After having dispatched a meal, I went ashore, and found no habitation save a single house, and that without an occupant; we had no doubt that the people had fled in terror at our approach, as the house was completely furnished.
Sentiment: NEGATIVE
I was determined to have a spotless house when I grew up.
I was never really a big presence in the home.
Let's say, 100 years ago, I'm not sure how many people had to empty out their relatives' homes; they just stayed in the same house, because they lived there. Nowadays, almost everyone, at least once in their life, somehow, has to deal with this experience.
I left home because I was hungry.
Our house was destroyed in 1943, and I moved the family to a cottage I owned before the war in the Bavarian Alps. This cottage was meant for a very few people, and at the end of the war, there were about 13 people in this very small house.
The Roundhouse was a complete shell. It was absolutely empty, lying derelict for years.
As early as December 1945, I accompanied my wife and a few relatives in their return from evacuation in the countryside to Cologne, where over the years we settled down in a destroyed house.
I couldn't imagine a home without animals.
The house seemed so empty without him. And I thought about the life we'd been building together for all that time. I realized I was on the brink of losing it all. It just scared me into reality.
I've never had an empty house. Ever.