MCH/BLANK

Official website for Mark C. Hewitt and Blank Productions

Female, 63, student (transcribed)

The first one relates to a dream that I had repeatedly when I was about seven or eight years old. It occurred probably about half a dozen times during that phase of childhood.

I was born in 1944 while the bombing was still at its height. Therefore my mother, father and I went to live with my grandparents in a village near Guildford in Surrey. And that was a three-storey redbrick old Victorian building with a shop on pavement level, and two floors above it the flat where my grandparents lived. On street level behind the house was a very interesting large outhouse with a wooden floor, and an old painting on the wall of a soldier dying by moonlight in the First World War. Lots of old things in there too, but it was largely empty. Below the shop, which I used to love to play in, was a cellar. The shop was an off-licence, Westminster Wine Company. The cellar was immediately below the shop, and of course under the stairs down into the cellar was a space with interesting old objects in it; a Second World War gas mask, a special policeman’s truncheon, an old delivery bike from the shop. And this part of the cellar was full of old wooden beer crates and other interesting things. There was an old store to the street, where there was a side alley, where deliveries were brought into the cellar. But behind there was a further cellar – that was empty except for one or two very old and rather beautiful bottles, which were my discoveries.

In my dream I visit my grandparent’s house and go down into the cellar and the first cellar of course is interesting and full of all these relics of the earlier days of my parents and grandparents. And I decide to push through into the second cellar. It is when I get in there that I see in front of me a very large lion, with a huge shaggy mane. It opens its mouth and roars and I am fascinated by it; afraid though not terrified, but notice then that I am utterly paralysed and rooted to the spot, and that’s when the dream ends.

I’ve other dreams with reference to my grandparent’s place. Dreams that I could fly down the stairs from the upper floor of the flat to the lower. Typical flying dreams that I think people often have. And much of it was related I think to the fact that I felt very secure at my grandparent’s.

We moved away from there after about 18 months when the war ended in Europe. Nevertheless the theme of redbrick Victorian houses, which have always been attractive to me, for some reason or another, later persisted in my dreams which I had continuously throughout my life. Although it is not always the same house, it is often a different redbrick house or a large flat in a very old redbrick house, but it’s always Victorian. In some of the dreams I have bought the house at a cheap price because its dilapidated and I have to do it up, but I never quite get round to doing it up. And I live in only a small part of it, and then every now and then I go out into a larger part of the house and realise that Its still dilapidated and I hadn’t done it up as I had intended. At other times I find that I am trying to explore it and I get to the other side of the house and can’t get back. Sometimes I’m trying to explore it and the entrances to other rooms become impossibly difficult to get through. Like having to climb up a sheer wall and then squeezing through a tiny gap at the top, or squeezing through a door that is far too small. Once I went outside the house and walked round the outside of it and noticed that it had life-size niches in the walls all the way round, and in each niche was a classical statue in pale stone. The theme is always the same – I have this wonderful large old house, but I am only inhabiting a small part of it.

The redbrick dreams usually occur about every two or three months, as I’ve got older less often. They were always accompanied by a feeling of frustration that I had occupied only a small part, or that I hadn’t refurbished the buildings, which were beautiful. It refers to my creativity and that I never made the most of what I’ve got.