Quince Cottage - my story (August 2010)

I came into being at a time when they made walls nearly two feet thick and when there were big open fires in the hearths, where all the family members huddled around in the evenings.

Some think I was a weaver's cottage, others think I was the stables for the big house.  Others a forge.  The clip-clop of the horses coming into the yard behind wasn't that different to the sound of the clip-clip of the weavers' looms on the upper floor.  The details of what went on within my walls though, that was all wiped out by the big fire.

the big fire

The big fire was around 150 years ago.  A candle fell on a bale of cloth where the weaver had dozed off.  Luckily, everyone got out but I was left little more than a shell of my former self but my thick walls remained strong.  A couple of years later I was cleaned up and though I had only had one floor before, two new floors and a roof were installed.  The new layout made me feel disjointed.

the pits

I was used as a workshop for many years, and the practical and skilled work that men came to do in me was good to watch.  But they neglected me and I became dilapidated. 

In the 1940s they dug a pit in the entrance arch and, instead of horses passing through here, cars came to be fixed.  I had liked the smell and sounds of the horses and of the hay they ate but I didn't like the acrid smell of the car food.  The noise of the engines being revved up made me shudder.

death in the family

In the 1950s my neighbouring cottages, who were like family to me, without any warning just died.  These big machines arrived from nowhere and bulldozed them down.  It was horrendous.  As I grieved for my friends, I thought I was next.  I was traumatised for years.  The cottage next door and I were like twins.  We were joined by a door that had connected what had been the weaving rooms.  This was now blocked up and it felt like I had had a limb cut off, only I could still feel it.  The water that seeped through the walls on that side of me was like the tears that I couldn't cry. 

After that the people who came to work in the dark interior were loud with their banging of hammers on metal, which went right through me.  It was terrible when the screeching of the industrial lathes was added. It was dirty and noisy and I felt on the point of collapse.

new dawn

Then, in the 1960s there were some months when no-body came.  No hammers and no machines could be heard.  After the wool trade died and the weavers left, the whole street had been full of industrious activity of one sort or another - a real working street.  I was the last of these.  Now there was only the sweetness of silence interspersed with the just as sweet sounds of people greeting one another on the hill.  I started to recognise their voices and names.  The character and tone of their different foot falls as they went to and from their cottages became familiar to me.  My loneliness started to evaporate. 

No-one came inside though, accept for men with measuring tapes.  Then they all seemed to turn up at once with their tools.  They knocked gaping holes into my walls that were even bigger than the old windows that had been blocked off.  Windows were put in, and a thick, old oak door added on the street side.  The operation was painful at the time, but light streamed in and I felt the warmth of the sun on my inner walls for the first time in a 100 years.  It re-opened my heart that had closed down to shut out the pain of when my twin had died.

good vibrations

People moved in who laughed a lot.  Visitors came and laughed with them too, and chatted over big, steaming mugs of tea, and slices of cake.  Now all the fruit in the garden that had been left to rot was brought in and filled bowls and pots of jam and given away in bags.  The overgrown garden was reclaimed and vegetables were grown.  Flowers and bushes were also planted.  Soon the sound of birds and bees could be heard on the lavender and rose scented air that wafted through my open door.

Dogs and cats lived here too, one always chasing the other up the very tall walnut tree at the end of the garden. It was a friendly chase, not like the angry commotion of barking when squirrels were stealing all the nuts.  The bustling rhythm of life within and around my walls made me vibrate with pleasure.

only good spirits allowed

Some say the bad phase of my life came when they put the beam across the protective star symbols etched onto my main fireplace.  These were put there in the 15th century to ward off evil spirits.  It is true that before they were blocked off I was happy, and when they were uncovered, I was happy again.

Now Miranda is living in my house. She just rolled up her sleeves and got to work on me more-or-less straight away.  She has called me 'Quince'. I hear her telling visitors it is because quince fruits are a symbol of 'love and happiness' and that is what she wanted her new home to be full of.  She has guessed too, like many of the gardens in this town, there were quince trees here, only, as they died, they were replaced by apple and pear trees.

As spring came, so the builders left and quiet descended, and the dust settled.  The transformation was inside and out.  At the front of the cottage it was like I had had a face lift.  Not one of those stretched skin ones, where you end up looking like  'The Scream' (like the postcard of it on the fridge, along with the one of the Mona Lisa).  In fact, Miranda had even uncovered some of my wrinkles - but I feel alright about it.  I am even lighter and more spacious and everybody who comes in says "how lovely" and "what a positive vibe".  It's true.  I feel lovely, lighter, vibrant and also calm ...and my more female side has surfaced - not in the flowery and chintsy sense.  Rather, people who stay here say they feel like they have been nurtured.  They are given nice smelling unctions that they bathe with, the perfume of which lingers on the air and activates my "positive vibe" even more. 

more me

My health is better too.  The 1960s breeze block wall and thick covering that used to completely block off a fireplace downstairs has been removed, revealing my natural stone.  The room that was once there has been reinstated, along with the fireplace.  It means I can breath properly again.  I still have the extra floor that was put in 100 years ago, but I feel more connected with who I am - more me and with a foot in the new era too. 

The biggest change is that I feel loved and happy.  It's not that love was absent in recent years, but it's just even stronger now.  I have emerged into  'Quince Cottage' not just in name but in meaning too.  I will never forget my twin cottage but when I remember him, it is the happy times I focus on and the tears have all but dried.  A home of love and happiness is what I have become.  I am ...Quince Cottage.