MY GRANDPARENTS’
HOUSE
I have no conscious memory of the house in Victor
Harbour where my grandparents lived. Mum tells stories of her brothers sleeping
on the veranda, and of me crawling out of the garden one afternoon and being
found, after a frantic search, eating fallen kumquats next door.
And that house, with its cool inner hall and gingerbread-trimmed
veranda, seemed familiar – or maybe that was just wishful thinking.
.........................................................................................................................
This week's image is so reminiscent of the house where my mother grew up that I couldn't write fiction - this piece is 100% autobiographical.
Thanks to Ted Strutz for the memory, and to Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers on her blog. Welcome home, Rochelle - I hope your holiday was restful. X
What a delicious blend of description and anecdote!
ReplyDeleteThank you, Penny!
DeleteBeautiful, Lizy. I can see her there.
ReplyDeleteSo could I when I saw it, second time around.
DeleteI love the uncertainty about whether she remembers or is just imagining
ReplyDeleteThank you, Neil.
DeleteDear Liz,
ReplyDeleteA story that appeals to all the senses. Lovely.
Shalom,
Rochelle
PS My holiday was wonderful, thank you.
Thanks, Rochelle, and glad to hear it!
DeleteVery easy to be "in the story" with you. Sometimes the true stories really are the best ones.
ReplyDeleteThanks Linda x
DeleteI can simply imagine a small child eating fruit with great delight :D
ReplyDeleteI couldn't eat a kumquat now with its skin on!
DeleteIt felt like a biography while reading it. Nicely done.
ReplyDeleteThanks, Iain x
DeleteSo enjoyable. The nostalgia just sweeps over you - great writing!
ReplyDeleteThank you, Dora x
DeleteSo lovely...a story that wraps its arms around you and holds tight.
ReplyDeleteWhat a lovely comment, thank you.
DeleteSo true how we can feel nostalgia for a past we never had!
ReplyDeleteThis past I did have, just no conscious memory of it.
DeleteLiz, nice to learn about your origins. I've heard the eucalyptus smell is what evokes a feeling a home. Glad you were able to go back there.
ReplyDeleteI had a month, staying with an elderly uncle. Enough to learn a little about my beginnings.
DeleteA nostalgic homecoming!
ReplyDeleteJust the once, unfortunately, as it's a long way to travel.
DeleteThat must be such a lovely feeling. When I think of India I often think of the house my mother grew up in. :)
ReplyDeleteJustjoyfulness
Have you visited that house?
DeleteA sensory delight, Lizy. Well done.
ReplyDeleteThanks Sandra x
DeleteSuch a lovely read, Liz. What a beautiful home to have in the family.
ReplyDeleteIt was, Dale, though it changed hands long ago. My mother is 95, and she was the baby of her family, so my grandparents are long gone.
DeleteGreat story and I'm so glad it was autobiographical - stepping foot on Australian soil after so long must have been wonderful.
ReplyDeleteIt was. My life is in England, but I found a small piece of my soul there.
DeleteA lovely memory for you. The visit must have been wonderful!
ReplyDeleteThe month flew by!
DeleteA lovely memory for you. The visit must have been wonderful!
ReplyDeleteAnd I cried half the way home.
DeleteA wonderful experience beautifully described. Thanks for sharing it with us Liz.
ReplyDeleteHere's mine!
Thanks Keith x
DeleteCharming little story and an enjoyable read.
ReplyDeleteThank you, Bill. You often comment on my blog but I can't find yours to reciprocate 😒
DeleteBeautiful memoir story
ReplyDeleteThank you, Christine.
DeleteI love how the scent was particularly effective to invoke the memory
ReplyDeleteScent is apparently the most evocative.
DeleteA lovely piece, Liz - particularly since I know it is written from experience.
ReplyDeletemarion