26 ‘Homes’ in 75 years, all shapes, all sizes, all locations.

A Council house, early memories of shelling peas in the garden.

A Prefab, that rattled and banged in winter gales.

A cabin on a troopship, tossed from the bunk during wild weather in the Bay of Biscay.

A bell tent, complete with mosquitos, temporary accommodation in a strange land.

A mud house in a fishing village, playing with children who spoke different languages.

A Flat, overlooking the open-air cinema and watching shootings in the street.

A large, white house, lying on its cool, marbled floors as the heat burned my nose.

A transit camp, sharing Christmas in a big hall with lots of other service families.

R.A.F Quarters, cold, linoleum floors and black smoke from a belching coal fire.

A Bungalow, evenings on the porch the night air alive with animal sounds.

A dormitory in boarding school, regimented, lights out and, meals in a refectory.

More service quarters all the same, but different places.

A brand new semi, central heating, smells of new paint.

A first new home after marriage, breathless excitement making a home.

A semi in a posh village, motherhood and life changes.

A bespoke bungalow, spacious accommodating a growing family.

A derelict farmhouse, needing lots of TLC.

A mud and stud cottage with a thatched roof, companions of mice and spiders.

And finally a modest semi, the last move.

All of these and more, but what makes a dwelling a home?

It’s a place to be yourself where you can sing and dance as tunelessly as you please.

You can have a lunchtime glass of wine and doze on the sofa, dribbling from your open mouth.

You can play ‘QUEEN’ at full volume, provided the neighbours are at work.

You can linger over coffee in the morning despite the unwashed dishes in the sink.

It’s a place where the family meet, bicker, laugh and come together in noise and chaos.

Its where on a winters day, you can light a fire, read a book or just look out the window at the garden.

It’s a place rich with the smells of food as you invite friends to share your home.

It’s a place you can take your bra off, have a good scratch and put your PJ’s on.

It’s a place you can retire to when you are hurt and upset.

Whatever the location, whatever the dwelling, it’s your sanctuary, the place that feels safe and secure, it’s your home.