I actually wrote this story in 2016, and to my surprise performed it in front of 100 people. This was the start of my incredible journey into a different world, participating in writing, movement & dance, music & song, and performance. I didn’t think I could do any of these things, but with the amazing support and guidance of the different arts groups involved in community projects throughout Leeds I am now with The Performance Ensemble continuing my life enhancing experience. It really is here for everyone to enjoy, just take that first step out of your comfort zone and you’ll be surprised what you can achieve.

My mum passed away at the end of September 2017. She managed to live in her own home until August 2015, but deteriorating health meant she required 24 hour support, which could only be provided in a residential home. The house was sold, and most of mum’s possessions went to a charity shop called New to You, which helps set up new homes for the victims of domestic abuse, and also provides affordable items for the local community.

It was a beautiful warm sunny day in October. We had spent weeks sorting through Mum’s home, agonising over what to keep, fighting the emotional attachment to material items, that held so many memories, and evoked such strong feelings. I told myself that this was the right thing to do, and waited anxiously for the arrival of the crew and van. The quiet before the storm.

They swarmed in. Things that had been lovingly cared for and part of our families’ lives for so long, were shoved in boxes, heaved down the stairs, to be laid out in the front garden for all to see.

Thoughts raced through my head: our family home for the past 54 years – that’s it, outside, displaced. I wanted to hold onto it, protect it, knowing this was the end of an era. I needed to hide the tears, and retreated to the sanctuary of the back garden to compose myself. At least the sun was shining.

The younger volunteers were enthusiastic about the treasures before them: excited by the prospect of buying Don’s fishing rod, the stereo system, the small old fashioned wooden chest, with drawers full of Grandad’s old tools. The copper “posser” with a green painted wooden handle, evoking memories of steamy wash day Mondays, stood on a wooden buffet, rinsing clothes at the kitchen sink. Possing up and down, air bubbles gurgling as they escaped through the holes of the bell shaped dome.

A scrawny young man brandished Dad’s wood-handled axe. My husband Mike was going to keep that, but perhaps not. Our small yellow inflatable rubber dinghy, reminding me of summer holidays in the sixties. Taking turns at paddling off on an adventure, but only as far as the washing line, attached to the back, would allow us to stray from Dad’s careful grasp.

Volunteers sat on the beds and commented that they were the most comfortable they had ever felt. They were inspired to dream, and said that some day they’d like to have a lovely house and garden like this. For me, came the realisation that this was not the end,but the beginning: of making new homes for other people.