This article is from the source 'guardian' and was first published or seen on . It last changed over 40 days ago and won't be checked again for changes.
You can find the current article at its original source at http://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/guardianwitness-blog/2014/dec/16/the-house-where-i-was-born-readers-memories
The article has changed 4 times. There is an RSS feed of changes available.
| Version 2 | Version 3 |
|---|---|
| The house where I was born - readers' memories | The house where I was born - readers' memories |
| (4 months later) | |
| The idea behind asking Guardian readers to tell us about the house where they were born came from this photo sent in by Adrian Smyth of his father, Des, who was born in Dublin in 1928. | The idea behind asking Guardian readers to tell us about the house where they were born came from this photo sent in by Adrian Smyth of his father, Des, who was born in Dublin in 1928. |
| The house where I was born | The house where I was born |
| The house where I was born. | The house where I was born. |
| Sent via Guardian Witness | |
| By caminoamigo | |
| 23 October 2014, 0:06 | 23 October 2014, 0:06 |
| “That’s my dad in the photograph and that’s the house were he was born in Dublin in 1928. The house has undergone some modifications over the years - the elevated roof, for example is, I think, a late addition. I had wanted for so long to take him on a tour of the area where he grew up, and one Saturday earlier this year I took him on a journey back in time. We spent a day walking the backstreets of Dublin where he played as a boy and I was amazed by the number of dwellings in the area the family had occupied over the years. “People moved around the city all the time then”, he told me. “Few could afford their own homes, so many people rented. And if times got tough, they sometimes upped-sticks, often in the night, and moved elsewhere to avoid paying the rent”. He remembers the addresses of all the houses he subsequently lived in during his childhood, but I stopped counting after we visited dwelling number five. He assures me the family never moved because they were skipping the rent, rather it was just what many people did in those days - always in search of a better home. While I found our day together incredibly moving and loaded, regretfully, with so many unspoken sentiments, he remained clear-eyed and unsentimental throughout, and possessed of forensic recall. I think arranging our day together may be one of my greatest achievements, and I’m glad I eventually made time to do it.” | “That’s my dad in the photograph and that’s the house were he was born in Dublin in 1928. The house has undergone some modifications over the years - the elevated roof, for example is, I think, a late addition. I had wanted for so long to take him on a tour of the area where he grew up, and one Saturday earlier this year I took him on a journey back in time. We spent a day walking the backstreets of Dublin where he played as a boy and I was amazed by the number of dwellings in the area the family had occupied over the years. “People moved around the city all the time then”, he told me. “Few could afford their own homes, so many people rented. And if times got tough, they sometimes upped-sticks, often in the night, and moved elsewhere to avoid paying the rent”. He remembers the addresses of all the houses he subsequently lived in during his childhood, but I stopped counting after we visited dwelling number five. He assures me the family never moved because they were skipping the rent, rather it was just what many people did in those days - always in search of a better home. While I found our day together incredibly moving and loaded, regretfully, with so many unspoken sentiments, he remained clear-eyed and unsentimental throughout, and possessed of forensic recall. I think arranging our day together may be one of my greatest achievements, and I’m glad I eventually made time to do it.” |
| Roy Sinclair was born in New Brancepeth, County Durham in 1933 | Roy Sinclair was born in New Brancepeth, County Durham in 1933 |
| Born under storm clouds | Born under storm clouds |
| The year 1933 was just two hours old when I made my appearance in the mining village of New Brancepeth, County Durham. Just weeks later, a new Chancellor of Germany made his own first appearance 635 miles away in Berlin: Adolf Hitler. I was fortunate to grow up in a village surrounded by many relations which included all four grandparents, but unfortunate to be born as the storm clouds of war in Europe were gathering. | |
| Cooperative Terrace was a row of 27 two-up, two-down brick-built homes with slate roofs, a garden to the south-facing front and a walled back-yard to the rear which housed coal-house, outside lavatory and shed with corrugated iron roof. There was no bath-room, no W.C., no running hot water, no central heating. The house belonged to a relative and I believe the rent was 5 shillings per week. | Cooperative Terrace was a row of 27 two-up, two-down brick-built homes with slate roofs, a garden to the south-facing front and a walled back-yard to the rear which housed coal-house, outside lavatory and shed with corrugated iron roof. There was no bath-room, no W.C., no running hot water, no central heating. The house belonged to a relative and I believe the rent was 5 shillings per week. |
| The entrance through the front door from the garden path led, via a small bratticed porch which was curtained off to keep out draughts, into a living room which served as lounge and dining area. Furniture consisted a substantial and stylish dark oak dining table, chairs and sideboard, a settee, two arm-chairs and a couple of home-made 'crackets' or stools. There was also a piano. My mother had played the piano in the cinema when movies were still silent. In the centre of the west wall was a coal-fired kitchen range which embraced a fire, oven, hot water boiler and, above it, a mantlepiece with clock, ornaments, photographs and a letter-rack with hooks at each end to accommodate towels and, as I was to discover, much later, the dreaded 'tawse' - a leather 'cat-o-nine-tails' which threatened to be taken down and used whenever my father considered we deserved to be chastised! A fender round the hearth had 'box-seats' built in at each end. These had a 'lid' and they contained fire-wood or shoes and slippers. A short passage, at the foot of the stairs, led into the 'back-kitchen' which had boiler in a brick surround (for washing clothes), a wash-basin & cold water-tap, table, and set of drawers. From it led a large 'pantry' with many shelves which stored food in its many forms. Later, at the onset of the war, part of the pantry was given a brick and concrete lining which served as our indoor air-raid shelter. Upstairs and separated by a short landing were the two bed-rooms. My brother and I slept in the one which overlooked the yard and you can see the window in the second photograph. | The entrance through the front door from the garden path led, via a small bratticed porch which was curtained off to keep out draughts, into a living room which served as lounge and dining area. Furniture consisted a substantial and stylish dark oak dining table, chairs and sideboard, a settee, two arm-chairs and a couple of home-made 'crackets' or stools. There was also a piano. My mother had played the piano in the cinema when movies were still silent. In the centre of the west wall was a coal-fired kitchen range which embraced a fire, oven, hot water boiler and, above it, a mantlepiece with clock, ornaments, photographs and a letter-rack with hooks at each end to accommodate towels and, as I was to discover, much later, the dreaded 'tawse' - a leather 'cat-o-nine-tails' which threatened to be taken down and used whenever my father considered we deserved to be chastised! A fender round the hearth had 'box-seats' built in at each end. These had a 'lid' and they contained fire-wood or shoes and slippers. A short passage, at the foot of the stairs, led into the 'back-kitchen' which had boiler in a brick surround (for washing clothes), a wash-basin & cold water-tap, table, and set of drawers. From it led a large 'pantry' with many shelves which stored food in its many forms. Later, at the onset of the war, part of the pantry was given a brick and concrete lining which served as our indoor air-raid shelter. Upstairs and separated by a short landing were the two bed-rooms. My brother and I slept in the one which overlooked the yard and you can see the window in the second photograph. |
| The garden at the front was rather pretty consisting of a lawn with flower borders down the paths. Near the window facing the garden, Dad had constructed an aerial of sorts for our D.C. wireless set. The short brick wall at the far end of the garden had wrought-iron railings which were taken away for the War Effort in 1940. From 1939, all windows were taped, first with paper crosses, and then, later, with cloth mesh to prevent the glass shattering in a raid. Warning of these consisted of short blasts on the colliery buzzer. A long blast gave the 'All-clear'. My father, who was serving with the army in France, was killed on the retreat to Dunkirk in May 1940. My mother, who was only 31 at the time, married again three years later and at the age of 10 I left the house I was born in for a new life. | The garden at the front was rather pretty consisting of a lawn with flower borders down the paths. Near the window facing the garden, Dad had constructed an aerial of sorts for our D.C. wireless set. The short brick wall at the far end of the garden had wrought-iron railings which were taken away for the War Effort in 1940. From 1939, all windows were taped, first with paper crosses, and then, later, with cloth mesh to prevent the glass shattering in a raid. Warning of these consisted of short blasts on the colliery buzzer. A long blast gave the 'All-clear'. My father, who was serving with the army in France, was killed on the retreat to Dunkirk in May 1940. My mother, who was only 31 at the time, married again three years later and at the age of 10 I left the house I was born in for a new life. |
| Sent via Guardian Witness | |
| By ID3382431 | |
| 1 December 2014, 13:47 | 1 December 2014, 13:47 |
| Horst Baumann was born in Moers, in the Ruhr, in 1946 | Horst Baumann was born in Moers, in the Ruhr, in 1946 |
| My parents, me (standing) and my brother in arms | My parents, me (standing) and my brother in arms |
| In front of my home in 1949 (my youngest brother was not born then). | In front of my home in 1949 (my youngest brother was not born then). |
| Our home was adjacent to a coal mine in the Ruhr area. | Our home was adjacent to a coal mine in the Ruhr area. |
| People were rather lean during the post war time. | People were rather lean during the post war time. |
| Sent via Guardian Witness | |
| By Horst Baumann | |
| 25 November 2014, 18:16 | 25 November 2014, 18:16 |
| “The coal mine, then called, ‘Friedrich Heinrich’ was founded in 1906 by 23 French, one British and three German entrepreneurs. As far as I can remember most coking coal went by train to the steel mills in Luxemburg and France ... Our home was close to the surrounding brick wall of the pit. We played soccer there ,marking the goal with chalk on the wall. To start with, we even played with an inflated and dried pig’s bladder. Compared to todays life it was simple and there were a lot of shortcomings, however I did not miss anything, probably because I did not know amu better. We had a ‘miner’s cow’ - a pig in a hog and slaughtering time was a big feast with the neighbors and I was allowed to stir the blood to make black pudding. Everybody had plenty of beer and schnapps (the drink for miners to get the coal dust out of the lungs). We lived leeward of the pit and the coking plant sent fumes from times to time across the miners quarter. The quarter is now revived and my uncle still lives there. In my family, my grandfather, his three sons and other family members and of course numerous friends all worked at the pit. The coal mine was the umbilical cord of the city. We had simple food like potato pancake with milk soup (I still like it) but we got sufficient coal from the mine for heating in our coal stove. Even coal was sold on the ‘black’ to make a living. We were out all day strolling around in the streets (still unpaved that time) with friends and played in the bushes with sling shots. Very often we went up to a crossing bridge over the mine area where we could watch the coking process and stay in the fumes when the train with the smoldering coking coal passed below. My father, who was British POW in Italy and where he learnt English, was working very hard but at weekends festivities happened very often. The white collars lived on the other, clean-side, of the mine. I was the eldest of three sons and my father tried everything to get me into the middle school, which he managed. It was a gap between societies, I was the only pupil in my class from a workers family. Sometimes I felt resentment when I went to my school friends home. However, eventually I graduated.” | “The coal mine, then called, ‘Friedrich Heinrich’ was founded in 1906 by 23 French, one British and three German entrepreneurs. As far as I can remember most coking coal went by train to the steel mills in Luxemburg and France ... Our home was close to the surrounding brick wall of the pit. We played soccer there ,marking the goal with chalk on the wall. To start with, we even played with an inflated and dried pig’s bladder. Compared to todays life it was simple and there were a lot of shortcomings, however I did not miss anything, probably because I did not know amu better. We had a ‘miner’s cow’ - a pig in a hog and slaughtering time was a big feast with the neighbors and I was allowed to stir the blood to make black pudding. Everybody had plenty of beer and schnapps (the drink for miners to get the coal dust out of the lungs). We lived leeward of the pit and the coking plant sent fumes from times to time across the miners quarter. The quarter is now revived and my uncle still lives there. In my family, my grandfather, his three sons and other family members and of course numerous friends all worked at the pit. The coal mine was the umbilical cord of the city. We had simple food like potato pancake with milk soup (I still like it) but we got sufficient coal from the mine for heating in our coal stove. Even coal was sold on the ‘black’ to make a living. We were out all day strolling around in the streets (still unpaved that time) with friends and played in the bushes with sling shots. Very often we went up to a crossing bridge over the mine area where we could watch the coking process and stay in the fumes when the train with the smoldering coking coal passed below. My father, who was British POW in Italy and where he learnt English, was working very hard but at weekends festivities happened very often. The white collars lived on the other, clean-side, of the mine. I was the eldest of three sons and my father tried everything to get me into the middle school, which he managed. It was a gap between societies, I was the only pupil in my class from a workers family. Sometimes I felt resentment when I went to my school friends home. However, eventually I graduated.” |
| Sue Nicholson was born in County Durham in 1952 | Sue Nicholson was born in County Durham in 1952 |
| 50s life in a Durham village | 50s life in a Durham village |
| Coal fire, outside toilet (no fancy flush, either) and a tin bath in front of the fire - first memories of the house I lived in until I was 21. The third bedroom was later converted into a bathroom but as a tot I was terrified to go up the yard at night to the smelly earth closet - a hand would surely grab me from below before I’d managed to sort myself with the small, ripped squares of Radio Times (no Andrex in the 50s)! | |
| These were the days of a weekly bath (shared before the advent of the bathroom) and hair wash, deep frost on the insides of windows in winter, your breath steaming in the cold outside bed clothes and a coal fire in just one room, unless some was ill or, later, when I had homework. The coal shed was topped up with a weekly delivery, the earth closet cleaned on the same schedule. | |
| After the range was taken out of the living room the scullery came into its own with my mum cooking on a Baby Belling and Monday wash day modernised with a single tub washer (with built-in mangle) and a separate spin drier. There was a wonderful walk-in pantry but only the rich had a fridge, or TV. Everyone hung their washing across the back lane and anger descended on anyone who tried negotiate the street with any sort of vehicle which might soil newly washed sheets. No play out there on washdays, either. | |
| Wallpaper was only just becoming available after WW2 and my mum was an ace decorator, never happier when she was ripping smoke stained paper off the living room and putting up new. She was especially proud of the latest trend - a feature wall! | |
| No one locked their doors, visitors walked straight in with a ‘hello’ and my mum and neighbour would bang on the adjoining living room wall to signify the kettle was on for a morning cuppa. Our side eventually started to disintegrate - but the friendship never did. | |
| Sent via Guardian Witness | |
| By tynegal | |
| 20 November 2014, 18:06 | 20 November 2014, 18:06 |
| Robert Crawford was born in Chicago in 1956 | Robert Crawford was born in Chicago in 1956 |
| Visiting to see their grandchild | Visiting to see their grandchild |
| The apartment, which had the most wonderfully squeaky wood floor, near the University of Chicago where my dad was studying medicine. That's my dad, confident and looking ahead, with my dear mom and me. Then, my warm grandfather in the shadow of his dour wife, who was no doubt thinking about hell and the chosen. | |
| Sent via Guardian Witness | |
| By Robert J. Crawford | |
| 25 November 2014, 7:15 | 25 November 2014, 7:15 |
| “The apartment on 54th and Harper was a 2-bedroom. My earliest memories are of me walking, on a squeaky wooden floor, to my parents bedroom. I felt this explosion of joy, a child’s ecstasy as I came to see my parents, who were groggy in bed. The joy reminded me of gum balls we got at a nearby pharmacy, which I chewed while sitting on my dad’s shoulders. (He later told me that a depressed woman observed our joyful relationship and sought him out to be his psychiatrist.) We did not get a TV until about 1959, right before we moved to the suburbs, with my parents both credentialed and my mom with a good job as medical librarian at the AMA. For me, the apartment and Hyde Park were magical places. I felt secure and loved, with absolutely marvelous places to explore within walking distance. Every Saturday, my mom and I went to the Museum of Science and Industry, which was free to enter at that time; I got a Matchbox car each time we went. It had this amazing technology and science on display, like a heart you could walk into and a display of human fetuses in bottles from inception to birth. I remember once we waited for it to open in an entrance hall with silver metal walls, reflecting the sounds of speech so that it was a choppy, rhythmic hum, which I tried to mimic as I thought every one else was mumbling that way. It was also near The Point on Lake Michigan, which had these loud, wierdly menacing radars that revolved like something out of science fiction. THere was also a museum, in a house, of medieval armor that I loved to visit (the collection is now in the Art Institute).” | “The apartment on 54th and Harper was a 2-bedroom. My earliest memories are of me walking, on a squeaky wooden floor, to my parents bedroom. I felt this explosion of joy, a child’s ecstasy as I came to see my parents, who were groggy in bed. The joy reminded me of gum balls we got at a nearby pharmacy, which I chewed while sitting on my dad’s shoulders. (He later told me that a depressed woman observed our joyful relationship and sought him out to be his psychiatrist.) We did not get a TV until about 1959, right before we moved to the suburbs, with my parents both credentialed and my mom with a good job as medical librarian at the AMA. For me, the apartment and Hyde Park were magical places. I felt secure and loved, with absolutely marvelous places to explore within walking distance. Every Saturday, my mom and I went to the Museum of Science and Industry, which was free to enter at that time; I got a Matchbox car each time we went. It had this amazing technology and science on display, like a heart you could walk into and a display of human fetuses in bottles from inception to birth. I remember once we waited for it to open in an entrance hall with silver metal walls, reflecting the sounds of speech so that it was a choppy, rhythmic hum, which I tried to mimic as I thought every one else was mumbling that way. It was also near The Point on Lake Michigan, which had these loud, wierdly menacing radars that revolved like something out of science fiction. THere was also a museum, in a house, of medieval armor that I loved to visit (the collection is now in the Art Institute).” |
| Nora Bermingham was born in Dublin in 1970 | Nora Bermingham was born in Dublin in 1970 |
| My entire family (11 of us) and the neighbours | My entire family (11 of us) and the neighbours |
| Dublin won the All Ireland in 1974 (or maybe 76) and the cup was magically brought to our house in Drimnagh, Dublin. My favourite photograph of my childhood. I'm in the front next to my little brother. My folks have lived there for nearly 50 years and my mother still hangs a Dublin flag out the window every year. | Dublin won the All Ireland in 1974 (or maybe 76) and the cup was magically brought to our house in Drimnagh, Dublin. My favourite photograph of my childhood. I'm in the front next to my little brother. My folks have lived there for nearly 50 years and my mother still hangs a Dublin flag out the window every year. |
| Sent via Guardian Witness | |
| By Archobot Bogbot | |
| 25 November 2014, 22:09 | 25 November 2014, 22:09 |
| Nora adds the footballer, wearing the check shirt, who brought the cup to the house was Brendan Donovan from Crumlin – a local hero. | Nora adds the footballer, wearing the check shirt, who brought the cup to the house was Brendan Donovan from Crumlin – a local hero. |
| Sandeep Raina was born in Kashmir in 1968 | Sandeep Raina was born in Kashmir in 1968 |
| The house I fled, but still live in. | The house I fled, but still live in. |
| This is the house which was home. Where I greased the walls with grubby hands, scratched the staircase wood with sharp pens, left mud footprints on the hall carpet. Where I still avoid hearing "Wear your shoes!" "Wash your hands!" and "Time for bath!" | This is the house which was home. Where I greased the walls with grubby hands, scratched the staircase wood with sharp pens, left mud footprints on the hall carpet. Where I still avoid hearing "Wear your shoes!" "Wash your hands!" and "Time for bath!" |
| A room where my window invited spring breeze. A scent of paddy fields and apple orchards called me out, Mum's kitchen aromas whipped up hunger and the smell of ink on lined paper bound me to my little desk. | A room where my window invited spring breeze. A scent of paddy fields and apple orchards called me out, Mum's kitchen aromas whipped up hunger and the smell of ink on lined paper bound me to my little desk. |
| Dad chopping up wood for the winter, annoying little sparrows in the window grille, strong wind rustling in the willow tree outside my room – these sounds drove me crazy. | Dad chopping up wood for the winter, annoying little sparrows in the window grille, strong wind rustling in the willow tree outside my room – these sounds drove me crazy. |
| Where the world was not a big globe, but four square rooms. Where society was Mum and Dad. Where friend was Sister. Where every guest was a wonder to explore. A successful birthday was five presents. | Where the world was not a big globe, but four square rooms. Where society was Mum and Dad. Where friend was Sister. Where every guest was a wonder to explore. A successful birthday was five presents. |
| Where books were internet. Sunday movie was television. Mum's wooden clothes-beater was the cricket bat. A paper ball was shuttlecock. | Where books were internet. Sunday movie was television. Mum's wooden clothes-beater was the cricket bat. A paper ball was shuttlecock. |
| Holidays were running to the river, hiding in the paddy stalks, catching fish in the pond, stealing apples from the orchard, battling flies. | Holidays were running to the river, hiding in the paddy stalks, catching fish in the pond, stealing apples from the orchard, battling flies. |
| There was a god in the house. With a serious face, in a dark corner, next to the kitchen. Every time my hand went to the larder, when no one was around, god's eyes were on me. My hand withdrew every time. | There was a god in the house. With a serious face, in a dark corner, next to the kitchen. Every time my hand went to the larder, when no one was around, god's eyes were on me. My hand withdrew every time. |
| As I outgrew my bed and my room, the world outside my home became visible, as if a mist had lifted off it. The world outside was enchanting, bigger, more beautiful and it had no gods. I stepped out of my home. | As I outgrew my bed and my room, the world outside my home became visible, as if a mist had lifted off it. The world outside was enchanting, bigger, more beautiful and it had no gods. I stepped out of my home. |
| A few years later, a fire ate my home. It was set on fire. It burnt down to ashes. My stamps, coins and birthday cards inside the blue plastic box burnt down. So did the little books, the grubby stained walls, the scratched wooden staircase, the silly cricket bats and badminton rackets. I never went back. | A few years later, a fire ate my home. It was set on fire. It burnt down to ashes. My stamps, coins and birthday cards inside the blue plastic box burnt down. So did the little books, the grubby stained walls, the scratched wooden staircase, the silly cricket bats and badminton rackets. I never went back. |
| The poplar trees must be taller in the garden. The willow outside my window would still be making annoying noises. And the sparrows. But no more Mum's cooking, Dad's log chopping. | The poplar trees must be taller in the garden. The willow outside my window would still be making annoying noises. And the sparrows. But no more Mum's cooking, Dad's log chopping. |
| I wonder if the serious faced god still hides in that dark corner next to the kitchen? | I wonder if the serious faced god still hides in that dark corner next to the kitchen? |
| My wife bought me a canvas and a box of oil paints.The house in the picture is my home in Kashmir, which I painted on the day I heard that it was burnt down. Which I had fled from. But still live in, every day, every moment. | My wife bought me a canvas and a box of oil paints.The house in the picture is my home in Kashmir, which I painted on the day I heard that it was burnt down. Which I had fled from. But still live in, every day, every moment. |
| Sent via Guardian Witness | |
| By sandeepraina | |
| 27 November 2014, 10:16 | 27 November 2014, 10:16 |
| Sandeep and his family fled Kashmir in 1990, because of escalating violence where he lived. He was 22 years old. His house was burnt down in 1992. He has just recently been back to visit Kashmir and this is the river behind the place where his house stood. | Sandeep and his family fled Kashmir in 1990, because of escalating violence where he lived. He was 22 years old. His house was burnt down in 1992. He has just recently been back to visit Kashmir and this is the river behind the place where his house stood. |
| Paul Climie was born in Glasgow in 1970 | Paul Climie was born in Glasgow in 1970 |
| My first home. Whiteinch, Glasgow, 1975 | My first home. Whiteinch, Glasgow, 1975 |
| This is me standing with my mum and younger brother in the back court of my first home, a traditional Glasgow Victorian tenement in Whiteinch. We moved from here when I was six years old when the building was demolished, so looking at the photo this must be about 1975 but it looks more like a Joan Eardley painting or an image from the Gorbals from a couple of decades earlier. Glasgow Corporation were still intent on demolishing rather than refurbishing the Victorian tenements at that time. After 6 years with only a toilet, no bath, a cold water tap at the kitchen sink and no heating I think my parents were glad of that. | This is me standing with my mum and younger brother in the back court of my first home, a traditional Glasgow Victorian tenement in Whiteinch. We moved from here when I was six years old when the building was demolished, so looking at the photo this must be about 1975 but it looks more like a Joan Eardley painting or an image from the Gorbals from a couple of decades earlier. Glasgow Corporation were still intent on demolishing rather than refurbishing the Victorian tenements at that time. After 6 years with only a toilet, no bath, a cold water tap at the kitchen sink and no heating I think my parents were glad of that. |
| Sent via Guardian Witness | |
| By Paul4Jags | |
| 1 December 2014, 13:59 | 1 December 2014, 13:59 |
| Edison Cheng was born in Taiwan in 1985 | Edison Cheng was born in Taiwan in 1985 |
| My Sanctuary and Saint | My Sanctuary and Saint |
| Back to 1985, born and bred in a house with red bricks that building up in history and hysteria | Back to 1985, born and bred in a house with red bricks that building up in history and hysteria |
| Sent via Guardian Witness | |
| By ID7810485 | |
| 25 November 2014, 8:58 | 25 November 2014, 8:58 |
| “What we call this traditional style house is Chinese quadrangles. The name literally means a courtyard surrounded by buildings on all four sides. I have to say this home might be the best memory I ever have. When I was a little kid, I used to play games with neighbors in the courtyard after school. And this is also the best place to gossip for the elderly. The time without air-con, the time without I-phone, the time without snapchat. What we had is purely simple “ a real witty banters”. Plus, the only thing I loathe is mosquitos. They can be really a pain in the ass.” | “What we call this traditional style house is Chinese quadrangles. The name literally means a courtyard surrounded by buildings on all four sides. I have to say this home might be the best memory I ever have. When I was a little kid, I used to play games with neighbors in the courtyard after school. And this is also the best place to gossip for the elderly. The time without air-con, the time without I-phone, the time without snapchat. What we had is purely simple “ a real witty banters”. Plus, the only thing I loathe is mosquitos. They can be really a pain in the ass.” |
| You can see all the contributions – or share you own – on GuardianWitness. If you have an assignment idea, we’d love to hear from you. | You can see all the contributions – or share you own – on GuardianWitness. If you have an assignment idea, we’d love to hear from you. |