That's Life ( Pt 10 )
By skinner_jennifer
- 5592 reads
It was three weeks into living at the house, that I found a good doctor's surgery, which just happened to be down the road from where I was living. The staff and doctors were always friendly and my son was putting on just the right amount of weight and doing well considering our situation. They were also in contact with the hospital which I was glad about.
I now had my own single bed from home and extra quilt covers and pillows, some extra much needed towels, also a fold up table and chairs and a spare electric fire. My luxury was my cassette machine with my much needed tapes, also a little black and white television from home. I got myself a kettle too so I wouldn't need to keep going down to the kitchen to make a hot drink, and of course a tin for my favorite biscuits which were digestive back then.
My son had his much needed baby bath and some of his cuddly toys, he loved my old teddy that I had when I was a baby, it used to have a squeak when you pressed its belly, but sadly the squeak had gone over time.
My son's lobster pot play pen which a friend had given me, came in very handy for when I had to go up and downstairs to get something from the kitchen. The stairs were certainly keeping me fit as time went by.
I have to say that for all the faults I found, I did enjoy the evening meals the landlady prepared, one of my favorites being a huge turkey drumstick with corn and cheesy mashed potato, she always gave it that crispy outside skin, with a juicy inside. My impression was that she enjoyed cooking, but not the housework, which I can understand, but think is a necessity.
It was all such a shame for them to be living like this, because I discovered there was most definitely a lack of warmth and understanding in this home, not just because the state the house was in, but also an absence to the needs of the family.
I know I keep going on about the landlady's husband, but as I've already mentioned, I thought he was lazy, didn't seem to have any enthusiasm for anything but his secrets, which I'll get to later. As his son lay in bed missing yet another school day, his two daughters who had left home and had children of their own, came and went as they pleased, leaving their young ones with their mum and wandering off into the city whenever they felt like it, come day or night. I felt like just another of their waifs and strays wading through the turmoil of their existence.
I discovered that the landlady's husband was a rag-and-bone man and also collected scrap metal and bits of car, taking them apart, which accounted for why he was always grubby and covered in oil. I hated it when he was around, he would huff and puff a lot, sitting either around the house, or on the wall outside drinking cans of beer with his son and other men...up to no good I'm sure.
I'm surprised his heart didn't give out with the amount of fatty food he'd put away. One day I was in the kitchen making up some bottles for my son, I watched as he literally threw half a pound of lard into a pan and began frying up slices of bacon and eggs, you might think! What's wrong with that? But then he cut doorsteps of bread and tipped the meat and eggs on, then continued to douse it all in the thick, runny lard, it made me feel physically sick, I just had to get out of that kitchen quick.
I had many restless nights, tossing and turning, the walls seemed thin, as yet another Friday and Saturday nights reggae music blared out...don't get me wrong, I love reggae, but the son next door would ramp up the volume to full, I think he was a DJ and would practice in his bedroom, it would go on till the early hours of the morning without a break, the room would vibrate to the sounds. I never complained though, it was more than my life's worth to say anything, the rest of the houshold didn't protest either, of course my son would sleep through the whole night...thank goodness, I think he could have slept through an atomic bomb going off.
These were also the hours I would keep my ears and eyes open for when the landlady's husband would return from a night's binge on the beer. I was so glad my son was still only a baby and a heavy sleeper, so he didn't have to hear the heavy breathing, with irritable groans and swearing at having to climb the stairs.
There were moments I would lay there, imagining the smell of his foul breath as he paused on the landing below, my stomach would churn at the thought of him climbing up my stairs and entering my room, his large, fleshy body standing over me, then falling on top and suffocating me, but of course this was all only made up in my head...thank goodness! He would never in fact have made it up another flight of stairs the state he was in. It was at times like these, that I wished my imagination hadn't worked overtime. It also left me feeling awkward if I had to face him the next day, I felt crippled to say or do anything that would offend him or the rest of the family, knowing I could be out on the streets if I did.
Another situation I found myself in, was when one day I was hanging out some washing in the garden, there was only a small path leading from the kitchen door, with a patch of grass on one side. Next door, there were an Indian family, they were very friendly and had young children running in and out of the kitchen a lot...as I remember. There was always nice aromas of curry wafting out of their door.
On one occasion they had a goat in the garden, which I enjoyed petting and thought very friendly. I considered that as they had young children, they'd got it as a pet for them. How wrong was I, because that weekend when I was out there once again, the goat was suddenly no longer there. “Where's your pet goat?” I asked innocently.
“Oh! That wasn't a pet...it was for our goat curry.” The wife announced, completely oblivious to my shock, horror and complete naivety. Coming from a small village and not ever having been in this situation before, I didn't have a clue that apparently it was a sacrifice to be eaten at their celebration on the Saturday night, in honor of something or other. Now, I have to say firstly, that I respect others religions, but to be honest I didn't want to know anymore. I felt I must have lived a very sheltered life up until now.
Not wanting to hang around the house, most of the time I went out, either visiting friends, or going to a Mothers and toddlers group where I made some new friends. I also went back to the refuge on a number of occasions, but by now most of the women I hung out with had been rehoused, so I'd only gone back a couple of times, but kept in touch with my two best friends, though one lived a train ride away, so it was pretty difficult to keep the friendship going.
One particular day, I was on my way out, when the landlady called me into the back room. As I opened the door I was met by piles and piles of clothes.
“Can you help me bag this lot up?” She uttered. “You can take whatever you want,” she declared, folding items and placing them in black bin liners.
I couldn't believe my luck, it was like walking into a jumble sale before anyone else arrived and having the first pickings. I loved jumble sales, for me it was an Aladdin's cave of goodies, I would go to them at least once a week back in the late 1970s. But here I was sorting through mounds of clothing without having to push or shove. “Where did it all come from?” I asked, knowing as soon as I'd opened my mouth, it was a stupid question with her husband in the rag-and-bone business.
“It doesn't matter where this lot came from...the little you know the better,” she said, putting her finger to her nose.
I decided not to ask anymore questions, but tried on as many items as I could. In the end I picked out a long, black coat that fitted me perfectly, a couple of corduroy trousers, some tops and jeans. The rest we bagged up. I then helped her carry the lot down to the local community centre which was just down the road, making several journeys as there was so much, but I was mega pleased with my bounty, the rest the landlady would make money on at the next jumble sale.
I got quite used to things suddenly appearing at the house after that, but then I was to suffer at the hands of this family, who would put me in a very difficult situation, of which I feared for my safety.
To be continued...
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Comments
doctor['] surgery
doctor['] surgery
but then my conscious [I know what you mean, but rewrite this bit so it is clearer] was to suffer at the hands of this family, who would put me in a very difficult situation, of which I feared for my safety.
fascinating, I'm with you on this one jenny and looking forward to another plateful. That picture of grub makes even me groan.
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Hoorah, I'm up to date. I've
Hoorah, I'm up to date. I've really enjoyed these Jenny. Life is hard and cruel sometimes and it's amazing how we get throught it. But we do. Now I'm looking forward to the next installment...
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... Jenny, I hope you don''t
... Jenny, I hope you don''t mind me asking.. but i would have thought then that you might have been given a council flat/house under the circumstances, and a bit more support generally. How come that didn't happen?
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Hi Jenny
Hi Jenny
You are doing such a good job of writing this story - keeping our interest going - giving little hints at the end of each section for what is to come.
I can share your excitement at having the chance to go through all those black bags of stuff. Even though the landlady hinted that they hadn't been come by all that honestly - somehow old clothes don't seem the sort of thing anyone would steal. I can remember sneaking out at night to go through a neighbour's rubbish (they had moved house) to see if there was anything I could take before the stuff went to the tip. I was alone that night - my husband certainly wouldn't have allowed me to do that. And in the end, even though I took out a few things - I ended up putting them back the next day.
Jean
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Hi Jenny...I am thrilled that
Hi Jenny...I am thrilled that you continue to get more than deserved accolades for this story, Jenny. So very well told, as ever, and like all the rest, can't wait for the rest of it.
Hope you have a sunny day, Jenny. You have many of those due to you. It is very grey here, and even the pesky pheasants look a touch 'down in the beak' today
Tina
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Hi Jenny.
Hi Jenny.
Did you ever think of looking for a nicer place to rent a room in?
I loved the bit where you got to go through the clothes, and how happy you were to find something good. That man sure did creep you out, didn't he? But it sounds like you made your room into a nice home for you and your boy,
Looking forward to the next...
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This not only tells of your
This not only tells of your so difficult time, it also brings back the 70s and what problems were like, what homes were like, what expectations were like, what 'things' people valued or didn't have … My first child was born in 72, the next in 75, and the other 2 in late 80s. so there is much familiar in your landscape! For instance, jumble sales were so valued as there' weren't charity shops yet were there. My mother live in an affluent village and got some lovely things for the children from the jumble sales there. Rhiannon
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This is an adventure in many
This is an adventure in many ways, albeit an unpleasant one but you seemed to make the best of it, some people would have found themselves dragged further into a spiral of depression in that situation. You were lucky your son was so placid but perhaps something inside him knew that he just had to be (and you were a good parent). I can just imagine that big house and the sound of The Groke panting up the stairs. I bet you got to know yourself really well during that period, more than most people do in their whole lifetime.
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Hi, Jenny
Hi, Jenny
The story continues apace! All these character descriptions are fascinating. The old man was certainly heading for a heart attack with all that lard. You keep our interest going by clever little devices too!
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Jenny,
Jenny,
Another great read. Jumble sales. Loved 'em both buying from them and organizing them for the village hall funds. The ploys some people would use to try to get in before the start time. Once the doors opened there was a mad rush. Great story...great writing.
Moya
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