The Home Visit

We visited a lonely teacher in her house the other day. Well, not her house; she was the poor unfortunate tenant and the landlord was selling her house… well, not her house, his, but it was her problem.

It was a modest kind of house. Not your dream home. A newbuild, but already falling down. Even the entrance way had been partly demolished – a kind of brick, ornamental archway connecting it with next door. Obviously someone preferred to be disconnected and had partly taken it down, leaving the remaining bricks protruding from the front wall. Inside it was dark and cramped and the floorboards creaked ominously. The over-large furniture didn’t fit. The sofa would have looked nice in a generously proportioned country mansion. Upstairs, the tour was soon finished, leaving you wondering where the real bedrooms were and why the broom closet was so big.

“Is it a nice place to live?” we asked. “How are the neighbours?” “It’s quiet” she said, after some thought. “There are squirrels… and a badger comes sometimes… even a deer.” “Bit too quiet, then?” we inquired perceptively. “I guess so,” she said. “And the neighbours?” “Very quiet” she said. “Single woman, elderly couple…” “We met an elderly couple over the road” we ventured. “They didn’t seem very welcoming.” “Oh, them” she said. “Someone I know at work lives next door. They accused her of fly-tipping rubbish in their bin.”

“Is this the state of community living in our villages?” we wondered, feeling a bit depressed. It seemed such a nice little village – a bit of a rabbit warren, it was true, where the new homes had been constructed, all higgledy-piggledy, in a hollow. The shop assistant in the village store had told us where to find it; in fact the whole shop had joined in, with helpful directions and advice. “Just keep on down” they said. “Down and down and you’ll find it.” We left the shop, a bit doubtful. The directions didn’t seem much to go on – no street names, no landmarks, no right or left turns, but sure enough, after following the dubious advice we reached the end – down and down and down… past the library, past the children’s playground, past the little green areas, down and down and there it was, the address we had been looking for, just like they said.

It was the end of the line. A sleepy little hollow. Obviously no-one passed by. There was nowhere to go, except a teacher’s lonely let, visited only by wildlife. But she was sorry to be going, evicted, moved on, against her will, from the squirrels and the deer and the badger and big tall dark trees that surrounded her house, preventing anything from growing in the garden. But it was home. Quiet and peaceful. Home alone… there’s no place like home.