My Gypsy Caravan — Story Time

Growing up, romping through the woods was a favourite pastime of mine and my siblings, probably because it was free and easy and you never knew who you might meet or what you might stumble across. I’d set off early wearing my usual attire, a skinny teeshirt with a 70s logo on, flared jeans and pumps, toast in hand. My first job was always to find a tracking stick, one that would lead me on adventure down the unmade track. I’d pass by the stream, the underground tunnel and the rope swing in my pursue of entertainment. Sometimes I’d come across teenagers, glue sniffing or reading porn mags, I would hide behind trees and listen to them all going crazy; it unsettled me a bit.

These romps filled my days and ignited my imagination and left me exhausted and often sunburnt. I would be gone for hours but always returned home in time for tea after hearing my mum’s calls from the bottom of our garden.

One beautiful sunny day, my tracking stick led me to something quite beautiful and magical and to something I had never seen before. Standing before me was a mound of bright pink and purple rhododendrons and hydrangeas, with rambling roses cascading from them from a great height, it was an abundance of colour. I took my tracking stick and began to poke and prod until I uncovered a small door and then a window. Looking through the window, to my delight I could see a small table and a seating area, I had no idea what I was about to uncover; what was this place? Using my hands, I carried on pulling apart the overgrown flower arrangement to find a Gypsy caravan, not that I knew it at the time. I’m pretty sure it must have been in bad repair but this did not stop me from getting inside and taking a seat.

So now I had a project, a little space to call my own.

Going home that night, I dreamed of all the things I could do with my new home.
On route to the caravan the next day, I met my friend Debbie and decided to share the find with her; we quickly made plans of all the places we would visit on holiday in the caravan and set about setting up a home together.

I managed to bring a few essentials from home which included: cups, plates and a broom. We were soon taking breakfast and lunch at the caravan and I would use my penknife to carve bark and chop leaves to make meals for us. In our pursuit to dress the caravan, we reminded ourselves of a derelict house close to where the caravan was. It wasn’t just a derelict house though, it was a haunted nunnery. The story went that Italian nuns had lived there during the 1950s and had all gone mad and died there: it was super scary and every kid on the estate knew about it. We believed that headless nuns roamed the house at night and did the ouija board by day. Utter terror.

But Debbie and I were brave or at least that what we told each other, and decided to go and take a look. As we approached, I could see smashed windows with lace drapes blowing in the wind. Peering through the letterbox, it was clear to see the caravan could be fully furnished with all this faded glitz, ornamental chandeliers hung and ornate mirrors cast dazzling light around the rooms. There was no question; we were going in. Room by room we waltzed around, not knowing when a headless nun would appear wielding an axe. We gathered what we could in a hurry, a mirror, small glass bottles and some lace curtains, pots and pans and we even took a painting. We tried to dismantle a sink but couldn’t quite manage it. Never mind, we could return for it at a later date.

Once back at the caravan, we began to dress it and it began to feel like home, I even moved my Tiny Tears doll in! Going home for tea at night would be going to work for us, I worked at the Co-op and was called Lyn, Debbie worked at the off licence and was called Brenda; we had tons of kids just - like the Waltons, there was no mention of husbands.

I’m not sure how long this adventure lasted or even when I last visited the caravan, it just appears to have faded away into a dream-like space in my mind but what I do know is that it gave me a hunger to salvage old things and make do and mend. I learnt how to make any place feel like home, and be wary of nuns!

I have often pulled over at the side of the newly built road that lies close to where the caravan was, but I’ve never plucked up the courage to go and look for it for fear of running into a headless nun looking for her stolen rosary beads. The flowers however are still there and can clearly be seen from the roadside.

I now have a summer house in my garden which I have pretty much treated it like the caravan, salvaging trinkets and finding bits and pieces of interest to decorate it with. I like to share my summer house with family and friends and offer a space to come together and share the highs and lows of life. I occasionally revisit in my mind the times I had in the Gypsy caravan; I was just a little girl then, playing at being a grown up, but now I am a grown up and am often trying to escape back to my childhood when things were free and easy.
Thank you for reading.