What is it that makes me so fascinated with history? Why is it when I see even the smallest piece of something that appears old I cannot help but conjure up stories of what may have been.
A piece of china dug from a farrowed paddock, a rock that once was part of a home or a piece of furniture that is screaming out to be renovated and all the blemishes underneath are exposed to tell their story. History intrigues me.
Years ago when I travelled the the Mother Country of England I was fortunate to stay with some wonderful people ( yes you know who you are ! ). They took me to the ruins of castles that had once stood proudly overlooking a village. These ruins I have never forgotten. Oh if they could talk what a fascinating story they would tell. I imagined knights on horses and fair maiden hanging out of the towers .. Ok maybe I have read too may books in my time..but still the who experience was totally encompassing with the romanticism of days gone by...
I remember staying in a 14th century pub of which the door frames where so low I had to try not to bang my head. It was obvious that generations of people have grown ..but the atmosphere of the building was intoxicating..as was the grog served !!
I heard the village of Nottingham talked about on the radio and to me this was totally bizarre. Famous places steeped in history that to a young person on the other side of the world seemed unreal.
Recently I have renewed my love of antiques. They are something that has always appealed to me but with 2 young Feral boys charging around the house I thought it better to wait until they were older due to the damage factor.
I have just purchased a kitchen chiffonier that I am oh so excited about. I have cleaned out the spot for it and eagerly await its arrival. Whats its story is I do not know but maybe it belonged to a regal family and was used by the servants for storing crockery in. Maybe it belonged to a poor family who treasured it as their most valuable possession and in the end sold it to feed their children. The answer I do not know but its fun imagining.
Tomorrow I will be picking up a side board that has seen better days..and that's what I love about it. I am sure it will slowly tell me its story as I lovingly scrape the paint from it beautiful timber. To see knocks and damage to me is telling the journey of its life. To me scars on a body tell the same..a story..an experience.. so i can not wait to start peeling back the layers.
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| The hard work paid off |
I don't care if the furniture in my house of mud all match or are different colours. They are unique and all bring a sense of home to me. I remember when growing up my Grandmother used to move on average every 18 months ( as long as she kept the same phone number we could keep up !! ). I always knew though, that when certain pieces of her families history were placed in the 'special spot ' that it was home.. her home.. my sanctuary. I know I will inherit some of these pieces one day when my parents decide the time is right and I will cherish them deeply as they tell the story of my family to this day.
It is funny how over the years something that once would have been seen as a piece of junk suddenly becomes valuable in the monetary sense. For some this is good I know, but to me the value comes in the story, the journey it has taken to get to this point. To me a piece of stone from a building I once knew is just a valuable as the Queens Jewels. These are my jewels and my history to pass on to my Ferals.. and I can not wait to share these with them..whether they like it or not !!!
Cheers Dilly xx
PS this was written just before pieces arrived and here they are !
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