Coquet Street

I woke the other morning from a dream of my grandparents’ house in Oamaru, feeling I had been embraced, enfolded in the arms of a person I loved. So I have begun writing the house a little every day to make a short story. As I work room by room I weave in memories of my childhood and my family. My cousin Christopher did something similar once in a radio programme, talking his way around the house. I found it moving and effective. Being younger than me, his memories were different. Many of mine are of my mother and her sisters, born in the house. I spent my first year living there, and many days of childhood filled with comfort and excitement.