appear in newspapers because his dad was a professional photographer and on slow news days he filed them to fill the space.
Further along, the driveway lay bags and bags of old letters and bills but one bag contained a box of colour slides. It set me on a hunt for the rest of the slides and before long I had gathered several boxes of family pictures taken by Dad through the 1960s and 1970s and saved as slides. I found the slide projector too. I loaded all into the back of my car. Colour slides projected onto plain walls bring people in them alive so much more than photographs ever can. Don’t you agree?
Walking around the emptied house and garden for the last time ever is an unforgettable experience. By the time they died we were all over 40 and had our own partners and homes. Where could we put my parent’s furniture?
It wasn’t easy to make space for an eight-seat dining room table & chairs, a leather couch set of 3 and a sideboard but I have a loving wife who had adopted my parents as her own and so readily accommodated me.
Seven years on I still have a room of memories in my house that has yet to be emptied.
The day will come.
