Browse Stories of Home by Author

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Lossiemouth Sunset

Home: a drama in three acts

Jane Sandell

  Home, they say, is where the heart is.  But what if your heart can’t decide?  Places are very important to me and I have a tendency to become dramatically attached to them.  There are many that have grabbed my heart but only three where I have left it.

 

At fort,y I went on a journey to find my past and it certainly was another country.  I grew up hearing stories of Australia; of people and places my parents had known and loved in the years before my birth.  In a story too strange to be fiction my parents met and married...

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Extracts from The Land of Lost Content

Sureshini Sanders

I have swapped islands. It’s taken a while and my love marriage to Sri Lanka never worked out that well but the arranged marriage is on firmer foundations. I expected nothing and got much more. Finally I have found what I have always been searching for, contentment. It just turned out to be on a different island.

I adore the seasons, the promise of spring, the beauty of summer, the bounty of autumn and the cooler colours of winter. I can no longer imagine a life with only two seasons.

The colours of the tropics, like the saris and sarongs are dramatic and exotic but the...

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Loudoun Hill

David Satherley

What little mystery we can pull back

From the many and varied darknesses

Has very much to do

With our simple selves

The unexpected find of the great nothing

Out on the calm walks along the paths of following the hearts search

In the great need of all we desire ours

And its late fall on the dull side of my most favorite of hills

Where the cold sun sets all things to sleep in its quick drop

And the damp dusk rots the many other things

That follows us all home like dogs

And yes here

Here

Stretching out...

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Home

Rosalie Saunders

...

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Lodestone

finola scott

Island malts, crisp oatcakes.

Fridge stuffed with favourites:

tart crowdie, Cullen Skink,

ever the welcoming meal

Fairy lights and tinsel twinkling

Welcome, come on in.

Ironed sheets and cartoon hot-water bottles.

No spare rooms tonight.

 

Ends of bed, stockings sneaked in.

Stuffed full of childhood....

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It's What You Called Home

It’s the family legend of the night you peed in your bag of Lego while sleepwalking.

It’s the night your dad came up to check if you were asleep to find you and your sister covered in blue chalk and delirious with laughter. It’s the eight kids packed into a Ford Cortina estate on a spring’s night journey to go trampolining for your birthday.

It’s that time you sank in the marsh behind your house up to your waist crying out until grown ups rescued you. Or the time you stood at the top of the roots of an upturned tree in the field behind your house and got surrounded by hungry...

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Home is....

Brem Scott

Stepping into

A quiet space where love motes

Waft in the air

In companionable silence

Slipping into an old jumper

A homespun affair

A loose arrangement of unfinished stories, of different endings

Of characters long exited off stage

An arrangement worked and reworked over time

Of story threads

Weaving me to you...

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Home Is Where The Mammy Is

Trees100

Home was my mammy. When we came in from school and she wasn’t there, we would all ask ‘ where’s ma mammy?’

Me:  ‘Where’s ma mammy?

Seamus would reply ’ She’s at aunty Cathy’s.'

John : ‘Where’s ma mammy?’ Same answer.

John:  ‘When is she coming back?’

Seamus:  ‘She’ll be back in time to make the dinner.’

John:  ‘Whit are we havin’ ?’

Pat : 'Where’s ma ma?’

Me : ‘She’ s at...

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Little Potato Heart

Kate Sachdev

Once upon a time, in a wide brown land, a little girl was born. Her mother sang sweet half-songs of lost babes until the child feel asleep. The mother stepped out of the house through an old screen door, into the twilight. In the hard earth, under the deepening sky, the mother planted a golden seed. 

The little girl grew and soon her brown plaits hung to her waist. She spent her days chasing her yellow dog, catching yabbies and imagining animals in the clouds as straw caught in her hair.

One day, the little girl followed her yellow dog into the long yellow grass. The dog was...

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Summer Swings

Back lit by ever lightening summer skies, air rushes around me. Down I go, blue turning to green turning to grey. I face the earth before back up I go, grey to green to blue. Back and forth, back and forth.

They never looked like much, the swings cornered by nature's colours. Grand tall trees peep over dark brown wooden fences in a disapproving manner. I use to think they were the ones who put up the unnatural 'No ball games' sign. Yet when we sit on those rubber rectangles, attached to strong metal polls by twisting chains, we didn't care. The ultimate freedom in limited movement...

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An Wi Whit Grace?

Anne Shivas

Fish-hook sharp,

lochan deep,

she holds her peaty vision

dark in the pupil

of her eye,

no reflected sky.

 

Jet and far as space,

as full of light,

the gleg n spark,

Scottish child

div ye ken yer place

in the universe?

Faar’s hame?...

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Endless Sunsets

Amy Sibley

I grew up in a valley of Central California – Fresno to be specific. Fresno is the Spanish word for ‘ash tree,’ so named because of the prevalence of such trees once found along the banks of the San Joaquin River. It rests in the middle of a desert disguised as a city by the addition of shops, offices, schools, and homes. Go north and there are foothills and mountains with oak trees, fools gold for the finding, and lakes like Millerton and Shaver. Hop on Highway 99 and drive through cow country until you come out on the other side greeted by the Central Coast rich with...

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The Table

Alastair Simmons

An empty room, bar the old table,

Rough, carved, silent,

Feasts, famines

Scorred, stratched ,stained, cindered wood,

The grain, a reservoir of dried tears,

Agony, ecstasy, laughter, despair,

Buried secrets within swirling rings,

A baby’s bum,

A child spilling flour, learning to cook,

Fist of a teenager’s tantrum,

Nerves of a...

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Big Metal Bucket

It is 1970. I am standing in our farmyard. I have skinny legs and I’m wearing a home-made pinafore in pink corduroy. My hair is tied with a big blue ribbon. I look clean because I’ve just got home from school. Behind me is the great stone barn and in my hand is a dead duck, which is yellow and dirty and stiff.

I am trying to cover my face but you can see I am crying.

My little sister, Tricia, gazes into the camera. Tricia is only three and is filthy after trailing round the farm all day with Dad. Her...

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Hay and Straw for the Animals

Seumas

Introduction
This picture is my Grandfather holding the Clydesdale horse; next to the horse is the oldest brother Uncle Tommy. In front of my Grandfather is Uncle Nicol; he is the third child as you can see he always wore a tie every day of his life, and last but not least, my Father James the fourth child.  There were three others: Auntie Annie the second oldest Uncle Adam, who was named after Grandfather and the youngest Auntie Mary.


Here's another story from my father.  When he was a young man, he worked on a farm in Midlothian on the
...

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What Home Means To Me

Caitlin Skene

Home to me is Auchtermuchty, and I feel honoured to be part of such a cheerful and kind community.

Muchty (as all the locals call it) is a kind and welcoming village. People will always wave to you whatever the weather so if you’re feeling down I can guarantee they’ll cheer you up.

On sunny days I wander down to the bowling club, where I can sit and watch my grandad play bowls. At the bowling club I can get a drink and chat with some of my Grandad’s friends.

When I get bored and it’s not raining I’ll head down to my favourite place in the whole of Muchty, the Skate...

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Seaside Memories

Jennifer Skene

It was snowing in North Berwick in May 1957. The young woman in the small black and white photo smiles cheerily, her coat covering the thin maternity dress she had packed for her Spring trip to the seaside town.

I was due to be born in July and my parents were staying at Milsey House, a boarding house by the sea. Mrs Dickson looked after the young couple well, serving scones to eat by the coal fire in the front room as they looked out across the grey sea to the Bass Rock.

North Berwick and Milsey House were to become a...

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Scotland For Me

Margaret Skinner

Home to me represents safety, security, familiarity and somewhere I can be myself.  

Years ago when visiting my sister in Canada for 6 weeks I was very surprised to discover I missed Scotland with a passion and the feeling I had when crossing the border on the London sleeper at 6 a.m. when coming back home was indescribable.  Since then I've come to realise Scotland plays a BIG part in representing 'home' to me - warts an' all - and it inspired me to write this poem (the words fit the tune of Scotland The Brave).

 

Land of the purple...

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Where the Heart Began

C Slack

It is said home is where the heart is. I have had several 'homes' now in my time. I have taken my heart along with me on a long and bumpy road in search of the perfect home. Some of these said homes my heart has enjoyed more than others. Some have witnessed my broken heart, some have stolen it, and at times, some have filled it with so much joy, it has overflowed.

 As a child, my home was a four apartment in a custom built council housing scheme. This house sheltered myself, my parents and my three brothers. It wasn't just my house or even my home - it was 'My World'. Everyone I...

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My Granny's Heilan' Hame

Fred Smith

 

 

 

 

My granny’s home was the East Lodge of Kindrogan Estate near Enochdu in Perthshire. Enochdu had a post office and a shop with a public telephone kiosk beside it. My grandmother lived as housekeeper to my Uncle John, who was a bachelor, after my grandfather died. My uncle was a gamekeeper and spent most of his time in tweed suits as they are the most waterproof of nature’s materials.

I used to spend my school holidays with my Mum and brother at East Lodge. The water for...

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Whaur ah Belang

Ethyl Smith

Aw ah hud tae dae wis sclim a wire fence, jump doon on the ither side an weech thru the lang grass, in an oot the birch an hawthorn, tramplin the daisies an buttercups, swishin by tall, pink willow herb, jiggin roondclumps o whin an jaggy gorse wi thur bricht, yella floors that aye gied a sweet whiff o coconut when the sun shone.

If it hud been rainin ma feet wur sploongin in nae time. But ah didna care.Ah wis heidin fur a circle o willow trees, auld an wise wi age, an ma special place.

Richt in the middle wis the auldest yin, twisted as a corkscrew, wi the hindmaist branches...

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What Home Means To Me

Dayna Smith

Home to me is memories. A great memory for me was when my grandad, my brother and I went for a walk up Falkland hill. As we got further up the hill it got colder but I didn’t mind because I was having a great time. Going on a walk with my grandad was a great memory because I used to spend a lot of time with him but now I don’t see him as much. But that was one of the best times. After we all reached the top of the hill we would sit down in the long grass and look at the view. I remember the grass would tickle my arms and my neck as well, the weather was freezing but that didn’t bother me....

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Empty Vessels

Mary Smith

One by one we were handed a big brown sealed envelope to take home to our parents. Contents unknown, at least by me. It was in the days were children were seen but not heard. No one asked, “Miss, what’s it all about?” They wouldn’t dare. This was the early fifties and curiosity was not encouraged. Speak when you’re spoken to and don’t answer back.     

A golden opportunity was extended to all eight year olds in my class to put our names down for a holiday at a residential school in Rothesay. It would have been out the question for most, if not all, had it not been heavily subsidised...

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Our Home

Jinnet

Sanctuary, peace, haven, comfort and family – all words I use to describe home.  I have only ever stayed in 4 houses and I am nearing 60.  The first was the one where I was born – in a wee village with one small shop and nothing else.  My parents used to regale us with the story of my birth in the living room while waiting for the ambulance.  In those days only one person in the village had a phone and he would often say to me as I grew up – yes I nearly delivered you – he actually didn’t but felt responsible as my Dad used his phone to call for the ambulance.  It was a very social...

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Homeward Bound

Bertie Smith

When i was 26 years old I decided to emigrate to Australia, it was a very large step to take and I was leaving behind all my family and friends.

I said all my goodbyes to my Mother and relations and found myself down at Dundee's Tay Railway station, where my Father and friends were there to see me off. It was a very emotional send off and boarding the train to London I must admit to feeling very low and wondering what the hell I was doing going so far away from home.

On the flight to Sydney, Australia, my thoughts were very mixed. On one hand I was looking forward to my...

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