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From early childhood I was obsessed with small, quirky places which I could get into. I am far from being alone in that, but my unusual childhood home was a strong influence. I was raised in the former stately home of the Victorian Poet Laureate Alfred Austin in Headingley, Leeds. Hidden amongst laurels, the house was used as a billet during WWII, and then carved into flats, one of which my parents rented as young teachers. I was the only child on the premises, and had the grounds to myself to explore. One of the many features was a small, decorative Victorian summerhouse in rustic style. It had stained glass windows and I was not allowed in it. (see picture) I think it was then that I decided that one day I would have my own magical hidden den.
Cut to 1998, and I too am a teacher, with a newly bought house in a poor state. But one of the selling points for me was the blank canvas of a garden – an uneven lawn, two fruit trees, a metal plate covering a sewage grid, and a compost heap. In 2000, my desire for my den was fulfilled. I had found an affordable, local shed kit – a shed which fitted perfectly between the two fruit trees. It arrived by coincidence on our 10th anniversary. The vendor put it up for us while we were teaching. We christened it 9a, as our house was no 9, and celebrated its first night by eating and sleeping in it, and with a rudimentary loo (bucket) and fitted loo roll holder. We later painted it with deep green Cuprinol, which made it more a part of the garden, almost camouflaged within it.
From then on, 9a was used as our bedroom when friends came, a bolt-hole, a reading haven, a talking space, restaurant, café, bar – above all, a place to Be. We played music, added furniture, shelves, small garden-related decorations such as a miniature barbeque, hooks for dressing gowns, items from our travels, a lamp and candleholders, and my partner hid minute rolled up messages for me to find (they’re still in place).
Each summer, we would devise and cook a meal in the style of wherever it was we were going on holiday. Spanish tapas, Greek mezes, and American wild west pioneer feasts have all been served in 9a, accompanied by suitable costume and appropriate music!
We began to see that friends were captivated with 9a, wanting to see inside it, saying it had a magical quality like Narnia. I bought a green glass doorknob which added to its mystique. I collected green necklaces from charity shops and hung them on its outside walls among the foliage. I saw a beautiful Chinese proverb at a friend’s house and painted it on a wood slat to fix over the door. A dear elderly friend, now long gone, told us she would love to see New Dawn roses and honeysuckle rambling over its roof – we planted both.
9a is now 25 years old and has just been repaired and repainted in Forest Green Cuprinol. It is still evolving. Full of memories, it has never lost its sense of mystery, peace and nostalgia, nor its clean, natural smell, like walking through a pine wood.
Most remarkably, I heard last year from a lady who was living in part of my old childhood home in Leeds. She had discovered the remains of a rotting summerhouse in the undergrowth of the former grounds. Foxes had moved into it. It was soon to be removed, but lying next to the ruins were two undamaged stained glass side windows. She understood the summerhouse had meant a lot to me in my childhood and asked if I would like them – she had saved them for me.
We went up to Leeds and collected them, not sure what use to put them to. We wrapped them in towels.
One night I went out to rehearse a play I was in, returning late on a summer evening. My partner was in the garden, small white lights twinkling, candles burning, the fountain playing, a firepit glowing. And there was 9a, lit from within – he had fitted it with the two stained glass windows from my childhood summerhouse. I don’t think I have ever received such a magical present. 9a has become a window to my childhood, linking one unique home to another, 70 years later.
