If only I had a recording of those sounds!
The old garden gate always made a very special sound when it closed, a soft clicking sound. No other thing made this sound. Like a human, the house had a unique face and a unique voice and when the house was sold, the gate, an old rusty garden door maybe a hundred years old, was replaced by a nice shiny new one. The house was rebuilt, its innards removed and replaced and its typical spectrum of sounds must have been replaced by a new one. When I was living there, I never noticed these noises, only after they where gone.
The sounds of the back door of the house, the sound of opening and of closing it, even the clicking of that lock when I turned the key, were unique. On stormy days, the wind howled around it in a particular way and the branches of the old spruce tree where scratching and hitting on its walls. The doors had their unmistakable banging and, in some cases, squeaking voices. The windows rattled and I remember the window handles, the locks and door knobs, the clacking steps on the staircases, draining bathtubs, showers and flushing toilets, the swooshing and hissing whistling of water taps, the shushing noise of curtains being opened and the clunking and thudding of windows being closed, and the echoes in the stairway. There where the voices of cupboards, sofas, arm chairs and beds, the dishwasher, the humming and whispering icebox, the sloshing noise of the washing machine, the spin dryer. All of these noises and sounds hardwired themselves into my brain and there must be thousands of neurons devoted to recognizing each of these sounds, but I will never hear any of them again and these neurons are waiting in vain.
(The old back door key (see comments below). Thanks Christine)