There are times in our lives when no matter where we happen to be in the world, a reckoning from childhood is stirred deep within our memories and lovely child-like images rush to our consciousness, summoning up feelings we thought had been left behind with the passing of time. I was lucky enough to experience such sentiments a few years ago while my husband and I were touring his native England.
Here I was some four thousand miles from the place of my birth, enroute from London to Henley-On-Thames when suddenly a road sign sprang up from the English countryside, grabbing my attention. The sign, which identified an upcoming town read HURLEY (Properly named Hurley-On-Thames, Royal Burrough of Windsor and Macenhead). Since I was born in HURLEY, MISSOURI, U.S.A., my curiosity regarding this little town on the banks of the River Thames was overwhelming. We altered our route and spent the next hour comparing the two towns with the same name but separated by the Atlantic Ocean.
Those early remembrances, buried in my mind for several decades came flooding through. I was born in 1949, the youngest daughter of Helen and Fred (Wildcat) Johnson in a small house situated on land which is now occupied by the Hurley City Park. The Veterans Memorial stands at the corner of what was once our "front room". My mother tells me that the huge tree which provided shade for our house and entertainment for my siblings is now gone, a victim of the ravages of time I suppose. Although the house burned many years ago, and my family moved to Clever, Missouri, I can still recall many visits to Hurley and surrounding courntryside to visit relatives.
As I stood looking at the famous River Thames which flows beside Hurley, England, I thought of Spring Creek which flows through Hurley, Missouri. I could almost feel the chilly, rippling water as I recalled bygone childhood days when we would dangle our feet in the water to cool off on a hot summer day. It could have been ninety degrees, but I remember how my feet would ache after just a few minutes in the icy spring-fed creek.
Of course the architectural differences in the two towns were obvious, but there were other similarities. Both towns are small, both are situated near lovely rivers and foremost, both little villages I am sure provide a wealth of warm memories for those fortunate enough to pass through. My husband, Peter, provided some history of the English Hurley by telling me that it is the home of the Badminton Horse Trials which take place annually with horses and riders competing over a long course which includes jumping and steep inclines. There is also a regatta held there each year.
I do not know how Hurley, Missouri came to be called Hurley, however as we left the village with the same name as my birthplace, I looked back at the picturesque thatched roof houses next to the river and wondered if perhaps my Hurley, Missouri had been named hundreds of years ago by some English settlers from across the sea. I could almost picture a group of Pilgrims standing on the banks of Spring Creek, remembering their River Thames.
Our extensive tour of England brought me to the realization that it is indeed a small world filled with delightful coincidences. Upon our return to our home in Texas I also came to understand that home is not just one house or an address. It is many places built by memories, and the true location of home is in one's heart.
© 1996, 1997 Jo Dunne