Deborah Levy reflects on her childhood home in Johannesburg, South Africa, describing it as a lasting internal sanctuary despite the inevitable changes to the physical space. The modest bungalow at 11 Iris Road in the suburb of Norwood, where she lived in 1966, remains vivid in her memory as a place of refuge and calm.

Levy recounts her sensory impressions of the house: the cool, shaded interior contrasting with the harsh African sun outside, the scent of floor polish, and the presence of everyday objects like a large sack of oranges in the pantry. She recalls moments from her childhood, such as enjoying fresh orange juice while seated on the porch steps, or the small dramas involving her toys and friends within the home’s walls.

The lounge housed her mother’s record player, a wooden-encased system that would later accompany the family to the United Kingdom when Levy was nine. The device became a personal treasure in her youth, particularly for playing David Bowie records. Her mother, a secretary whose style Levy likens to characters from the television series "Mad Men," offered stories from her workday, while Levy herself preferred to keep quiet about school, finding relief in the unspoken boundaries of their conversations.

Levy describes her bedroom at the back of the house as a sanctuary where she could experience solitude without loneliness—a space that nurtured imagination, daydreaming, and a sense of safety. She distinguishes between solitude as a creative refuge and loneliness as an anxious isolation.

Her childhood home remains a complex symbol in Levy’s life—both as a source of comfort and connection to her South African roots and as a somewhat distant, almost ghostly presence in her adult self’s narrative. She notes that the house still stands, visible on Google Earth, but its interior has been redesigned, and new barriers obscure the garden from the street, diminishing her urge to revisit it physically.

Despite the changes, Levy’s memories preserve the house as a vital part of her personal history, capturing both the innocence and the mysteries of childhood. Among these is a small family secret: a stash of sweets hidden by her mother inside a yellow enamel cup behind a bag of flour in the pantry, a detail that underscores the intimate rhythms of family life within the home.

Levy’s reflections offer insight into how childhood homes serve as repositories of identity and memory, shaping creative expression even as the physical structures evolve.