I am a Surrey girl. I am very proud of my roots and the endless genealogical issues and repercussions of living within a specific area, the boundaries of Surrey, Hampshire and Sussex for about 300 years.
When I research my maternal line, it is quite simply a nightmare! with several surnames appearing more than once; such as ELLIS, DENYER, HARRIS, HOLT, BRIDGER, BUTCHER and even a GOACHER/GOUCHER! – My own Grandparents were 6th Cousins although they didn’t know in their life times.
I have lived away from my native Surrey for about 17 years. I get that sense of giddy excitement of anticipation when I get to go “home”, back to Guildford and the South East of England. In some ways it does seem very ridiculous that someone in their 40’s can experience such a thing, but I really don’t care! I have lived in Devon for 17 years, and never in a million years will the seaside town that is where I live feel like home. That is somewhat sad, but it is absolutely the truth.
As we make the journey, probably along the A303, back towards the south east, across eventually towards the A31, what the locals call the Hogs Back I know I am home when I see the Cathedral at Guildford. In a strange and yet similar way, the journey home, down the B3192 into Teignmouth with a clear view of the sea and neighbouring Shaldon, I get a feeling of I am near to my home and the kettle and the sad task of unpacking looms.
What is stranger is that in the early 1990’s I lived in a City in New South Wales, Australia. My initial visit was for a year and since then I have revisited my family there. I
probably feel more comfortable and content in Wagga Wagga than I do where I actually live, which for me, indicates that home is not just a physical structure, but a collection of emotions and people. A feeling of inclusiveness, contentment and safety.