When I was a little girl, we used to go on a lot of long car journeys. The adults were not as sympathetic as I felt perhaps they should be and my attempts to make conversation (“Where are we going again?” “Are we almost there yet?”) were largely scorned. I learned to occupy myself by staring out the window and imagining stories the neighbourhoods that we were driving past. I would make up entire histories for the people that we passed and intersect my life with theirs.
“That man walking the dog is named Walter. He is a repair man and last month he came by the house to repair our refrigerator. He told me about his wife, Zelda, who goes to the gym three times a week.”
I’m a grown up now and it shows. Sometimes when Cliff is flying, I stare out of the window of the Saratoga as we fly over some of the most beautiful neighbourhoods that I’ve ever seen. But these days when I look at the houses, I don’t make stories for the occupants.
These days I rewrite my own history and imagine myself living in those wonderful houses – complete with arguments with the neighbours about the damn cement mixer right at my back fence.
As we fly over the Cotswolds, I find the most amazing houses that must be a joy to live in although I wouldn’t like to think about the upkeep of the gardens. Still, if you can afford a house like that, you can afford a gardener, right?
And I do feel that a wide selection of barns and sheds and guest houses would increase my quality of living. I don’t play tennis myself but my good friends inform me that there is no such thing as too many tennis courts.
I probably don’t have the right mindset for living in a mansion like one of these, though I sure would like to give it a try. When I was a kid, we had car engines lying around the back yard. Splintered motorcycles leaned against oak trees, just in case there were any useful parts yet to be harvested. A bright orange VW beetle rusted away in the long grass.
If I got a big house like this, I’d probably end up in the same state:
If by some miracle, anyone actually recognises a house in this series, do let me know and I’ll forward a full-size photograph to the owners as a thank you for some exceedingly nice daydreams.
When I look at houses like these I think about how I’d never be able to keep them clean. Then I remind myself that if I was that rich I’d probably have staff. Then I think about how I’d hate to share my home with employees. Then I think but what if there was a little cottage in the grounds for a dear married couple who could be housekeeper and gardener. Then I think well I’d definitely need a cook. So two cottages then. Then I wonder if I’d ever feel at home in a huge place like that. I wonder if I’d see the children from one end of the day to the next. Then I think that maybe we could have an adult wing and a kiddie wing and then communal areas in the middle.
That’s normally the point when I look around my own house and really appreciate it.
Perhaps some young girl on the ground, looks up and sees your plane, and imagines her own stories.
I will, indeed, confirm that LittleGirl Sylvia had a wonderful imagination and fortunately it has stayed with her.
The last photo (Abandoned junk in the yard) is Salisbury Hall, originally built in the 1600′s. During WWII, the famous de Havilland Mosquito fighter-bomber was developed there in secret. The site now hosts the de Havilland Aircraft Heritage Centre, where the original Mosquito prototype is on display along with a number of other historic de Havilland aircraft and artifacts.
Thank you Scott – I’ll look it up. I did wonder what those planes were doing there! It sounds like it’s worth a visit.