The beginning of our journey back into time (Start of Chapter One)

Here lies the beginning to a exciting, wondrous tale I shall be telling. There is a lot more of this chapter to come and even more after that, but this is just an introduction of the journey we are about to take...

There is an old farm house onthe edge of Cliffe; a town not far from London,but closer to the sea. If you gaze out of the north facing windows, you canvaguely see the sea, from the east, fields, from the west, fields and from thesouth, more fields, accompanied by a dirt track road. One may call it desertedand lonely, I on the other hand, would call it peaceful and undisturbed.

            If you look closely at the house and perhaps even enterit, you may find it once lived a loud, colourful life. One could discover thisopinion from the many cracked walls and worn furniture it possesses. Forexample, a large bed in one of its many rooms. This bed would not be suitablefor sleeping in anymore, but the chipped, wooden frame would suggest it had mostdefinitely been used on more than one occasion.

            The large, family house also contains much land, presumablyonce used by many farmers and staff to tend to it. Its large barns also hinttowards the bustling noises of horses, cows, sheep, pigs, chickens, ducks, perhapsthe odd goose and any other farm animal you can conjure up. I’d imagine some ofthese residents were also used to trim the land and so lend a hand to thefarmers. These animals would also require tending to, so even more staff wouldbe needed on this farm. Add to this list the actual residents of the house, myguess a large family; husband, wife, five or six children and you will haveyourselves a house filled with a loud and colourful life, as I had already saidearlier.

            I find I have ignored a very important fact about thishouse, or rather the area it is in. If you look beyond the eastern lyingfields, you shall see a row of tall, green trees, behind these there is anarrow river, or a large stream, which ever description you prefer does notmatter, either way it contains the same water, ridden with perfect water liliesand wildlife. Past this, there is a small town, unfortunately due tomodernisation, the town has grown and become, how shall I say, ugly. But itonce was a bright town filled with shops and markets and horse drawn carriages.It once was the best town for fresh fish; well it could have been, due to theclose sea and even closer lakes. The household of the beautiful farm house wouldhave considered this their local shopping, entertaining and gossiping town,only a twenty minute walk away.

            I don’t know how far your gaze can reach, but on theother side of this typical country town and past a few more fields you will discovera frightfully, breathtaking manor house, so frightful, that to reach the largeoutstanding front door, one would have to climb an entire stair case. Thisstair case, you will see, is made of a pale stone, not quite white but notquite cream either. This stone also creates the rest of the manor, an extremelyexpensive building I’m sure. Now, unfortunately I can not see inside this grandarchitecture due to it still being privately owned, but as my imaginationwonders, a picture of large stair cases and enormous halls for dancing andfeasting and just as large chambers with four poster beds and rare goldfurniture make up this fantastic, picture-perfect mansion. If I sat here andthought about it any longer, I would see the most beautiful painted ceilings,swirled into patterns and pictures of clouds and the heavens beyond. However, Ido know that the manor is home to a beautiful variety of gardens, each one concealinga grand water fountain, or a pond or just lawns and lawns of practicallyperfect flowers and as green as possible grass.

            As happy as I am at this country side location forkeeping some of its historic beauty such as the manor and the many fields andof course the old farm house, I feel slightly sad as a specific thought dawnson me; that this town is no longer a special place, but just an ordinary homefor many modern folk who swarm it with their busy, rushing lives. This realisationmakes me wonder even more about the population who accommodated it before andabout the owners of the farm house and their lives. Did they visit the markettown often? Did they ever meet the owners of the local manor house? And beforeall that, who were they? All these questions I suspect will never be answeredand when a question goes unanswered, most cannot help but try to answer itthemselves and therefore come up with a perfectly legitimate but completelyfictional answer. And right now, as I sit beside the pebbled shore with thesandy water tickling between my toes, it is just that that I am doing. And as Isay so, a flood of colour sweeps across my white page, bringing with it scenesof grass and bricks and sounds of horses hooves clattering gently across theroads and blacksmiths banging their instruments together and the gibbering ofvoices in every background. And now faces shall appear of every character, fromthe shop workers in their sanctuaries to the farmers and the house maids andthen of course the farm houses’ owners. With no control from my dull,‘down-to-earth’, suburban world, a new world is formed. A world that once livedand ten times better than my world did it live. And I can’t even remember whereI sit as my mind is overtaken by this old but perfect haven I have created.