Toad Hall

It was love at first sight. This house, with its sloping floors, sagging ceilings and wonky doorways. Its three-hundred and fifty year-old oak beams, now harder than steel, and its even older barns, dating back to the Elizabethan era, one complete with a thirteenth century bridge over the stream running beneath it. Love is rarely rational and it certainly was not in the case of our house. But there was no doubt in our minds when we saw it. It was just what we were looking for. Characterful, in an idyllic spot on the edge of a pretty village. It was perfect.

So, on a damp day in February, we moved into our newly purchased seventeenth-century converted mill, leaving behind our previously comfortable life in a 1920’s semi in South-West London. We were ready to embrace village life in a house and garden with more space for the family and the dog. Moving-in day, and it transpired there was a gas leak somewhere which meant no heating or hot water for the first few days. Not ideal, but hey! This was an adventure and we could put on a few extra layers and light a fire. More of an issue were the five weeks with no internet. Two teenagers and a twelve year-old without internet, X-box or Sky TV. There was much complaining and incredulity that you couldn’t pause the TV when it was on the terrestrial channels. Shock and horror that they might have to find some other amusement, or even help unpack a box or three. In fact, after a few days, they became surprisingly nice people and it was an interesting social experiment which I might just have to repeat sometime (if I can bear to be without it myself!).

Now it isn’t like we have moved to the Outer Hebrides, or somewhere where there are no shops for twenty miles. We do have all these things within easy reach and there is a nearby train station with a good service into London. It turns out I’m rather fond of pavements and streetlights, and it has been more of an adjustment than I anticipated. I miss not being able to walk or cycle to the local shops and cafes, and not to have cinemas and theatres on my doorstep. When everyone is out at work, at university or at school, the place is very quiet indeed.

Whilst I do love wildlife, I’ve realised I have a preference for it to be outside, rather than inside, the house. The wildlife, on the other hand, seems rather partial to the interior. Some are more welcome than others. The blue tits and bats who like to hang out in the barn (where I work) are unobtrusive and I quite like their company. The hornet’s nest in the chimney breast in the house, not so much. When the lights went on in the evening, half a dozen or so would zoom down the chimney to investigate this exciting light source. These things in a confined space are HUGE, and a sting from one rather painful. In the end we had to smoke them out.

In early spring, the house was surrounded by enormous fat toads, croaking loudly as they made their way to the many water areas in close proximity to (and indeed beneath - it was a mill at one time, after all) our house. We found several copulating in the hallway, which we carefully removed to carry on their activity in the bushes. This was followed in the summer by the mass exodus of their off-spring from the water and back to the bushes, where they will grow for a couple of years before returning to the water to breed again. This time there were literally hundreds, possibly thousands, of the tiniest of tiny baby toads on a mission to get past our house to wherever they were going. An enormous number were getting trapped at the bottom of the steps by the front door. So tiny, they could easily slip under the front door and we had dozens hopping around the ground floor of the house which we had to pick up and put in the bushes before they got trampled on. I spent a ridiculous amount of time rescuing toads and building ramps to aid them up the steps. This went on for a good three weeks.

Nine months on and I am getting used to our house, with it’s quirky character, its leaky parts and things which don’t always work. The geese, the deer, the heron, the ducks, foxes and other creatures who visit our garden are thrilling to see. I’m even beginning to take the mud and the lack of street-lights in my stride. We have wonderful neighbours and new friends and the pubs in the village are truly community hubs. The teenagers are loving it too, and we are all, I think, more relaxed and generally happier people. If I ever miss the bright lights and hustle of London I can just hop on a train and get my fill of it. Nine months on, and we are just as much in love as we were that first time we clapped eyes on it. We are, after all, merely temporary custodians of the place which will exist long after we have moved on to pastures new.