What feels like home to you?
“And wherever I am, you are.
And it is home”
A place I feel safe by Kaye
Coventry was not the friendliest of places – if your face didn’t fit in, you were made to realise you didn’t belong.
On the 19th October 2012 I left. On the 22nd I was moved to Newcastle. That was a big relief. The smile on my face just got bigger and bigger. I finally felt I’d left the bad parts behind.
When I was given the flat in Wallsend, I felt like I was home. It was my place – my money was my money and my time was my time.
For the first time I was listened to, made to feel I was somebody. Nobody held my past against me.
In the first lockdown, I finally felt I was a part of a community. It was so hard at first – I’d started going out just before and was hardly ever in the house.
When the lockdown happened I felt hopeless, stuck inside.
But then people started knocking on my door to see if I was okay or if I needed anything. It was a lifeline.
I had never before felt wanted, never felt loved, part of the community.
But during lockdown I realised I wasn’t alone.
I had people who cared.
The Church Street Checklist by Pat Spence
Church street was a very busy street, the main place that people of Walker shopped. There was lots of variety. From Welbeck road to naval road gates stretched Church Street. One side of the street was…
2 cottages at park gates
Draper’s Handy shop
Airy terrace leading off
Hairdressers and Sweet shop Rene’s
Broach fruit and veg
Cambels Paper and library book
Butchers on corner of Church and Wharrier Street.
Fruit and veg
Red stamp store
On corner Church St Walker
Across the road
Off licence shop
Small sweet shop
Other side of road
Large school West Walker
Crossing Walker road
Stack hotel large pub
owned by a Jewish man
Chronicle office barbers
Pork shop – hubs
Howeys sold all sorts including leather, heel ball etc
Wet fish shop
What is the place that I call home? by Chris Burridge
When I lived away from ‘home’ it was always good to get back.
‘Away’ was chic, glamorous, interesting: populated by crazy, lovely
people but home was…well…Home.
Home is Mum and Dad, three sisters, later brothers-in-law, husband,
and nieces and nephews, then no Dad and later no Mum, but great
nieces and nephews came to live there.
Home is people, family people, comfortable people; and yes, some
are crazy, lovely people too.
Home keeps getting people added and subtracted and separated
out to other countries, other homes, but they’re never gone entirely.
Home is a library’s worth of memories, a heart full of love and pain.
Home is my people, the people in my heart, and if they’re not there
it’s not Home.
Home by Amy Jane Dixon
This morning I am sitting alone on a pink swivel chair at a circular willow table crowded with parts of my life: yesterday’s newspaper, read through and folded, earrings, make up, powder, a brush, a small silver radio set to radio 4, pens.
But I am not really sure where to call home.
I am not ‘homeless’; I wake and fall asleep between walls made of bricks and mortar, under a roof or tiered grey slate and behind windows rendered opaque by draped gauze and doors that lock me in and everything else out. It is dry. It can be warm and light. It is often safe.
I know what home means – what it should be, what it can be; its definitions and contexts. I recognise them all and see myself caught up in the threads that are woven into each other and together, all of them.
So I am not homeless.
Home is the weft of times, shades and darks and lights. Feelings, despair, calm, peace, hope. Home is part of that tapestry; home is this tapestry. It is where I am and I am everywhere within it.
There’s a window. If I want to, I can see more walls, windows; closed, blank and dark, more layered grey slate and white doors reflecting back the light of the early sun. It is quiet, empty, safe.
Though just a thread in and of time, at the moment this is home.
What and Where is Home? by Tony Huzzard
I had an aunt who died a couple of years ago. She lived in Hessle, near Hull, for ninety-one years and for all of that time she lived in one house. That must be what you call home.
For myself, however, I must hold the world record for the number of places a person can live. I have recently counted these up in my address book and the number comes to thirty-three. Can you believe that?
I had five homes during World War Two, when I was being shunted between relatives. My greatest number was from whilst I was in the army from 1951-1955. That amounted to about ten in total, starting with Fenham barracks in Newcastle and ending with the Royal Military School of Music in Twickenham, Middlesex.
Between those years, I was based in such places as York with three ‘homes’, and at camps in Malaya. In later years, I must have had seven or eight different addresses in the North-East, and I could go on.
So where do I call home? Well, it has to be in my present address in Gosforth, it certainly has everything I need : A partner, a lovely rented three-bedroom house, a fair sized garden, and my own railway set – the metro line running by. I also have an array of wonderful neighbours.
What more could one ask for?
Everything is Connected by Violet Rook
My home is where my loves are.
My loves are my books, my paintings,
The big tall poplars reaching for the sky.
The rose trees reaching out to each other
Framing the big front window.
The cats jumping on the furniture.
My other half grabbing the TV control,
Watching Agatha on the box.
Sitting, thinking, enjoying the sounds from outside and within.
The building says I am yours, don’t worry,
I am your kin.
But then the trouble starts and the world comes in,
The hate and jealous everywhere is clear to see,
Why should it matter so much to me?
Be like others in your little bubble,
Don’t get into trouble.
Don’t ask questions of the few,
Be like the many,
Enjoy yourself, it’s not your business,
Don’t stick your nose in.
Don’t monitor the air,
And worry about the ill,
The earth is not yours,
The others are not your kin.
But everything on the planet is connected.
We made the place which we call home now,
The future is about what we do or don’t do.
you and me, all kith and kin.
If we don’t care nobody wins.
Heart and Soul by Anne Raffle
Home to me is wherever I am, I carry it in my heart.
My childhood home is still in the same place but my family are not there, so the memories are in my mind and on photographs.
I currently have 3 ‘homes’ and once again it is the people who are there who make me feel this way.
My first home is in Newcastle, where I am surrounded by family, pets and lifetime friends.
My second home is in South Africa where I have travelled for many years to stay with my late brother’s large family.
My third home is in Holland. My son lives there and of course that is where my heart really is!
Walker by Arijus Balaisis
One side people are frustrated.
Other side is friendly.
But who is busy, is busy.
People seem cold,
Walking down the street.
There is friendly people.
Always making tea.
British people can be friendly.
But there’s stealing, alcohol, drugs.
It was the same in Lithuania.
Everywhere is the same.
Aggressive people. Lying people.
House to Home by Elaine Philbrick
A house looks like many other houses
But only from the outside.
On the inside the bones are beautiful
Built with strength, matured with thought
A house that feels right to you.
Now is your opportunity to make a home
Where you make decisions and choices
Where you decide what makes it comfortable
Where you decide what you need and what you want
Where you decide how the bones can work for you.
All these decisions are confusing
Others will try to make the decisions for you.
Your mind will change over time
You have the choice to be as strong as the bones
You have the choice to change your mind.
A house is where you live
A home is where you live your life
It is you who will make your house your home
And it’s you who will make your home as individual as you are.
Our Hearts by Mary O’Sullivan-Fawcett
Home is where you are
and you’re not here
My heart speaks to you
And you answer from far away
I know you’re here, with me
You always have been
When first we met my heart sang
And yours answered
Our eyes connected
And we could read each other
So perfectly our lives entwined
And our adventure began
We loved our lives
And took it all for granted
Then the days of darkness loomed
Dread ate into our lives
That fateful morning
Just the two of us
The way it always was
The way it was destined to be
They think you left me behind
but I know you stayed
And helped me breathe
Now I know that love is forever
And wherever I am, you are and it is home
Grey with splashes of colour by Wendy Bulmer
Concrete paths and pavements
And concrete roads and play parks
Its cold, not very appealing
It’s grey, boring looking
But for me it’s a place I call home
An outside eye looking in would pass it by
Not enter, not engage
Not give it a second thought
But wait, take a moment, stop and really look
I can see colour, I can hear joy
I can hear voices
There’s cars and people on the streets
Kids playing and businesses working
My word, there is colour, there is life
There is a community, a community where you’re known to others
Supported, recognised and valued as a friend and part of a family
An extended family, of friends and neighbours
Loving together in a place
I call Home
Ten minutes in my town by Andrea Bell
A fat woman in a Burka leads a shiny black boy by the hand away from the council offices,
He waves a silver holographic gift bag behind him, like a kite.
On the edge of the Square a piano accordion plays Eastern European music that makes my step spring for a while.
A tall, curly haired young man bounces up to me and asks if I have a ‘floating’ cigarette,
I smile as I give him a Silk Cut and tell him he knows how to spot a mug.
‘I like your outfit’, he says and smiles back.
He wore shorts, in November, and a golden paper crown.
I should have returned the compliment shouldn’t I?
Jesmond by Liz Gregson
My adopted home
Settled, no longer moving
A sense of belonging
Cheerful, friendly greetings.
Sometimes so many people
A murder of students
While I am constant.
Accessible city life
Yet close to nature
Greenery, birds, bees
My yard is my haven.
Recent street invasion
A cacophony of crows
Trying to dominate
Chasing smaller birds
Cruel, yet survival.