This is another 500 word exercise from my writing course. This is also one of the very few pieces based on something that has actually happened to me. The house is fictitiously called Greywalls but, in fact, was the lovely house I first went to see in 1975 and eventually resurrected and lived in for 10 years. And yes......that 'ghost' did brush by me!



Greywalls

I knew I had to go there alone. Not that I was about to make any unilateral decisions but I’m funny about old houses. Its hard to explain but if they don’t feel right – if I don’t get the right vibes about them – then it’s a thumbs down!
When Greywalls came onto the market we both got excited. Well, it was two hundred and sixty years old, three stories, stood all on its own and had real and genuine character. It also hadn’t been lived in for two years and this made me a little wary. So I made an appointment to have an initial look and drove out there one afternoon.
I have to say that it was an impressive building - a typical seventeenth century Scottish farmhouse – solid, plain and functional. I drove up between huge Yew trees and parked in front of the house, got out and stood for a while. Nine windows looked down on me – probably wondering who I was and what I wanted! Three pigeons fluttered in panic out of a glassless second floor window. Not a good sign!
Before going inside, I walked around the back and was confronted by an overgrown wilderness, a pillared porch and a breathtaking view over farmland that stretched to the distant Cheviot Hills. I sat on the porch step, leaned back in the warm sunshine and closed my eyes. There were country sounds, muted and peaceful, complemented by subtle country smells – dry grassy scents and a warm, woody fragrance. I felt comfortable here. Somehow, I felt the garden seemed to belong to the house and they were both happy for me to be sitting here. Well, I told you it was hard to explain!
Into the house and through to the terra cotta tiled hallway. These were big rooms – comfortable and needing to be lived in – but at that moment, cold and somehow reserved. I had the strangest sensation that they – this whole house – was watching and waiting to approve of me.
Or not!
This rather weird sensation persisted as I made my way up the wide and curving staircase. It was darker and cooler here. Reaching the first landing I began to ascend the next flight when something happened that made my neck hairs tingle. Something came past. Don’t ask me what. It came from above and brushed by like a cold draught. Nothing to be seen – just a scary awareness - and then it was gone.
Do you know, after that the whole house felt warmer and more inviting? Really strange.
As I made my way out, I stood and looked back. I felt good about the house. Greywalls. Those nine windows were virtually smiling down at me now, so I smiled back – and just before getting into the car, I stuck both thumbs in the air.
I’m sure one of the windows winked!

END

More jottings

Hello again! I have dragged myself away from the new bike for a while to post another wee 300 word exercise that I had to do within my course. Why do I often write about old folks? Well... apart from being one myself, that is - I enjoy old people. They have so much to tell if you let them. I hope folk will listen to me one day. When I'm really old!

Home From Home

Robert turned from the window. He loved that view. Already, he had plans for the garden. He looked back at his mother.
“ I went to see the people at Sunnyside again yesterday, Mother,” he said casually.
Constance pulled the woollen shawl closer round her shoulders and sighed inwardly. He was going to raise the subject of that wretched nursing home again!
“Sunnyside, dear? Who’s at Sunnyside?”
Robert sighed and sat in the armchair opposite her.
“Sunnyside Court, Mother. The retirement home I took you to see.”
“The nursing home!” Constance glared at Robert, folded her arms firmly, then looked away again.
“Mother it’s a retirement home. You can’t stop here forever. Not on your own.”
“I don’t need a nursing home – not as much as you want this house!”
Robert leaned forward and pressed his fingers to his forehead.
“Mother – we’ve been over all this before. It makes so much sense to sell the house and use the money to give you all the care and comfort Sunnyside can provide.”
Constance knew, from last time they had talked, that arguing had got her nowhere. She cast a glance at Robert who was still holding his head and staring unhappily at the floor.
“I really try – not to be any trouble to anyone,” she said sadly, “yet you all seem to want to shut me away and sell my home. I just don’t understand. I get so confused and upset.”
Quickly, Robert came and sat on the arm of her chair and put an arm around her.
“Of course we don’t want to shut you away. Look, we’ll talk about it another time. Alright?”
Constance allowed herself a little smile.
“Yes, dear. Another time.”

END