A Journey Back to Where It All Began

 Coming Home

More than twelve years had passed since I had left England with Sheila and our four young children to begin a new life in New Zealand.

Now I was returning alone.

Throughout the flight, one thought remained in my mind above all others.

I couldn't wait to see Mum again.

No letter or telephone call could replace sitting beside her, hearing her voice, and giving her a hug after so many years apart.

As the aircraft descended through the familiar grey clouds over England, I felt a mixture of excitement and nervous anticipation.

I wondered whether everything would look the same.

I wondered whether I had changed more than I realised.

Returning to Britain after more than a decade in New Zealand felt both exciting and strangely surreal. As I stepped through immigration and customs into the arrival's hall, I scanned the waiting crowd, wondering who had come to welcome me home.

Then I saw them.

Michael and Lionel.

I recognised them immediately. They looked much as I remembered them—perhaps a little older, though at that moment I hardly noticed. Seeing them standing there waiting for me brought tears to my eyes. I had to fight hard to keep my emotions under control.

We embraced, and for a few moments the three of us simply stood there, arms around one another.

It was a wonderful reunion.

The next memory still makes me smile.

Lionel had driven to the airport, but neither he nor Michael could remember where they had parked the car—or even which level of the car park it was on.

After such a long flight I was already tired, dragging my suitcase from one floor to another while the search continued. Eventually, we decided the quickest solution was to send Lionel off on his own to find the car.

That left Michael and me standing together with my luggage, catching up on twelve years of family news. Naturally, the first person I asked about was Mum.

Home Again

Mum and Eddie had sold Clare House and were now enjoying a well-earned retirement. They had moved only a short-distance away, living on Folkestone Road, almost opposite the old guest house where so many of my childhood memories had been made.

When we arrived, several members of the family were already there. Phillip, Carol, and the twins had all grown up. It was overwhelming to see them again after so many years.

But the person I wanted to see most was Mum.

I wrapped my arms around her and gave her the biggest hug I could. For a few moments, neither of us needed to say anything.

It was enough simply to be together again.

I shook Eddie's hand. He seemed quieter than I remembered and perhaps a little distant, but I didn't press the matter. It was enough to see them both happy and settled.

During my stay, I lived with Phillip, who had established himself as a successful hairdresser with his own salon. It gave us the chance to spend time together, catching up on the years we had missed.

Although much of Dover was instantly recognizable, I soon realised that it was I who had changed.

The streets, parks, and shops were familiar, yet I now viewed them through the eyes of someone who had built a new life on the other side of the world.

Over the following days, I wandered through places that had shaped my childhood. New houses stood where gardens had once been, trees had grown tall, and many of the old shops had disappeared, replaced by cafés and modern businesses.

Yet some things remained exactly as I remembered them: the little corner shop where I had bought my first sweets, the park where we had played as boys, and the familiar rhythm of everyday life that still gave Dover its special character.

It was both comforting and strangely unsettling.

The family gatherings became the highlight of my visit. Sitting around tables covered with home-cooked meals, listening to stories, laughter, and endless conversations, I was reminded that family ties never really disappear, no matter how many years pass or how many miles separate you.

Meeting my brothers' children for the first time was another special moment. Until then, I had only known them through letters and photographs. Now they were real people with personalities of their own, and it was wonderful to finally become part of their lives.

There were lighter moments too.

One afternoon I met an old childhood neighbor who looked at me for several seconds before suddenly exclaiming,

I couldn't help laughing. The New Zealand sunshine had probably weathered my face a little, but apparently there was still enough of the young Peter left for someone to recognize. 
 

Friends also enjoyed teasing me about my "posh Kiwi accent," while I found myself smiling at the little things that stirred old memories—a traditional red telephone box, an old-fashioned lamppost, or the familiar style of English shopfronts.

As much as I enjoyed every minute of my visit, I gradually became aware of something unexpected.

I was beginning to miss New Zealand.

England would always be the country of my birth. It held my childhood, my family, and so many treasured memories.

But New Zealand had become the place where Sheila, our children, and the life we had built together were waiting for me.

As the aircraft climbed through the clouds on my journey home, I realised how fortunate I had been.

The visit had allowed me to reconnect with my past.

Returning to New Zealand allowed me to appreciate my present.

For the first time, I understood that I hadn't lost one home by finding another.

I had simply been fortunate enough to belong to both.