“Had they ever known the joy of surrounding yourself with love and knowledge and learning? What exactly was the more socially acceptable way to live out your final years that they would recommend: the one where a person does everything cleanly and neatly and correctly in the eyes of society, right until their final breath? Does it even exist? And if it does, does it make anyone who achieves it better, or happier, in their last years on the planet?”
That bit got me thinking too, trying to Simplify my life, but I have lots of stuff, that I enjoy. Junk really, chipped pottery my Grandma gave me (she collected junk/dealt in antiques)
Years ago, I owned a downtown salon next to a used bookstore. Before I moved in people warned me that the bookseller was an unpleasant man who sometimes yelled at his customers. I was determined to be friends.
His father owned the building, and he'd been using my new space to store books. I walked into his shop with a smile on my face to ask if I could help him find a new spot for them. He accepted, and we went about moving them from the back of my shop into his basement. As we worked, I would talk about being an early reader and how grateful I was that my daughter Rhiannon was, too. I set aside books I wanted to buy, and we enjoyed each other's company.
Did he yell at customers? Sometimes, and I would wander next door to check in and mediate. He would walk into my shop and place children's books on my station, "For Rhiannon. I know she's learning Spanish." He'd vanish, leaving my clients bewildered.
One of my biggest regrets is not maintaining that friendship when I ended up quickly closing that shop just shy of five years later. It was a difficult time, and I hunkered down into my own world.
I hear through mutual friends that he's doing well. He closed his bookstore shortly after I left, but is still collecting. Like your Collector, he can't help himself.
I think one of life's under-appreciated gifts is the ability to connect with other people without pulling them into our forever-lives, that the value of a friendship doesn't have to be measured by what or how long it endures.
Oh, how I love this piece!- I remember half-reading it (because there was a lot going on at the time) first time round, and it is so nice to be reminded of it and to be able to read it properly this time. Thank you, Tom, for a Very Nice Time in the last 15 minutes or so.
I never knew ‘Huish’ meant ‘house’. Thank you. I used to spend a lot of time in Dorset- still would if I hadn’t moved to Scotland because reasons- and had my very favourite place-names, of which Huish Episcopi was one (as were Ryme Intrinseca, Purse Caundle, Yetminster and Melbury Bubb. Oh, and Shitterton, obviously).
I love this post. Twice over. That house must have been wonderful to walk around. Do you know what happened to it? To the contents? It would have been bliss to rummage around in there.
Thanks June. The last I heard, the people who bought it at auction were living in a caravan next to it and still knee-deep in the renovation. Must be a vast job!
Huge! I just did a quick Google search and found a couple of articles which showed pictures of the rooms ‘before and after’. I would have loved to get in there!
I can’t decide if I envy them or not… I followed the estate agent’s write-up from the link, and saw the plan with several rooms marked as ‘derelict ruin’… which seemed to me to count as ‘extra tautology’, but perhaps I shouldn’t judge. Good luck to them, anyway, and I hope they’re fairly young and have some spare dosh.
This is so reminiscent of the house my parents lived in - built at about the same time in the same corner of Devon, and until they took it over from my stepfather's father, crumbling gently in the same way, and equally full of Stuff. My stepfather was a connoisseur of crumbling Devon houses, in fact, never deterred by a locked gate or impenetrable hedge, and we lived in two before he inherited his family home, one of which was in exactly the condition the last owner had left it, and we found all sorts of fascinating things, including an annotated copy of a book that had been written about the house (lovely book, tragically lost round about the time my mother died, I'm sure she lent it to someone and forgot, but I'm now longer there to find it if it turns up a Totnes bookshop).
Did I say all this when you originally posted it? Probably. I've reached that age when we tell the same stories over and over again.
Re: your last paragraph- that’s fine, because people like me who weren’t attending last time get it the next time round. (The way the cinema used to be if you were late, which you’ll remember if you’re really That Age.)
I think they improve in the retelling. Unless you're presenting a history seminar, the power of the story lies in the telling and art relies on rehearsal.
I loved this story as I do all of your writing. You have a gift of pointing out subtleties, with flair I might add, that add so many layers of richness. Plus your beautiful photos are stand alones for conveying story.
When I was about 8 my parents and I 'found' a deserted big house called Tennyson d'Eyncourt in Lincolnshire. Must have been crumbling for decades. Collapsing ceilings and staircases, empty(ish) rooms, one cupboard filled with letters on black-bordered Victorian mourning paper. Never forgotten and I'm sure it marked me in one way or another.
Ooh, I'd love to have seen that. My parents live pretty much on the Lincolnshire-Nottinghamshire border and looked at some very dilapidated places in deepest Lincs before finding their present house. P.S. Jonathon, your brilliant Days In The Life book was one of the most fun bits of research material for me during the writing of my novel Villager.
Heartening to see I am in friendly territory with this urge....possibly genetic from my family history.
There are whispered comments, usually from my wife, every time I buy a book or 5:
"Remember Uncle M. and the 6 lockup garages you filled floor to ceiling, wall to wall, with his collection. And just how easy was it to dispose of so many books?".
My response, always, it was an act of loving remembrance that kept on giving.
Year after year!
Thank you for this, Tom.
My apologies, but I'll be sure not to share this particular piece with anyone that knows me in an act of self preservation.
Such a lovely piece of writing with captivating pictures... You somehow transported me with every step you shared, and afterward, I was more at peace than I had been in days. You have a talent that moves me, and I'm so glad to have discovered you.
The way you paint the landscape, the house, the people who lived there engages ALL my senses. Thank you for this - I now feel as if I have been there myself.
I worry about this wonderful old place and hope that whoever buys it doesn’t tart it up and destroy what’s really special about it. It does remind me of our old house that was falling down around my darling mother, but was choc-a-block full of books and stacks of old newspapers. I’m following in her footsteps with far too many books , cats and clutter!
A beautiful heartfelt story of who we were and what we leave behind ..thanks for this lovely early morning read
Thanks Heather!
“Had they ever known the joy of surrounding yourself with love and knowledge and learning? What exactly was the more socially acceptable way to live out your final years that they would recommend: the one where a person does everything cleanly and neatly and correctly in the eyes of society, right until their final breath? Does it even exist? And if it does, does it make anyone who achieves it better, or happier, in their last years on the planet?”
Great question.
That bit got me thinking too, trying to Simplify my life, but I have lots of stuff, that I enjoy. Junk really, chipped pottery my Grandma gave me (she collected junk/dealt in antiques)
Years ago, I owned a downtown salon next to a used bookstore. Before I moved in people warned me that the bookseller was an unpleasant man who sometimes yelled at his customers. I was determined to be friends.
His father owned the building, and he'd been using my new space to store books. I walked into his shop with a smile on my face to ask if I could help him find a new spot for them. He accepted, and we went about moving them from the back of my shop into his basement. As we worked, I would talk about being an early reader and how grateful I was that my daughter Rhiannon was, too. I set aside books I wanted to buy, and we enjoyed each other's company.
Did he yell at customers? Sometimes, and I would wander next door to check in and mediate. He would walk into my shop and place children's books on my station, "For Rhiannon. I know she's learning Spanish." He'd vanish, leaving my clients bewildered.
One of my biggest regrets is not maintaining that friendship when I ended up quickly closing that shop just shy of five years later. It was a difficult time, and I hunkered down into my own world.
I hear through mutual friends that he's doing well. He closed his bookstore shortly after I left, but is still collecting. Like your Collector, he can't help himself.
This was a nice story. Thank you for sharing
I think one of life's under-appreciated gifts is the ability to connect with other people without pulling them into our forever-lives, that the value of a friendship doesn't have to be measured by what or how long it endures.
Oh, how I love this piece!- I remember half-reading it (because there was a lot going on at the time) first time round, and it is so nice to be reminded of it and to be able to read it properly this time. Thank you, Tom, for a Very Nice Time in the last 15 minutes or so.
I never knew ‘Huish’ meant ‘house’. Thank you. I used to spend a lot of time in Dorset- still would if I hadn’t moved to Scotland because reasons- and had my very favourite place-names, of which Huish Episcopi was one (as were Ryme Intrinseca, Purse Caundle, Yetminster and Melbury Bubb. Oh, and Shitterton, obviously).
I love this post. Twice over. That house must have been wonderful to walk around. Do you know what happened to it? To the contents? It would have been bliss to rummage around in there.
Thanks June. The last I heard, the people who bought it at auction were living in a caravan next to it and still knee-deep in the renovation. Must be a vast job!
Huge! I just did a quick Google search and found a couple of articles which showed pictures of the rooms ‘before and after’. I would have loved to get in there!
I can’t decide if I envy them or not… I followed the estate agent’s write-up from the link, and saw the plan with several rooms marked as ‘derelict ruin’… which seemed to me to count as ‘extra tautology’, but perhaps I shouldn’t judge. Good luck to them, anyway, and I hope they’re fairly young and have some spare dosh.
This is so reminiscent of the house my parents lived in - built at about the same time in the same corner of Devon, and until they took it over from my stepfather's father, crumbling gently in the same way, and equally full of Stuff. My stepfather was a connoisseur of crumbling Devon houses, in fact, never deterred by a locked gate or impenetrable hedge, and we lived in two before he inherited his family home, one of which was in exactly the condition the last owner had left it, and we found all sorts of fascinating things, including an annotated copy of a book that had been written about the house (lovely book, tragically lost round about the time my mother died, I'm sure she lent it to someone and forgot, but I'm now longer there to find it if it turns up a Totnes bookshop).
Did I say all this when you originally posted it? Probably. I've reached that age when we tell the same stories over and over again.
Re: your last paragraph- that’s fine, because people like me who weren’t attending last time get it the next time round. (The way the cinema used to be if you were late, which you’ll remember if you’re really That Age.)
Yes, I remember that too!
At 71, I am also guilty of repeating stories. Glad I can still remember them, though!
I think they improve in the retelling. Unless you're presenting a history seminar, the power of the story lies in the telling and art relies on rehearsal.
I loved this story as I do all of your writing. You have a gift of pointing out subtleties, with flair I might add, that add so many layers of richness. Plus your beautiful photos are stand alones for conveying story.
Thank you!
When I was about 8 my parents and I 'found' a deserted big house called Tennyson d'Eyncourt in Lincolnshire. Must have been crumbling for decades. Collapsing ceilings and staircases, empty(ish) rooms, one cupboard filled with letters on black-bordered Victorian mourning paper. Never forgotten and I'm sure it marked me in one way or another.
Ooh, I'd love to have seen that. My parents live pretty much on the Lincolnshire-Nottinghamshire border and looked at some very dilapidated places in deepest Lincs before finding their present house. P.S. Jonathon, your brilliant Days In The Life book was one of the most fun bits of research material for me during the writing of my novel Villager.
Build your own mausoleum from literature.
I can smell it already!
Heartening to see I am in friendly territory with this urge....possibly genetic from my family history.
There are whispered comments, usually from my wife, every time I buy a book or 5:
"Remember Uncle M. and the 6 lockup garages you filled floor to ceiling, wall to wall, with his collection. And just how easy was it to dispose of so many books?".
My response, always, it was an act of loving remembrance that kept on giving.
Year after year!
Thank you for this, Tom.
My apologies, but I'll be sure not to share this particular piece with anyone that knows me in an act of self preservation.
Such a lovely piece of writing with captivating pictures... You somehow transported me with every step you shared, and afterward, I was more at peace than I had been in days. You have a talent that moves me, and I'm so glad to have discovered you.
Really kind of you to say this, Cindy. Thank you.
What a wonderful house, and those poor books, I just want to reach in and rescue them
They may have been happy. Like an old teddy bear cuddled to bits?
Wonderful story. You evoke it all so well
Thank you, Jan!
Love your writing and your Dad’s drawings 👏👏🙋♀️🙋♀️from Australia
The way you paint the landscape, the house, the people who lived there engages ALL my senses. Thank you for this - I now feel as if I have been there myself.
I worry about this wonderful old place and hope that whoever buys it doesn’t tart it up and destroy what’s really special about it. It does remind me of our old house that was falling down around my darling mother, but was choc-a-block full of books and stacks of old newspapers. I’m following in her footsteps with far too many books , cats and clutter!
How wonderful, what a magical beautiful house! So glad you got to explore it. Just loved this story so much. Thank you.
Thanks Lorrie.