Reflections on a Simple Past | 15. Kindred Spaces That Nourish the Soul
Time and place have the power to stir emotions deep within us, but where are those kindred places where I felt safe, where I felt I belonged, and where I felt my soul gently nourished?
Welcome to Rediscover · Reconnect · Re-Emerge. If you find the fleeting changes of modern life wearisome, maybe even overwhelming, join me on a journey, a path well-trodden, as I share heartfelt and often nostalgic reflections on living slowly, simply, and in tune with the seasons.
In this series, I look back at some of the people, places and things which have so richly influenced and inspired my love of all things simple.
Time and place have the power to stir emotions deep within us; to pique the senses, and to draw from our souls, memories of past, often forgotten times. Environments shape us, they nourish us, and they tug at our heartstrings, long after we find ourselves far-removed from them. Perhaps one of our greatest quests as we journey through life, is to seek those places which ground us, where we feel rooted, and where we feel a deep sense of belonging. They are, of course, not easy to find and they can and will change over time; yet when we dig deep, and we explore those spaces which shaped us in the past, we can be reminded of those places where we found refuge, inspiration, nourishment, and belonging.
Which spaces meant most to you as a child?
Where were those kindred places where you felt safe, where you felt you belonged, and where you felt your soul gently nourished?
When I look back, I find these spaces emerging from the simplest of things and places. They are rooted in the rituals of the past; timeless, nurturing, and inspiring.
This time last year, I wrote about the ritual of afternoon tea, its resurgence in recent years, and the way how, in the past, it offered us a moment of peace and calm within a busy day. Travel back with me 30-40 years. Just before 4pm, Granny rose from her chair to put the kettle on. The familiar clunk of metal on metal as she tapped the lid down was a call to stop what we were doing and gather for tea. The tray was laid, the bread sliced and buttered, and the cakes cut. No task was insignificant; even the teapot had to be warmed first. There was no sense of hurry.
The tray emerged from the kitchen, gently placed on the coffee table in front of her wing-backed armchair, and from then on, tea, cake and conversation flowed. When I was younger, I would kneel down next to her, wedged between her knees and the wall. It was a safe space, a timeless ritual. In that moment, nothing else mattered. The ritual was as nourishing as the tea and cake themselves, that here, in that moment, we could share in something which had been enjoyed and valued for centuries. We still have the tray, and we still have the table, and although we don’t have Granny physically present anymore, her spirit lives on in the ritual of afternoon tea.
Just as they were for Granny too, books have been an ever-present companion in my life, from the earliest days of having ‘The Elephant and the Bad Baby’ read to me, to the present day when my ‘to-be-read’ pile grows ever taller. They have been a constant friend and a ceaseless source of enjoyment, escape, and comfort. As a child growing up, visiting the library was, of course, a great joy. When we first moved to live on the outskirts of Gloucester in 1987, there was no local library. Instead, every Wednesday, the library van, or mobile library, parked up down the road. We emerged excitedly from school to hop aboard and to gather another handful of books which would keep us entertained through the week ahead. It was an occasion. If ‘book nooks’ are all the rage now, then the mobile library was the forerunner. Slightly dark, with an unmistakable musty book smell, it was a cosy space; its arrival, a familiar friend each week.
A few years later, we were very excited to discover that we were going to get our own brand new library, perhaps a sign of the times, sandwiched between the local pub and Tesco. My junior school was given the opportunity to design a mural-mosaic to be attached to the outside wall of the new library. Not only could we help to design it, but we could go in groups to help make it. When it was finished, there was a grand opening to which the whole school went. There was music and singing, a great celebration not just of the mural itself, but of our excitement that finally, we had a bright, shiny, fully-stocked library of our own.
These days, many of our libraries have had the books consigned to small areas, in favour of cafes and computers. Whilst I feel a certain amount of sadness that the books themselves are often no longer the priority, I also see the way in which these cosy, familiar spaces provide nourishment and escape for a new generation.
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As a child, we were avid museum visitors, both locally and further afield. We also went with school, and on holiday too. Looking back, the places which stand out are those spaces we now refer to as ‘living history’ museums. We enjoyed many days out at the Black Country Museum, an open-air museum of rebuilt historic buildings, recreating the feel of a Victorian town, with shops, houses, and public buildings. When I was older, I won a year’s free family entry to the Blists Hill Victorian Town at Ironbridge. But why do these stand out?
I’ve often been accused of living in the past. I don’t think this is strictly correct, but I have certainly always been interested in the past. I see the way in which the past shapes us, the way we cannot escape from it, and the way in which it influences our understanding of the present. But these spaces, a pastiche of the past as they were, kindled in me a love for simplicity, for quality, for handmade, for a time when good service mattered. These are, in many respects, simple things, and gradually, I believe they are things we are returning to.
In the future, I wonder how I will look back on the spaces and places which mean the most to me now? As I’ve said many times before, life is a never-ending journey of seeking the places, the people, the communities, and the values which we can hold closest to us: our kindred spirits. Sometimes, we stumble upon them, sometimes we craft them, and sometimes they find us. Perhaps the one thing life asks of us is to slow down enough to notice those spaces - large or small - that give life room to breathe.
The kindred spaces which meant most to me as a child have, in many respects, followed me on life’s journey. The rituals have remained, the spaces just as special. Those things which shaped me most in childhood accompany me now. These days, they aren’t the same physical spaces, yet the feelings they stir offer sanctuary, refuge, inspiration, nourishment, and above all, a deep sense of belonging.
Life is short, yet in our hurried world, I believe that true nourishment is found in slowing down, in rediscovering and reconnecting with our shared past, and re-emerging with stronger foundation in the present.
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I love your comment about the ritual of afternoon tea. As a child my Yorkshire grandma Alice always had a welcoming tea tray, either the utilitarian post war one or the fancy one with Victorian ladies in silver foil with delicious home made apple pie.
I continued this tradition with my children after school and on holidays we always look for Cream Teas with freshly baked scones, jam, strawberries 🍓 and clotted cream.
A heartfelt beautiful message. And needed now more than ever - people are seeking slowness and rituals of afternoon tea and connecting with others.
I relate to your Granny David as my memories are similar. I remember a huge brown teapot and tea cosy. My granny loved birds and flowers and I inherited all her ladybird books of the natural world 🌱