BLOGYSSEY: Something Out of a Dream

I always knew that going back to my old house in Stourbridge would be weird, but I could never have guessed just how truly surreal it would be.

After walking around the same block of houses 3 times in an attempt to get to my old house from where I was staying, I was incredibly relieved to finally find my way to the ‘Little Park’ as I used to call it. It seemed to not have changed one bit, except the rather daunting “hill” which I remembered cycling down just after having my training wheels removed, was little more than a slight bump in the path. This was the first of many experiences where memories were extremely warped from reality, either by what I had seen through my 8 year old eyes changed either by my size or particular feelings that I associated with a specific place. Now that I knew the way to my old street, I picked up my pace and headed off down the road. Taking a deep breath, I turned right onto the last road before mine. The first building to capture my attention was the Good Seasons fish and chip shop. The white painted, double storey building with the shop underneath, and rooms above to rent. I couldn’t believe it was still there, with its bold, black, capitalised heading on a faded yellow background. Looking in the window, it was bare, with nothing but built in counters and dust on the floor. A small paper sign explained the reason for this being that it was for lease. Though not surprised that whoever the owners were had decided to finally sell the place on, I could not help being slightly sad that whenever I would next be in the neighbourhood, one of my few childhood memories would be forever gone. At least I had managed to come in time to see it one more time.

Good Seasons Fish and Chip Shop

I then turned around and started down the one way road that had been mine. West Street. Confident of the distance from the top of the road to my old house I took off down the road, stopping after walking as far as I remembered it to be. However, turning to the right, I saw I was not standing in front of number 52, but 48. Confused I turned back round, and backtracked up to number 52. I couldn’t believe how close it was the end of the road, it could be no more than 3 or 4 houses down. Again reason hit and I realised my memory did not quite match reality. I had always thought it was quite a walk up to the end of the road, yet clearly, it was not! It made me realise though some memories were very strong, they were mostly images of specific things, and anything to do with distance or size was as if it were a completely different place. The whole warped distance thing happened again when walking into town. What I remembered to be a really, really long walk that I never wanted to do, turned out to be no more that 500m away. In fact, town in clearly visible from the end my old road, yet I never remember it being so close, let alone being able to see it practically from our doorstep! I still find it hard to comprehend that memories as a child can be so different to reality through the eyes of an adult (well, rather a fully grown human – I do not pretend to think I yet qualify to be called an adult!)

West Street Sign

View Down West Street

Anyway, back to the house. When I had finally found it I was disappointed to see that the new owners had painted over our red door to a rather ugly cream/grey colour. Though of course seeing the house was incredible, the black iron gate, the red brick wall that we used to walk along (again it turned out to only be about half a mitre in height, much smaller than I remember). Seeing my old bedroom window on the slope of the roof, and the light wood alley door that Dad had made, now showing its age with cracks and mould creeping over the top and down the sides. These were all aspects that were familiar to me, but somehow, changing something as bold as the red paint on the door to something so plain created a distance between my memories of the house and me. Unlike so many things I had and would see around Stourbridge that had not changed at all, I could not connect to the house. The paint job made it feel like another house that just happened to look very much like one I had once lived in. It was one of the harder parts of my visit. I had so been looking forward to seeing it just as I had left it, expecting there to be no changes. But I guess after a decade, I can’t expect everything to be the same.

Our Old House

I was not planning on writing more than my experience of finding my old house, yet I realise it kind of ends on a downer, and that is not at all how I have been feeling in Stourbridge, in fact at all since arrive in London.

I really couldn’t decide what else to write about, as writing about everything in depth would take far too long, so I will just finish this saying that it was one of the best experiences of my life so far to return home. To see the places and people I remember, hearing the church bells exactly as they were, and even in places such as my old school walking into rooms and thinking, wow, it even smells the same. To anyone else who has ever left their childhood home for a significant amount of time, I seriously recommend going back for a visit. Just be prepared to be very overwhelmed!

Some more photos from my time in Stourbridge: