I went back to the place I once lived
Not the best thing to do unless you're brave
As you see the changes made without you
Spying the house where your were once born
In fact it makes you feel quite forlorn
I remembered it as calm and grey
Photos of those times were black and white
Adjusting now to a vivid scene
Trying to step back all those long years
If I was not strong I'd be in tears
As I wandered round the now posh street
The owner of our house now appeared
Intent on using his stepladder
To clean a window or some such thing
Told him I once lived there, he did grin
He wanted to show me what he'd done
So in we went to see every room
All changed, kitchen, bathroom, garden too
Polished floorboards and red queen sized bed
Was offered snack, I declined, enough said?
The past is the past, so let it be
That impromptu visit hurt, trust me
Photo of house found at www.chartersestateagents.com
I particularly like the red bed - and also enjoyed journeying back with you
ReplyDeleteCuriously Jae this was the exact house I was born in and lived in from 1936 to 1947. Quite by chance I saw this photograph and concocted a story of a fictitious visit.
DeleteOh well written I recognise these sentiments A house so familiar and so estranged. I had the same feeling when visiting our old home
ReplyDeleteI can relate to your piece, Robin. Revisiting the past, recalling memories and seeing changes to a place one once called home is not always easy. A well narrated poem!
ReplyDeleteHad the same experience several (now many) years ago; stopped to say hello to yard-working current owner of my childhood home, where I had not lived for nearly half a century. He offered me an indoor tour. And how could I refuse? Definitely NOT the house I grew up in, though it had many memory triggers, still.
ReplyDeleteThanks for sharing!
I remember being excited with each new change when I was growing up--new store! new restaurant!--and now, I find myself grumbling that nothing is as I remember it and new things are smothering the familiar.
ReplyDeleteIt's true "you can't go back again". My visit left me bereft. The little country school I attended is long gone, the little country church we attended is no more, my high school has been torn down, and the people who live in my childhood home didn't preserve my mother's garden! Best to remember things as they were.
ReplyDeleteSo much truth in here. I want to visit the place where I was born, but I'm terrified. I've been told that my house is gone, and that there is a mechanic shop were my favorite mango used to grow. Even imagining it hurts. I suspect that I, too, would decline if ever invited to stand on the concrete covering the dirt I so love(d).
ReplyDeleteBeautiful narrative of nostalgia and cherished memory
ReplyDeleteHappy Sunday
Much💝love
Oh, sadder still if the house is gone, like my childhood home. Even walking the earth where it was makes me tear up.
ReplyDeleteEven just seeing the photo must have been a strange feeling! I did go back, once with my brother after our Mum died, to our three childhood homes. We looked at two from the outside, shuddered at what had become of one, and noted the other was not much different. But then we went and looked at our first home, the people living there invited us in, and yes it was in some respects very different but there was enough there to spark fond memories. However, the sweeping back yard gardens of that house and all its neighbours had vanished – turned into the proverbial parking lot! I returned once more a few years after that, and again looked from the outside. The people who had looked after and loved it had evidently gone; it and all its neighbours had become somewhat run-down. But still it was the same house, the same front yard, and there was my bedroom window ... such a mix of nostalgia and regret. This piece has struck a chord with many of us!
ReplyDeleteWhen our family lived in the semi detached house illustrated, the outside was not painted except for windows and doors, the road was unmade and risky for deliver vans to negotiate. We often had to wlk to schol as we couldn't afford the bus fare and the surrounding fields, woods and streams were our playground. The war was on fathers conscripted in the forces or on essential serving and women and mothers too worked in shops and manufacturing. On Saturday mornings a cinema would be chock a block full of kids for the movies, filling the place up. But in wartime there was much crying with bombing raid, hiding in shelters and looking a destroyed buildings. It taught me many things.
DeleteI so get this poem, Robin. I’ve been back once – never again – and what you wrote about it being calm and grey and the black and white photos. A lesson learned.
ReplyDeletea strange feeling, finding a photo of a house you once lived in. no such chance for me. the hut i lived in as a kid is now a container port, the one i lived as a teen is now a hotel. :)
ReplyDeleteI have never been back.Something told me not to. Best just keep it as a memory.Enjoyed this poem. Keep safe.
ReplyDeleteI really enjoyed this. <3 Bittersweet.
ReplyDeleteI did that recently too.. didn't go inside.. and yes, it is a little sad... visiting like a stranger...
ReplyDelete