Every day, WordPress emails me one writing prompt. Today’s writing prompt is…

Home

For most of my life, Herefordshire was my home. I was born and raised there, amongst the bustling streets of high-town and the quiet, overgrown country paths.

My mother comes from a long line of farmers who cultivated hops there. In fact, Herefordshire is one of the cheapest counties to buy a pint (sometimes the cheapest), and we export a lot of cider too. We’re also famous for the Herefordshire bull and its wonderfully tasty steaks. It truly is a farmer’s county that knows how to have a good time.

My world was small. I grew up five minutes from the city centre and my school; my grandparents lived closer still. Eventually, we moved into the surrounding countryside, where I built forest forts and traversed grassy hills with mates.

So, as you may imagine, the move to The University of Manchester was a big change. In truth, I was excited to go. My confidence was at an all-time low after a disappointing AS year and numerous family health troubles. Many friends had already left their nests and had completed their first years of university.

I had only been to Manchester once, which was when I had my interview. On my second visit, I was there to stay. I remember scanning the welcome paperwork thoroughly, cutting out important university phone numbers that I ultimately never used again.

Before heading to the halls’ bar, my flatmate, Tom, told me he’d join me in half-an-hour. That half-an-hour was probably the most stressful time I had at university. I didn’t know anyone, hadn’t the guts to strike up a conversation, and was way out of my depth. Again, the previous year had really knocked my confidence. I was a fish out of water.

But my saviour “Tom from Bolton” (thanks Tom), came down and met a group of equally-nervous freshers. Those people became my life-long friends. Seriously, I video-called them yesterday; we’re all surviving.

Originally, Warwick was my main university choice. Now, I believe I dodged a bullet. Manchester was the perfect city. It wasn’t a massive metropolitan like Birmingham and London. I liked its alternative style and warm, welcoming aura. I adored the red-brick buildings, my course, and all the wonderful people from all walks of life.

I suddenly had two homes. One where I could enjoy the hustle and bustle of the city where I could try new things, foods, and entertainments. The other was an ancient place sowed into my very soul. The trees, fields, and hunch-backed pubs of Hereford were like a warm invitation from an old friend.

I spent four years in Manchester before returning home. Now, with the pandemic slowly releasing its tendrils across the land and people and businesses, I’m ready to bid Hereford another goodbye. Many friends from home and university have gone further afield. If I were lucky enough to live by any of them, I know I could make that my home. After all, home is where the heart is.

[18 minutes]