Sherlock Holmes – Deborah Makarios

October 14, 2016October 20, 2017

Naming My House

I have long felt ambivalent about house names. Which is to say, I liked the idea, but feared being derided for it.

There are, it seems, three levels of house-naming. There’s the housing-of-the-nobility type, where your ancestors named it centuries ago: Blenheim Palace, for example, or Windsor Castle. Or El Escorial (although who came up with the idea of naming a magnificent palace complex after a slag-heap I do not know).

Then there’s the houses of the upper middle class, often appearing in Sherlock Holmes stories. Frequently named after plants: Copper Beeches, Wisteria Lodge. The Elms, that sort of thing. Not quite posh enough to be aristocratic, but definitely above the mere house-number.

And then there’s the lower end of the scale: little houses of, perhaps, lower middle class retirees, which they have given a cutesy name. Something cottagey, such as Ivy Cottage or Lilac Cottage or Bluebell Corner. Or something cheesy, like Wyshcumtru, Mon Repos (even if not Francophone), or Dunroamin.

Not having the kind of ancestors who qualify for houses ending in “palace” or “castle,” and not having any particular plants of distinction (“Next But One To An Enormous Pohutukawa” is not a catchy name), I am forced into the third category.

I don’t think of our house as a cottage, although I suppose by some definitions it could be considered one. It isn’t rural, but it is a smallish house (99m2 or just over 1,000 square feet), built to house a working-class family. According to Wikipedia, being a terraced or “row” house does not preclude cottage-hood. (Wikipedia: learn something new every day.) However, my overdeveloped sense of aesthetics prevents me going down the cutesy and/or cheesy road. (How does “Cheesy Road” sound for a house name? Perhaps not.)

So I had to strike out on my own, and come up with a name I not only liked, but would use. I did consider The Abode of the Blessed (Makarios meaning blessed) but it was a bit too unwieldy. “I’ve just got to take the shopping back to the Abode of the Blessed and then I’ll come round for a cuppa.” I don’t think so, do you?

So then I was thinking about what I wanted the house to be like to live in, and I thought of the name Narrowhaven. Our house is tall and thin: two stories tall and five and a half metres (18 feet) wide – hence the Narrow part; and it is a peaceful house, both for us and, I hope, for those who come to visit us – hence the Haven part.

Narrowhaven is also the biggest town in the Lone Islands (attached to the kingdom of Narnia) and is the centre of the slave trade. Not such a good association, true, but the town’s one appearance in the Chronicles concerns the abolition of slavery by Caspian X, and I am a big fan of the abolition of slavery (despite what the Gumpases of this world fear the effect on the economy might be).

I suggested the name to the Caped Gooseberry, and he seemed to like it too, so our house is now (un)officially called Narrowhaven. I haven’t worked up the nerve to put a sign on the gate yet – I’m not even sure that I want to, really. The last time I put up a sign it said “No Admittance Except on Party Business” which is a terrible name for a house, but a great sign for a mathom-party. We’ll see…

October 25, 2014

Your House Is On Fire

All right, it isn’t. Probably. (Have you checked?)
But what if it was?

When fire threatens, our first instinct is to save what is most precious to us – hence Sherlock Holmes’ deployment of a smoke bomb in A Scandal In Bohemia. That’s the theory, anyway. I have a horrible feeling that if suddenly confronted with the news that the house was on fire, I’d distinguish myself by saving a ratty old dressing gown, or a random piece of notepaper.

However, for the sake of the discussion, let us assume that theory and practice unite, and we do save those things which are dearest to us.
Let us also assume that all fellow residents and pets are able to get out without assistance, and therefore do not count as things to be saved.

As our hypothetical conflagration gets going, you have time to seize three things, providing you can carry all three at once – so what would they be? (No cheating and saying you would carry the fire out.)

The first thing that comes to my mind is my Sepik stool.

The Sepik is a river in Papua New Guinea, where stools are carved from a single block of wood, and used for pillows or for sitting on. I usually use mine as a footstool, but it started life as my first schoolroom seat. I’ve had it since I was four, and kept it through a myriad of moves between houses, cities and countries. It is one of the few constants in my life to date, and I am fond of it. It is practical, aesthetically pleasing, and says something about who I am – and what more can one ask of a humble piece of furniture?

The second thing I would save is a book. It isn’t the book which is most dear to me of all the books I own, but I’ve only ever come across the one copy of it, which makes it the hardest to replace. It was a very happy day when that one copy came into my possession, I can tell you. Hurray for library sales!

The book is Embroidery Mary by Priscilla M. Warner, a charming story about a girl learning embroidery from her aunt. It doesn’t contain a great deal of conflict or character arc, but it captures better than anything else I have read the excitement of beginning a new hobby. It’s also excellent reading for those times when life has left a nasty taste in your mouth and you want something to read that won’t spring dark surprises on you.

The third thing is also a book – sort of. What I’d actually grab is the drawer in my desk which contains the manuscript of my Work In Progress. It’s in the form of several exercise books, which is why I would go for the whole drawer: it’s faster, and remember, the house is on fire. Time is of the essence. Never mind the computer, I have back-ups.

So that’s my saved-from-the-fire stash: a stool, a book and a ~~ratty old dressing gown~~ drawer of manuscript books. Each, in its own way, irreplaceable.

What about you? In the heat of the moment (hur hur) where would you turn?

October 16, 2013

Mid-Week Quote: Reading

I am an omnivorous reader with a strangely retentive memory for trifles.
Sherlock Holmes
(Sir Arthur Conan Doyle)