To Be Born Into Pier House

Showing Matthew the Old Home Place.

                                                    

"You really must come and see your old house!" I enthused from my back seat perch. Our Mousehole Men were rehearsing that night and the topic of Pier House had come up. 

Matthew was born into Pier House (where we have been staying) in the 1940s before it became a splendid four-story self-catering tourist cottage on the harbor. Back then, the dwelling had grownups and children tucked into it everywhere, for this was a fishing family of aunts, uncles, cousins and grandparents (as well as non-relatives who often slept there), all working hard and doing their bit for the family and the war.  

Matthew loved his grandfather, the Patriarch and crusty old fisherman who occupied the 3rd floor bedroom (the room I have been staying in). From there he could keep a bright eye on the comings and the goings of his residents - and Matthew helped him.  When his grandfather became ill, an uncle told him "Granddad wants you to come stand at the foot of his bed so he can see you to say goodbye." This Matthew did, watchful as the light in the old man's eyes, and in the waning sky, grew dim. 

"Granddad died in that bed," he told me now, pointing. "And right here is where I stood.." He took up his position, and for a moment or two we stood thinking of the day Matthew's Granddad died while he kept watch.

"The old place isn't all that different," he continued, pointing and looking. "Same square footage pretty much, that cupboard's the same, but they've added an en suite to this bedroom. Kitchen's the same, except new appliances. Just look at these ovens! Grandma wouldn't know what to make of those." We ourselves did't know what to make of the ovens, which are so high tech and complicated that we almost couldn't cook!

At last, we climbed to the Tippy-top, an enviable space filled with golden sunlight. He said, "This attic's utterly changed." 

It's no attic, now. It is a gorgeously decorated upper room with a spectacular view of the harbor where one can watch strange and funny people going by. The people going by in the 1940s would mostly have been fishermen, with small boys dashing about helping their dads and uncles bring in the fish. Lots of shouting, lots of smells. Numerous children would be crammed into the attic each night (lots more smells), because they needed a place to sleep and it was just as good a place as any. An uncle who had lost his abode moved into the 3rd floor bathroom, lock stock and barrel. If anyone needed in, the uncle just crawled out and slept until his room was available again.

I don't know if I could do it, could you? crammed in at night and then having to wake up an uncle in order to use the loo? Something tells me these were mostly boys, not girls; men, not women. Well I guess there were aunts and a grandmother who did the cooking and considerable cleaning. It would be interesting to talk to them, I think.

An old advertisement said "You've come a long way, baby, to get where you've got to today!" Maybe it's true, in this case. But I'm wondering if Matthew's Grandma would agree. 

See you along the way!

the SconeLady

The attic