Bespoke House History Research

A Lifelong Obsession with the Past

My fascination with history has never really been about facts or dates. For as long as I can remember, I’ve been obsessed with the past — but it’s always been about the people. Their choices, their routines, their everyday moments, and the evidence they left behind.

Like many, my obsession began with the Tudors — all drama and darkness. I went through the obligatory Anne Boleyn phase (didn’t we all?), which gave way to a long Regency chapter. I dove deep into the histories of fashion, scandal, strict social expectations, and rigid class structures.

Next came the Victorians — a particularly fascinating era because so much of that history still exists in everyday life today, when you look for it. The houses, the street layouts, the remnants of societal structure. Even the school system, working hours, and certain social attitudes and traditions have roots in this period. There’s something surreal about realising how much of modern life is still shaped by a time that feels so far away.

Of course, there was the medieval history phase too, among others. But throughout these various phases of obsession, I found myself always coming back to the architecture. Hunting down old buildings, finding out who lived there, and imagining what might have taken place behind their doors started as a curiosity — but gradually became a habit.

Tracing My Own Family’s Past

It wasn’t long before I turned that same curiosity onto my own history. What started as a side interest quickly became an all-consuming one: I spent years tracing my family back by centuries, learning how to navigate old records, decipher inconsistent spellings, and follow the faintest of clues across the globe, through census returns, parish records, and military archives. I also helped others to answer genealogy-related questions too.

That process taught me a lot. Not just how to build family trees, but how to question what was missing. Why house numbers changed. Why someone’s age jumped ten years in a decade. Why a woman vanished from the records after marriage. I learned to expect gaps, and to recognise when they were meaningful.

This phase also sparked a deep interest in military history, as I uncovered relatives who served in the First and Second World Wars. Suddenly, I wasn’t just learning about who they were — I was trying to understand what they lived through. That need for context has stuck with me ever since, because that’s what really brings the people in the history to life.

When the Past Gets Complicated

The more I learned, the clearer it became: tracing real people through history is never straightforward. Records weren’t created to preserve stories — they were created for admin, for tax, for the needs of the moment. That means they’re full of contradictions, blind spots, and bias. Entire households might be listed under a single surname. Women often went unrecorded. Addresses shifted or disappeared altogether. And sometimes, the thing you’re trying to find simply isn’t there.

This didn’t put me off — it drew me in. I became obsessed with solving these puzzles. With looking beyond surface-level search results to the wider context. It takes time, lateral thinking, and a willingness to chase tiny fragments until something clicks. It’s not about ticking boxes — it’s about understanding the life behind the record.

That mindset was something I brought with me from my professional career, too. I have worked in research in a different context — focused, analytical roles where researching people, assessing data, and solving problems was part of the day to day. It’s given me the discipline and process that I rely on today.

A Passion Grounded in Place

When I moved to West Sussex over a decade ago, everything shifted again. Suddenly, I wasn’t just interested in people — I was captivated by the places they lived. You can’t walk far here without stumbling into the past: Saxon villages, Norman churches, centuries-old cottages still occupied today. I found myself falling down rabbit holes with every new street I explored.

One night, I discovered that the building I lived in had once been a Quaker meeting house, and the garden downstairs was a burial ground. One of the last headstones was preserved in the local museum. Another time, I realised the prime suspect in a 1950s unsolved murder had grown up in a cottage I passed daily. Further research into that story also led me to find his unmarked grave in a local cemetery.

I even remember once organising a historical walking tour of my local town for a group of friends — complete with a planned route and a running commentary as we passed each site of interest.

At this point, I was always looking out for clues. Mismatched rooflines, bricked-up windows, outbuildings that didn’t quite match. I taught myself how to read these details. I gathered census records, old directories, newspaper clippings, and pieced together the histories of properties I’d never even stepped inside. It became second nature.

Uncovering the Story of My Own Home

Then I bought my own house — an Edwardian cottage — and something changed. I’d researched hundreds of properties before, but this was the first time the story belonged to me. I wasn’t just an observer anymore. I was living in the middle of a mystery I had to solve.

From the moment I viewed the house – before I even officially owned it, I started tracing its past. I wanted to know who lived here, how the rooms were used, what it felt like before electricity, plumbing and heating. I discovered most of the former occupants and began piecing together the wider community they formed with neighbouring cottages.

Some stories were light-hearted — like the original owner being fined for not displaying his name on his cart back in the early 1900s. Others were more sobering — like the tenant who died after falling down the steep staircase I still climb every day. The more I uncovered, the more connected I felt. I realised that you never really own an old house. You are borrowing it from the past — and preserving it for the future. Ultimately, there will be many owners, but only one story — and you’re just a small chapter.

Why House History Isn’t Always Simple

By this point, I’d developed a way of working: one that combined rigorous research with a love of storytelling. Because here’s the truth — a list of names and dates won’t bring a house to life. Knowing that “Mrs. Smith lived here in the 1880s” doesn’t mean much on its own. But discovering that Mrs. Smith was a young widow, raising children alone while running a small laundry business from the scullery… That’s when the history really becomes human.

Good house history takes time. It takes effort. It takes the ability to look beyond the data and ask the right questions — and the patience to accept that not every thread ties up neatly. But when it works, it’s special. You suddenly see your home in a whole new light.

From Passion to Profession

That’s how Oak & Willow Cottages was born. I realised I didn’t just want to uncover these stories for myself — I wanted to help others do the same. Whether it’s a 150-year-old rectory or a Victorian terrace, every house holds a story. You just have to know how to find it — and how to tell it in a way that means something.

Today, I create bespoke house histories for homeowners, renovators, and anyone curious about the lives that came before. Each one is deeply researched, thoughtfully written, totally bespoke, and designed to be shared — a tangible connection to the past, framed and ready to display.

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Curious About Your Own Home’s Past?

I’d love to help you uncover the history behind your property — whether you’re looking for a unique gift, a lasting keepsake, or are simply just curious (I get it).

Learn more about my house history packages here, or get in touch to chat about your home’s story.