I grew up in the suburbs of London, in a town called Sidcup, with my parents and a tortoiseshell cat named Candy. The neighborhood was a typical middle-class 1930s housing estate with roads lined with trees and semi-detached houses, each house with a long driveway, a garage and large garden.
My mum was a housewife who managed everything in our home; always making sure things were in good order. Mondays were wash day: the laundry would be done, the bathrooms scrubbed, and maybe once a month the floors would get a proper cleaning. She always had the radio on, and would often be singing along as she worked.
My mum was always happy and positive, full of energy, and the life of the house. She was also quietly confident. She had a strong personality, and whatever she said felt like gospel as a kid. Even when she may not have been right, she always spoke with such conviction that you believed her.
She was also very practical, more likely to be in her gardening clothes than dressed up in a glamorous dress and heels. She usually had on an apron and her yellow Marigold rubber gloves. Her hair was always the same: short, permed, and curly.
One of the routines my mum had during the warm summer days, while I was at school, was airing out the house. She’d usually have a window or two open while doing her ironing or polishing the silver. And as the warm, stagnant summer air built up throughout the day, she’d open the french doors in the dining room to create a through-breeze between the front and back of the house.
I remember coming home from school, opening the front door against the pressure of the breeze moving through the house. An interior door usually slammed shut from the force of it and the floor-to-ceiling sheer white linen curtains in the dining room would billow in the breeze. Sometimes they’d catch on the arm of the big leather chair by the door, then slip free again with a whoosh.
But it was the smell that really hit me: smooth and airy, like a whisper moving through the house. It made me feel secure, but also free. It’s clean, warm, a little floral from the garden flowers and slightly green from the cut grass. A comforting smell that feels like a snug blanket, or a joyful, quietly confident person greeting me at the door.
There’s also a soundtrack that accompanies the smell: lawnmowers in the distance, dogs barking, children playing, the clinking of plates as neighbors prepared dinner with their kitchen doors open.
To me the smell is the sense of anticipation and excitement. If my mum was getting to the point where she’s opening everything up that means there's only so much more time until school holidays. But it’s also the simple joy of being home. I’d drop my schoolbag by the front door, take off my shoes, and then there was always tea and a biscuit waiting. That was part of the routine too.
The smell makes me feel secure because I’m home. I’ve made it to the end of the day, and that smell means safety. Every time I think of it, it’s that feeling of security, even though all the doors and windows are wide open. That’s the paradox: the openness is the security.
But it’s more than just safety, it’s liberation. The smell makes me feel light, like I’m walking on air, because it’s summertime. Even though it’s just an ordinary weekday, the light and the smell lift the day. They lift the weight of whatever worries I had.
Now I live in North Carolina, where summers are hot and heavy with humidity, and everything has to stay shut tight with the air conditioning on. The only times I can open the doors and windows are in spring, before the heat settles in, or sometimes in autumn before the bitter cold arrives. But it’s not the same. Autumn here doesn’t feel fresh; it still carries the weight of summer. Spring is fresh, yes, but it doesn’t have the warmth of the sun and real breezes are rare.
Unfortunately, I can’t truly recreate the smell, but when I do manage to catch a cross-breeze in the house, the feeling of home immediately comes back.
If the scent had a sound, what would it be? A whisper.
If the scent had a color, what would it be? Light grey.
If the scent had a texture, what would it be? Smooth.
If the scent could give you advice, what would it tell you? To be happy. To embrace what you have, to be grateful for it, and to make the most of what’s right in front of you. It’s not about material things at all. It's about love, freedom, and creating a safe space.
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