"One doesn't discover new lands without consenting to lose sight, for a very long time, of the shore." Andre Gide
Moving day was not one but three days. Our house in Suffolk was full of burly gentlemen packing and shifting boxes whilst we functioned around them, herding children and animals, packing our own invaluable belongings and keeping the heavy lifters in satisfactory supply of refreshments. Husband spent annual leave dismantling beds and complex furniture as we discovered this service had not been included in our quote, a process which went on long into the night, fuelled by pizza and red wine. There have been few miseries throughout this process, the pain of which, a glass of wine can not diminish. The last-minute revelation that we had to take apart our belongings (whether designed to be flat packed or otherwise) to ensure they fit inside the smaller vans our removal firm had made available to us at short notice, right before Christmas, was no exception. Salut, and all that.
It was an all-hands-on-deck undertaking of unprecedented proportions, which went on for five days. Whilst belongings were boxed and furniture flattened, I tended to my flock of abundant species ensuring they were not a trip hazard (to varying degrees of success) and that items made it into the right vehicles. I ensured appropriate people were appropriately nourished and made appropriate emergency calls for help to Nanna when I panicked that our anniversary rose was still firmly planted and flourishing in the garden. It had to come with us and taking bare root cuttings of mature and precious flora is not my forte. Time to call in the reserves.
The removal team had decided to empty the house on the first day, load the lorries on the second and drive up to Cumbria on the third, unpack and return back to Suffolk later the same day ready to work another job early the next morning. This was the market we had been up against trying to find anyone to agree to our job. No other company had either availability or was prepared to work to such margins. Our guys were, it transpired, super-human.
The children, dogs and I left the house on day one. After packing as many of our invaluable items into the 4x4 (heirlooms, handmade treasures from nursery school and the like) we loaded the car and prayed for the suspension. Posing for photographs on the drive by the removal lorries took me back in time to the day we had moved in, when we had held our children in our arms, children who are now very nearly the same height as me and whose mathematical and technical prowess significantly outdoes my own. The day we had moved in, the people on our street had all been strangers to us, now they came over to us with flowers, parting gifts, hugs and tears to say goodbye. It was a time of poetic departure which engraved itself deeply into my heart. You don’t know of course in life what lies ahead, but when you embrace every opportunity with an open heart, it often goes well. Living on our street has been no exception. Neighbours had become friends, their children, semi-permanent and welcome installations in our home, and ours in theirs. As I looked at our front garden for the last time, years of memories replayed in front of me at the speed of thought. Babies not yet born when we moved in, playing on our grass through the seasons and coming to call for our dogs to take them for a walk. Shared words of encouragement spoken across driveways through lock-downs and the outstretched hands of authentic friendship in some deeply difficult times. Getting in the car to drive away was an undoubtedly double-edged and difficult sword.
Husband stayed behind to work through the night and I drove our precious load ahead to the cottage we were still renting 300 miles away, where we would stay for the next two nights until we got the keys for our new home. Closing the door in Suffolk for the final time would ideally have been something we all did together, but logistically we couldn’t make it work. Whilst I argued it would be an adventure, Husband felt that us all being in an empty house with no beds, furnishings and only pizza and wine for dinner would be impractical, so we journeyed ahead where instead, the children ate heartily in front of an open fire and slept in their own beds. (Boring and conservative, but Husband had some peace and quiet if not rest.) It would be the last night of the long and often difficult saga that we were to spend apart.
There, we waited for Daddy to let us know that he had locked the house for the last time and was on his way to join us for our new life.
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