It’s funny how the sun always seemed to shine on childhood holidays. There was always an ice cream van just around the corner. And the sea was never cold. You filter out the rainy days and the time spent in the pub car park with a ginger beer and a packet of salt and vinegar.

It’s the same with childhood homes. So when I was asked to value for sale the house in which I had spent the first 18 years of my life I should have heard the alarm bells.

I had not seen the house since 1982 but the way I remember it, it was perfect in every way. The scene of so many milestones: the removal of bicycle stabilisers, the bowling of a perfect leg break (with the help of the slope of the lawn) and my 18th birthday party, to name but three.

On my way to the property I ran though my clearest recollections.

The idyllic spot, the long, winding drive, the classic Queen Anne facade, the acres of formal gardens and the wild woods where my brothers and I built camps.

And then I arrived.... and regretted it immediately.

My quiet rural idyl was gone. There were neighbours on all sides and the winding gravel drive was nothing more than a short stretch of tarmacadam. Worse was still to come. Far from being that Regency gem, this house was a pretty though unexceptional Victorian village house with a rather ostentatious, pillared portico added to the front door.

The gardens that my father has spent endless weekends bent double weeding, edging and mowing had, in the main, been put down to turf so that a smart looking ride-on could skim over it in no time. 

But saddest of all was the realisation that the wild woods were in fact just six trees. Two oaks, two silver birch, a horse chestnut and a rowan. Not the wilderness I remembered.

Now,  I should make clear this was a good house on the edge of a popular village. The gardens and grounds were lovely. But it wasn't the house that I remembered.

With hindsight I should have asked a colleague to go on my behalf. Preserved those childhood memories. But what's done is done. The house will sell well to another family and their children will have their own memories of forests, gardens and winding drives.

Will Peppitt, Savills Country Houses

Further information

What makes a house a home and why does it matter so much? Our new series, 'Moving Stories', inspired by Savills new advertising campaign, explores the complex relationship between home and home-owner with funny, sad and bittersweet reflections on moving out, moving in and moving on.

We invite you to submit your own Moving Stories and we will donate £50 to Dreams Come True for every one we publish on Savills UK Blog. We'll also make a donation for every story submitted for consideration.