Mentioning living in family homes reminds me that in 1986,we as a family moved into a Victorian Villa on the seafront where it was my late husbands family home since 1942.
The house had seen 3 members of the family die there,,,but not in the circumstances of the Bambers,,,though nevertheless there were reminders of the presence of families past.
A beautiful Grade 2 building,,100ft garden,,a dream home in anyones' eyes,but---------------------I couldn't say that I was comfortable living there.Not because of the deaths of the former occupants,as the dead will never harm anyone,,but the fact that someone elses' hard work over the years had built the place up into the home that it was to them.
Everywhere around the place were reminders of how they'd amassed antiques,,and the usual riches of a successful businessman,,and I found it very difficult to accept that this would be " my home ". Because it had been my husbands home originally,I didn't have much choice and had gone along with his wishes.
The house itself was completely as though time had stood still from the 50's,with its furniture,decor,etc,,like a museum and you just felt that you shouldn't be touching or changing anything.
This aside,,there were also other family members who clearly begrudged us living there and it made me feel more uncomfortable than I already was,,,so as a consequence,,it never really felt as though it was my home,,and always had the feeling that it was someone elses'.
I remained there for 15 years until after my husband died,,then offloaded it,and breathed a sigh of relief.
I knew I couldn't carry on in a place that I knew was begrudged, particularly as I wasn't blood family.
It takes a certain person to live in a family home,,knowing that they've left their mark through hard work,,and I'm not that certain person who accepts anything handed to me on a plate.
