I started to get itchy feet again. I was intending to head to South America. I have always fancied Peru and Chile. But it was a year that Australia had some devastating bush fires and it was all over the news. I had fallen in love with Australia last time and was drawn to go back. I convinced work to let me take two weeks paid holiday and two weeks unpaid. None of my friends could afford to go so in the end I convinced my father to come. He had always wanted to go to Australia and was coming up 63 so it was now or never. He had never flown before and had only been as far as Germany.
So in December '94 I said goodbye to my long haired bassist at the coach station and off we went. Many people asked if my mother minded us going away at Christmas but as far as she was concerned it was two less people to worry about! We flew via American airlines to Boston. It was cheaper to fly that way round even though it took longer. I was just a two days away from my 21st birthday and because it was an American airline they wouldn't allow me to drink on the plane. We stayed the night in Boston and had a bit of a look round. It was very cold but also beautiful with all the Christmas lights.
We had to make two connecting flights the next day and finally the night before my 21st birthday we set out for Oz from LA. My father had a quiet word with one of the airhostesses and as we passed midnight she brought out two glasses of champagne and an unopened bottle. The flight across the ocean from America to Australia is aparantly renowned for it's turbulence. Indeed, I have never experienced anything like it since. My father and I were sat strapped in, exchanging looks as we grabbed at our glasses of champagne as they flew passed our face! Several times the plane seemed to drop huge distances and I just told myself that if the air hostesses weren't screaning yet then neither should I. Unfortunately just a few short hours after we rolled into the 10th of December we crossed the international date line and it was suddenly the 11th! It was my birthday no more. So I had a very short 21st but at least I remember it!
We finally made it to Sydney and set about finding somewhere to stay. We were totally winging it and had decided on Youth Hostels for at least some of our stay. We booked into a YH in a suburb of Sydney called Glebe. We spent a few days there while we got over our jet lag. I hooked up with one of the guys that worked there, so when my poor old father went to bed early I went out to play! I actually bumped into someone I knew in a bar in Glebe. I knew he was in Australia at the time but I had no idea where, and it really is a big place isn't it.
When we had recovered from our flights and had a look round Sydney we hired a camper van. Well my father did, I couldn't afford it!! And we set off on our 'wherever the road leads us' adventure.
Tuesday 16 September 2008
1994 Comings and Goings
A while after that all happened, I started seeing another guy that I met at the pub and he ended up moving into my bedsit. One night I went out with some friends from work and because it was in another town stayed the night at one of my colleagues houses. When I returned the next day I was met with a note on my door telling me to contact the landlord a.s.a.p. Still hungover I went downstairs where the landlord lived to be told that my boyfriend had been rushed to hospital early that morning with severe stomach pains. I promptly jumped back into the car and drove all the way back to the town I had just left because that is where the hospital was. (What a difference a mobile phone would have made!)
My boyfriend was seriously ill. Somehow he had developed a blockage in his intestines he was in severe pain and was starting to bring back some of the stuff that couldn't get through the blockage. He had been heavily sedated while they were carrying out tests to try and ascertain the cause of the blockage. It had to be unblocked soon or his intestines were likely to rupture. I then drove all the way to his parents house, which was miles away, but I didn't want them to hear about it on the phone. When they had been informed I rushed back to the hospital. He underwent sugery to remove a ring of muscle that had grown across a part of his intestine and after a few days was allowed to return home.
My boyfriend was a stone mason and obviously couldn't work for a while after his operation, but as time went on and he returned to health he showed no sign of getting back to work. I was running out of money fast. The rent had gone up since he had moved in and I was paying for all the food and bills. I pushed and pushed him to go back to work but he didn't seem interested. The relationship suffered and eventually I told him it was over. I gave him two weeks to sort himself out. It was awful, we were still sharing the same bed and there was no where to go. Eventually he did leave and left me completely skint.
After that I started seeing more of my ex boss' daughter again. We would go out in town together and then crawl back to the Esso garage for Lilt and Pickled Onion Monster Munch. My friend was younger than me and had fake I.D. to get her into the clubs, sometimes she would get in and I would be refused because I didn't have I.D.! There were two places to go at the time. Thursdays and Fridays we went to this awful place where you could get in with jeans on. It was so rough, not one night went passed without at least ten fights. It was a time when our town was particularly rough anyway and there were often stabbings at the weekend. The other place you couldn't get in with jeans on, so that was Saturday night dress up. There were the same idiots and usually fights but it was just a little bit classier.
We met a group of guys who regularly had parties at one of their houses and we would go back there after town. Some were in a band and we used to go back, drink some more and have a smoke while they strummed guitars. I met one in particular who was a bassist. He came back to our friend's house one night and tied a banjo with a broken string to my leg. Funny the things we remember. I have always loved bass guitar, it travels through your body from the floor. He had long blonde hair and probably fancied himself more than me but we got together. He was a greengrocer during the day and used to bring me fresh fruit and veg (how romantic) and then I would cook him tea!
My boyfriend was seriously ill. Somehow he had developed a blockage in his intestines he was in severe pain and was starting to bring back some of the stuff that couldn't get through the blockage. He had been heavily sedated while they were carrying out tests to try and ascertain the cause of the blockage. It had to be unblocked soon or his intestines were likely to rupture. I then drove all the way to his parents house, which was miles away, but I didn't want them to hear about it on the phone. When they had been informed I rushed back to the hospital. He underwent sugery to remove a ring of muscle that had grown across a part of his intestine and after a few days was allowed to return home.
My boyfriend was a stone mason and obviously couldn't work for a while after his operation, but as time went on and he returned to health he showed no sign of getting back to work. I was running out of money fast. The rent had gone up since he had moved in and I was paying for all the food and bills. I pushed and pushed him to go back to work but he didn't seem interested. The relationship suffered and eventually I told him it was over. I gave him two weeks to sort himself out. It was awful, we were still sharing the same bed and there was no where to go. Eventually he did leave and left me completely skint.
After that I started seeing more of my ex boss' daughter again. We would go out in town together and then crawl back to the Esso garage for Lilt and Pickled Onion Monster Munch. My friend was younger than me and had fake I.D. to get her into the clubs, sometimes she would get in and I would be refused because I didn't have I.D.! There were two places to go at the time. Thursdays and Fridays we went to this awful place where you could get in with jeans on. It was so rough, not one night went passed without at least ten fights. It was a time when our town was particularly rough anyway and there were often stabbings at the weekend. The other place you couldn't get in with jeans on, so that was Saturday night dress up. There were the same idiots and usually fights but it was just a little bit classier.
We met a group of guys who regularly had parties at one of their houses and we would go back there after town. Some were in a band and we used to go back, drink some more and have a smoke while they strummed guitars. I met one in particular who was a bassist. He came back to our friend's house one night and tied a banjo with a broken string to my leg. Funny the things we remember. I have always loved bass guitar, it travels through your body from the floor. He had long blonde hair and probably fancied himself more than me but we got together. He was a greengrocer during the day and used to bring me fresh fruit and veg (how romantic) and then I would cook him tea!
1993 - 1994 A second Chance
I was lucky. He missed my nose. I had a split lip though, that swelled and bruised a treat. I was also covered in massive bruises on my arms and legs. My father apologised! He didn't like him all along, but as I have said before he didn't want to interfere and wanted me to learn for myself. He didn't know this was going to happen though of course, or he would have said something. My father didn't need to apologise for anything, he was there to pick me up and that is what mattered.
I went to see my boyfriend the next day. I was afraid of how he would react but I wanted him to see what he had done to me. He could obviously see my face and I stripped off to show him the extent of the bruising. He was horrified. He was hugely remorseful and even cried. He promised that he would stop drinking so much and maybe get help with his jealousy and anger. I have to admit that he was very sorry and a complete state, but not nearly as much as me. We split up, but I continued to see him and his friends. We managed to maintain a reasonable friendship and enjoyed eachother's company without the complications of a relationship.
One Wednesday, in December , I had a huge row with my mother. I don't remember what it was about, but we clashed a lot. By the Saturday I had moved out. My first home was a bedsit in the town. It was a fair size room with a double bed, wardrobe, chest of drawers, a table and chairs, a little sofa, and a sink and mini oven thing. The shared shower room and toilet was just outside my room. It wasn't much but it was mine. I could smoke in it, drink in it and come in whenever I wanted. It was a five minute walk from work and the same into town. It was also right next to a 24hr Esso garage, so there were always fags, day or night.
I also started to help out in the pub that my exboyfriend and I drank in, a couple nights a week. Our relationship strengthened and I decided to give it another go. Then one night he came back to the pub pissed, after having been to a cider farm with a friend. Cider was one of things he just shouldn't have drunk. I could see something in his eyes that scared me. I know should have waited until he was sober, but I suddenly had this need to get away. At the end of my shift I told him it was over, I couldn't carry on with the fear of something kicking off every time he had a drink. He followed me out to the car park, grabbed me by the throat and pushed me backwards over the roof of my car. I was begging him not to hurt me as he raised his fist. Then something seemed to click in his head and he let me go. He turned his attentions on my car instead and gave it a good kicking as I got in it and tried to drive away. He was trying to smash the windows with his fists.
I went to see my boyfriend the next day. I was afraid of how he would react but I wanted him to see what he had done to me. He could obviously see my face and I stripped off to show him the extent of the bruising. He was horrified. He was hugely remorseful and even cried. He promised that he would stop drinking so much and maybe get help with his jealousy and anger. I have to admit that he was very sorry and a complete state, but not nearly as much as me. We split up, but I continued to see him and his friends. We managed to maintain a reasonable friendship and enjoyed eachother's company without the complications of a relationship.
One Wednesday, in December , I had a huge row with my mother. I don't remember what it was about, but we clashed a lot. By the Saturday I had moved out. My first home was a bedsit in the town. It was a fair size room with a double bed, wardrobe, chest of drawers, a table and chairs, a little sofa, and a sink and mini oven thing. The shared shower room and toilet was just outside my room. It wasn't much but it was mine. I could smoke in it, drink in it and come in whenever I wanted. It was a five minute walk from work and the same into town. It was also right next to a 24hr Esso garage, so there were always fags, day or night.
I also started to help out in the pub that my exboyfriend and I drank in, a couple nights a week. Our relationship strengthened and I decided to give it another go. Then one night he came back to the pub pissed, after having been to a cider farm with a friend. Cider was one of things he just shouldn't have drunk. I could see something in his eyes that scared me. I know should have waited until he was sober, but I suddenly had this need to get away. At the end of my shift I told him it was over, I couldn't carry on with the fear of something kicking off every time he had a drink. He followed me out to the car park, grabbed me by the throat and pushed me backwards over the roof of my car. I was begging him not to hurt me as he raised his fist. Then something seemed to click in his head and he let me go. He turned his attentions on my car instead and gave it a good kicking as I got in it and tried to drive away. He was trying to smash the windows with his fists.
A couple of days later I went to see him to see if he would pay for the damage to my car. The reaction I got this time was completely different. I'm guessing he now knew that he wouldn't get me back again. He ran out of the house threatening me and I had to jump in my car and drive away. I broke off all contact after that and haven't seen him since. I continued to work at the pub but he started drinking elsewhere.
1992 - 1993 A lesson in Trust
When I returned from Australia I went back to temping. I enjoyed the work as I got to go to lots of different places and meet lots of people. I worked on receptions and in offices. I once also worked in an Aerosol factory. It was close to Christmas and things were quiet so I needed the money. I hated that job, the fumes were terrible and I alway felt high when I left. I lasted 3 weeks. In February '93 I was taken on by one of the companies as an accounts assistant.
On my brother's birthday in March 1993 I finally passed my driving test on the fourth attempt. I had been driving since my father taught me to drive a tractor when I was twelve, but I guess those bad habits didn't help me on the road. I had learnt to play trumpet at school and in return for using my father's car he wanted me to join a silver band that his friend conducted. I agreed because I couldn't afford a car and wanted some freedom.
The silver band was an interesting time, there I met a huge mix of people. It wasn't just 'old fogies' as I had imagined. We played the summer fetes and we played carol's in old folks homes at Christmas, but we also played seaside towns. Lyme Regis and Teinmouth were amongst the ones I remember. I used to love these. For the younger members these days out were more of a piss up. We would play a set in the morning on the promenade then have lunch and several beers in the pub. When we returned for the second half I don't think the playing was quite so accurate from certain parts of the band! We would then drink a bit more on the way home, singing awful songs that a certain, not so young rugby playing tuba player taught us. We were eventually banned from drinking on the coach because the oldies complained too much and our playing must have been awful!
I had a bit of a fling with that rugby player. He was a lot older than me and married. I knew his wife and liked her. But I believed his stories that they no longer had a love life, whether it was true or not I don't know. It didn't happen very often and it was never very serious. I watched him play rugby a few times and we spent the night together once. That is one of those things I'm not particularly proud of. But it was me that finished it in the end. I began to like him too much and wasn't about to sit around waiting for him to leave his wife.
I also went back to the guy I had been seeing before I went to Australia. We spent a lot of time in his local pub and I became quite a pool shark. The relationship developed and we became quite serious. My father had taught this guy at school and wasn't particularly keen on him, but never said anything. I began to notice that although when he was sober he was great, when he was drinking he would get quite jealous. He didn't like me talking to other men. It all came to a head one night in the summer of '93. He had a birthday party and we were all drinking for most of the day.
One of the young lads that he worked with was there. I was chatting to him quite a lot that night and commented on the fact that his aftershave smelt nice. I ended up getting very drunk and had to go to the bathroom to be sick. While I was in there, this young lad popped his head round the door and asked if I was ok. He came into the huge bathroom and sat on the bath the other side of the room from me. My boyfriend came in and found the guy there and hit the roof! I had my head down the toilet for God's sake, we were hardly up to anything! Anyway he grabbed the poor lad by the throat, smacked him and then threw him down the stairs.
I'm not totally sure of what happened next, but I know that the brand new bathroom that had only just been finished was smashed to pieces and I was left cowering in the corner. I don't know how it ended either, or how I got away. Ten minutes later as I was being comforted by friends when he demanded to see me. He was trying to apologise for what had happened but, understandably, I wasn't interested and I didn't want to talk to him. He became angrier and angrier because I wouldn't listen and, stood right there with mutual friends either side of me, he head butted me in the face.
On my brother's birthday in March 1993 I finally passed my driving test on the fourth attempt. I had been driving since my father taught me to drive a tractor when I was twelve, but I guess those bad habits didn't help me on the road. I had learnt to play trumpet at school and in return for using my father's car he wanted me to join a silver band that his friend conducted. I agreed because I couldn't afford a car and wanted some freedom.
The silver band was an interesting time, there I met a huge mix of people. It wasn't just 'old fogies' as I had imagined. We played the summer fetes and we played carol's in old folks homes at Christmas, but we also played seaside towns. Lyme Regis and Teinmouth were amongst the ones I remember. I used to love these. For the younger members these days out were more of a piss up. We would play a set in the morning on the promenade then have lunch and several beers in the pub. When we returned for the second half I don't think the playing was quite so accurate from certain parts of the band! We would then drink a bit more on the way home, singing awful songs that a certain, not so young rugby playing tuba player taught us. We were eventually banned from drinking on the coach because the oldies complained too much and our playing must have been awful!
I had a bit of a fling with that rugby player. He was a lot older than me and married. I knew his wife and liked her. But I believed his stories that they no longer had a love life, whether it was true or not I don't know. It didn't happen very often and it was never very serious. I watched him play rugby a few times and we spent the night together once. That is one of those things I'm not particularly proud of. But it was me that finished it in the end. I began to like him too much and wasn't about to sit around waiting for him to leave his wife.
I also went back to the guy I had been seeing before I went to Australia. We spent a lot of time in his local pub and I became quite a pool shark. The relationship developed and we became quite serious. My father had taught this guy at school and wasn't particularly keen on him, but never said anything. I began to notice that although when he was sober he was great, when he was drinking he would get quite jealous. He didn't like me talking to other men. It all came to a head one night in the summer of '93. He had a birthday party and we were all drinking for most of the day.
One of the young lads that he worked with was there. I was chatting to him quite a lot that night and commented on the fact that his aftershave smelt nice. I ended up getting very drunk and had to go to the bathroom to be sick. While I was in there, this young lad popped his head round the door and asked if I was ok. He came into the huge bathroom and sat on the bath the other side of the room from me. My boyfriend came in and found the guy there and hit the roof! I had my head down the toilet for God's sake, we were hardly up to anything! Anyway he grabbed the poor lad by the throat, smacked him and then threw him down the stairs.
I'm not totally sure of what happened next, but I know that the brand new bathroom that had only just been finished was smashed to pieces and I was left cowering in the corner. I don't know how it ended either, or how I got away. Ten minutes later as I was being comforted by friends when he demanded to see me. He was trying to apologise for what had happened but, understandably, I wasn't interested and I didn't want to talk to him. He became angrier and angrier because I wouldn't listen and, stood right there with mutual friends either side of me, he head butted me in the face.
1992 Australia
I was 18 and out in the world! What a fantastic feeling it was, I had only been on a plane once before and that was only to fly to Germany to visit my Godmother when I was about 12. The plane stopped in Bangkok, but unfortunately we were only there for refueling. I just remember that it was about 8 in the morning when we got there, but the heat that hit me when I got of the plane was like the wave of heat when you open the oven door.
We flew in over the top, left corner of Australia, somewhere over Darwin. You could feel the excitement building on the plane. Little did we realise though just how much more flying time we had to actually get to Sydney! The pilot flew a circuit of Ayres Rock so we could see it, and I have to admit it was a stunning sight. And finally, several hours after we first flew over Australia, we reached Sydney.
Ozzy met me at the airport, his Weimeraner waiting for us in the back of his 'Ute'. It was wonderful to be there and wonderful to see him. We went back to his house, where he was still living with his parents, and I met the family. Ozzy was working most of the three months I was there, but that was ok, it gave me chance to see what it would be like to live there. We had talked about me applying to live there, and this was going to be a kind of trial run. While he was at work I explored. I would jump on a train and head out from the suburbs to Sydney. I don't know what it's like now, but at the time Sydney was the cleanest city I had ever seen.
At the weekends we would head off in the 'Ute', quite often with the dog. He took me to the Blue Mountains, which have got to be one of the most stunning places I have ever been. One of the times he did get a week off he took me to his brother's farm out in the bush. Somewhere on a hill in the outback was a little cabin. It had no running water, no electricity and an outdoor 'dunny'. When we first arrived I stood and starred at the view for ages. I had never seen anything like it, and the best thing about was that was the view you saw from the dunny. My morning constitutional has never taken so much time as it did up there.
We stayed at the cabin for a week. During the day we explored the bush, went snake spotting and riding. I picked up a leech one day, but was lucky enough that it only bit through my sock and couldn't get a proper grip! At night we cooked on a campfire and slept with rats scuttling around us and strange noises outside. We washed in a bowl and pooed to an amazing view. I developed a strong desire to check all possible nooks and crannies around the toilet. It was a real back to basics week and I loved it! I was really glad of a shower when we got home though.
When I booked my flight I got a free internal flight, so we headed off to Queensland for two weeks. We stayed in Cairns, and although it was technically their Winter in was still scorching. The beaches were quiet and we had amazing stretches of stunning sand to ourselves. We took a boat out to the Barrier Reef and swam with tiny sharks and stingray. The time went so quickly at the reef. It was like swimming with fish in a lovely warm bath, and I could have stayed there for days. At night we would often go swimming in the hotel pool because even with the airconditioning the apartment was too hot. It was nice to go out with nice clothes on and not get cold or have to hide them under a big coat like we do in this country!
We went white water rafting, which has got to be one of the most amazing things I have done. They showed us the signs warning of crocodiles, before they took us down to the water! It was hard work, some of it quite risky. One of the rafts lost one of their occupants who promptly got run over by another raft! It was scary and exhilerating but definately something I would love to do again!
I had a fantastic time in Australia and I had a fantastic time with Ozzy, but I think we both knew that I wasn't really old enough to be making descisions about moving to the other side of the world and that it wasn't going to work long distance. I flew home at the end of August and that was the last time I saw Ozzy. We stayed in touch for a while but eventually lost contact. I still think about him today and often wonder what he's up to and whether he has a family now.
We flew in over the top, left corner of Australia, somewhere over Darwin. You could feel the excitement building on the plane. Little did we realise though just how much more flying time we had to actually get to Sydney! The pilot flew a circuit of Ayres Rock so we could see it, and I have to admit it was a stunning sight. And finally, several hours after we first flew over Australia, we reached Sydney.
Ozzy met me at the airport, his Weimeraner waiting for us in the back of his 'Ute'. It was wonderful to be there and wonderful to see him. We went back to his house, where he was still living with his parents, and I met the family. Ozzy was working most of the three months I was there, but that was ok, it gave me chance to see what it would be like to live there. We had talked about me applying to live there, and this was going to be a kind of trial run. While he was at work I explored. I would jump on a train and head out from the suburbs to Sydney. I don't know what it's like now, but at the time Sydney was the cleanest city I had ever seen.
At the weekends we would head off in the 'Ute', quite often with the dog. He took me to the Blue Mountains, which have got to be one of the most stunning places I have ever been. One of the times he did get a week off he took me to his brother's farm out in the bush. Somewhere on a hill in the outback was a little cabin. It had no running water, no electricity and an outdoor 'dunny'. When we first arrived I stood and starred at the view for ages. I had never seen anything like it, and the best thing about was that was the view you saw from the dunny. My morning constitutional has never taken so much time as it did up there.
We stayed at the cabin for a week. During the day we explored the bush, went snake spotting and riding. I picked up a leech one day, but was lucky enough that it only bit through my sock and couldn't get a proper grip! At night we cooked on a campfire and slept with rats scuttling around us and strange noises outside. We washed in a bowl and pooed to an amazing view. I developed a strong desire to check all possible nooks and crannies around the toilet. It was a real back to basics week and I loved it! I was really glad of a shower when we got home though.
When I booked my flight I got a free internal flight, so we headed off to Queensland for two weeks. We stayed in Cairns, and although it was technically their Winter in was still scorching. The beaches were quiet and we had amazing stretches of stunning sand to ourselves. We took a boat out to the Barrier Reef and swam with tiny sharks and stingray. The time went so quickly at the reef. It was like swimming with fish in a lovely warm bath, and I could have stayed there for days. At night we would often go swimming in the hotel pool because even with the airconditioning the apartment was too hot. It was nice to go out with nice clothes on and not get cold or have to hide them under a big coat like we do in this country!
We went white water rafting, which has got to be one of the most amazing things I have done. They showed us the signs warning of crocodiles, before they took us down to the water! It was hard work, some of it quite risky. One of the rafts lost one of their occupants who promptly got run over by another raft! It was scary and exhilerating but definately something I would love to do again!
I had a fantastic time in Australia and I had a fantastic time with Ozzy, but I think we both knew that I wasn't really old enough to be making descisions about moving to the other side of the world and that it wasn't going to work long distance. I flew home at the end of August and that was the last time I saw Ozzy. We stayed in touch for a while but eventually lost contact. I still think about him today and often wonder what he's up to and whether he has a family now.
1991 - 1992 Moving on
I was very much against the move, but it had to happen, as the house I had spent most of my childhood in and loved so much, came with my father's job. The new house was a bungalow, tiny in comparison, and in the middle of nowhere. There were no shops, a truly crap bus service (I was yet to pass my driving test) and a pub. So that's where I ended up, in the pub. I earnt £30 a week on employed YTS, gave £10 to my mother for housekeeping, (she always insisted on a third) and spent the rest in the pub. I was only seventeen when I started drinking there but convinced them I was 18. Within a week I had joined the ladies skittles team and settled in.
My 18th birthday happened to a be skittle night. The tradition within the team was to chip in and buy the birthday girl a cocktail of every short on the shelf. Because they didn't know me that well they opted for Jack Daniels, which was my drink of choice at the time. I had pints of the stuff and needless to say was very drunk. My sister had been away at college but was back home and we were still sharing a bedroom. Unfortunately her bed was near the door and she never did appreciate me stumbling in drunk and falling onto her bed at silly o'clock!
I spent many a night in that pub and made some good friends. I would always drink too much. Because the pub was fairly remote we used to have frequent lock-ins, in fact I don't think it ever closed on time. Some weekends I was there ALL weekend, maybe popping home for some dinner then back to the pub. My first New Years Eve I was, of course, drunk again. When it came time to sing Auld Lang Syne everyone headed outside, as was the tradition. I stumbled down the step which was halfway across the lounge, and stayed there. I just couldn't be bothered to get up, so I lay there, quite happily, listening to them singing, until they came back in and picked me up. Talk about a misspent youth. I wasted plenty of time and money in that pub!
I was still in touch with Ozzy and used to run up huge phone bills, which I would often get a bollocking for. I would come home on a Saturday night from the pub and ring him up. We'd talk for hours. At some point, I don't remember exactly when, it was decided I would go to Australia to see if we could make things work. In the meantime, however, I met someone at the pub. I was young and having fun. He knew the situation, he knew I was going to Australia and why, so we just had fun.
All the plans were made and I was due to fly to Australia the summer of 1992. I was still working as an office junior on YTS and was deciding when to hand in my notice. The office was in part of my boss' house and I had become quite friendly with his family especially his daughter, who also rode and had a pony. We would sometimes ride on my lunch breaks. Unfortunately my boss found out I was leaving before I told him, and I guess he was a bit pissed off, because, one morning I went into work and he told me he was interviewing for my job that day! Because of this I ended up finishing work before I had planned. I had to go temping for a while to keep earning.
June 1992 rolled round and I packed up my stuff and headed of to Australia.
My 18th birthday happened to a be skittle night. The tradition within the team was to chip in and buy the birthday girl a cocktail of every short on the shelf. Because they didn't know me that well they opted for Jack Daniels, which was my drink of choice at the time. I had pints of the stuff and needless to say was very drunk. My sister had been away at college but was back home and we were still sharing a bedroom. Unfortunately her bed was near the door and she never did appreciate me stumbling in drunk and falling onto her bed at silly o'clock!
I spent many a night in that pub and made some good friends. I would always drink too much. Because the pub was fairly remote we used to have frequent lock-ins, in fact I don't think it ever closed on time. Some weekends I was there ALL weekend, maybe popping home for some dinner then back to the pub. My first New Years Eve I was, of course, drunk again. When it came time to sing Auld Lang Syne everyone headed outside, as was the tradition. I stumbled down the step which was halfway across the lounge, and stayed there. I just couldn't be bothered to get up, so I lay there, quite happily, listening to them singing, until they came back in and picked me up. Talk about a misspent youth. I wasted plenty of time and money in that pub!
I was still in touch with Ozzy and used to run up huge phone bills, which I would often get a bollocking for. I would come home on a Saturday night from the pub and ring him up. We'd talk for hours. At some point, I don't remember exactly when, it was decided I would go to Australia to see if we could make things work. In the meantime, however, I met someone at the pub. I was young and having fun. He knew the situation, he knew I was going to Australia and why, so we just had fun.
All the plans were made and I was due to fly to Australia the summer of 1992. I was still working as an office junior on YTS and was deciding when to hand in my notice. The office was in part of my boss' house and I had become quite friendly with his family especially his daughter, who also rode and had a pony. We would sometimes ride on my lunch breaks. Unfortunately my boss found out I was leaving before I told him, and I guess he was a bit pissed off, because, one morning I went into work and he told me he was interviewing for my job that day! Because of this I ended up finishing work before I had planned. I had to go temping for a while to keep earning.
June 1992 rolled round and I packed up my stuff and headed of to Australia.
Monday 15 September 2008
1990 - 1991 Out to Work
I left school at 16 with my um.. ok GCSE's and went straight to work. I wasn't interested in A levels and I wouldn't have made it through anyway. All I wanted was to work with horses. So three days after I finished my exams I started work at the riding centre on the Quantock Hills where I had been riding. I joined a YTS scheme and come September started at college. I lived at the riding centre apart from the two weeks I was at college. I loved the job, I rode every day escorting people across the Quantocks and exercising the hunters. I lived on frozen pizzas and the fantastic cheesecake that they served in the local pub! I loved the nights at the pub, until you had to walk home in the dark up the pretty long lane. The only way you knew you were going the right way was when you bounced of the hedges!
It was here that I met the next love of my life, and probably the most influential, an Ozzy. He wasn't what you'd call classically attractive but I fell for the accent and the fact that he was eight years older than me. He had a caravan out on the yard and I spent most nights out there with him. The woman I worked for, a ridiculous, aged, alcoholic who prefered to buy gin rather than decent feed or wormer for the horses, hated our blossoming relationship and made things difficult for us. She used to lock me out so I couldn't get back in the house to get reading for work, so I would end up being late. By that Winter she had had enough and she sacked me for 'being lazy'. The Ozzy promptly ditched too and we were then both looking for work.
I ended up working in an office and again doing a YTS. Ozzy got a job as an electrician which is what he did back in Australia. We continued to see eachother although it was harder now as we lived quite far away. Ozzy lived with a friend almost next door to the riding centre and I was back living at home. We did spend a lot of time together though, we went away for weekends and I spent a lot of time at his friend's house.
Eventually Ozzy began to get extremely homesick. It was affecting his mood and he was increasingly down. He was meant to have gone home quite some time ago but had stayed because of me. In the end I bit the bullet and told him I didn't want to see him aymore, because I knew that it was the only way I could get him to go home. It wasn't what I wanted but I knew he was miserable. I don't know if he ever appreciated what I was doing but we stayed in touch.
I was also desperately miserable because I didn't actually want him to go. I started seeing a guy that we knew from the riding centre. Totally on the rebound, but he took my mind off Ozzy. He was a really funny guy but in the end he turned out to be too funny. The kind of person you want as a mate, always a laugh, but no good as a boyfriend. You could never have a serious conversation with him, he always turned everything into a joke. We didn't last long.
It was about this time that my father retired from the school. We moved house the September before I turned 18.
It was here that I met the next love of my life, and probably the most influential, an Ozzy. He wasn't what you'd call classically attractive but I fell for the accent and the fact that he was eight years older than me. He had a caravan out on the yard and I spent most nights out there with him. The woman I worked for, a ridiculous, aged, alcoholic who prefered to buy gin rather than decent feed or wormer for the horses, hated our blossoming relationship and made things difficult for us. She used to lock me out so I couldn't get back in the house to get reading for work, so I would end up being late. By that Winter she had had enough and she sacked me for 'being lazy'. The Ozzy promptly ditched too and we were then both looking for work.
I ended up working in an office and again doing a YTS. Ozzy got a job as an electrician which is what he did back in Australia. We continued to see eachother although it was harder now as we lived quite far away. Ozzy lived with a friend almost next door to the riding centre and I was back living at home. We did spend a lot of time together though, we went away for weekends and I spent a lot of time at his friend's house.
Eventually Ozzy began to get extremely homesick. It was affecting his mood and he was increasingly down. He was meant to have gone home quite some time ago but had stayed because of me. In the end I bit the bullet and told him I didn't want to see him aymore, because I knew that it was the only way I could get him to go home. It wasn't what I wanted but I knew he was miserable. I don't know if he ever appreciated what I was doing but we stayed in touch.
I was also desperately miserable because I didn't actually want him to go. I started seeing a guy that we knew from the riding centre. Totally on the rebound, but he took my mind off Ozzy. He was a really funny guy but in the end he turned out to be too funny. The kind of person you want as a mate, always a laugh, but no good as a boyfriend. You could never have a serious conversation with him, he always turned everything into a joke. We didn't last long.
It was about this time that my father retired from the school. We moved house the September before I turned 18.
1988 - 1990 At home
Things at home obviously started to suffer a bit too, I couldn't hide all those detentions! I also couldn't hide the smell of smoke on me. My father used to smoke, a lot, but he gave up before I was born, so there were no other smokers in the house. My mother used to nag me constantly, but it just used to make me go outside for a fag! My father never really got involved with dicipline unless it was something really serious, when we knew we were in big trouble. His approach was to express his concern or dislike and then leave it up to me to use my conscience and make my own descisions. This is something I still admire and strive for with my own kids today.
When I was about fourteen me and a friend used to hang out at the local college student bar. We started spending time with people a lot older than us and met Cannabis for the first time. I remember my first joint, it was Sunday morning in one of the student bedrooms. There was a few of us sharing a good few joints. Not wanting to look uncool I smoked far more than I should have for my first try of the stuff. When I left I fell asleep on the stairs of the flats, not for long I don't think! I was meant to be home for Sunday dinner, but I was so stoned. I felt really sick and sleepy so I went home, told my mother I was unwell and then slept for the rest of the day. That's another thing I don't think she knows the truth about.
I hung out at the college regularly, smoking weed and drinking until I met my first 'proper' boyfriend. He worked at the college as a groundskeeper and was 18. I became cooler at school - I had a boyfriend who had left school, had a job and a car! He was a nice lad and didn't approve of some of the things I was up to so I calmed down a little. My mother loved him! We were together for about 18 months and we lost our virginity to eachother. That had been my idea! I think I was lucky to have met someone who although he was 18 was still a virgin. It wasn't the best experience but then who's first time is? We made up for it though and enjoyed a vast variety of inventive places to have sex.
It all came to an end when, after having a condom break, I had done what I thought was the responsible thing, and had gone on the pill. My mother eventually found my pills and all hell broke out. My father didn't speak to me for three days, I was devastated. That meant more to me than all the ranting and raving my mother did. We were made aware of what my parents had the right to do with regards to the law, and made to promise not to have sex again until I was sixteen. I was so gutted by my father not speaking to me I actually made it to sixteen and we only had sex twice. We broke up shortly after anyway, but I still see him now and again and he will always have been my 'first love'.
I din't ride again for a long time. The I started helping out on a small, local yard. I regained my confidence around horses but still didn't ride. Eventually though I got fed up with being the one left behind on the yard and started riding again. I would go every week for lessons and treks at a riding centre on the Quantock Hills.
On the last riding holiday I ever had I met a girl from near Exeter. I used to go down and stay with her occassionally. She was a bit of a Goth and when we went out she used to dress me up. It would certainly help get us into The Lemon Grove, the Exeter university club. It's amazing how much older you can look with all that crap on your face! Once we were on the bus back from Exeter one day. My father was coming to pick me up later. A bloke on the bus gave us some, well, it was meant to have been Cannabis. When we got of the bus we went under the railway bridge and smoked it. Nothing seemed to happen and we slagged it off quite chronically. About an hour later as my father arrived the damn stuff kicked in. I sat in the car on the way home off my head, desperately trying to hide the fact I was stoned. When cars passed us I kept thinking they were driving into us, I told my father I was just really tired but whether he actually bought it or not I'm not sure!
As with school I never did anything really bad. I never progressed to harder drugs even though at the college I had many opportunities, it never appealed to me. I just didn't come home on time, smoked and drank a bit. Nothing extreme, I was just a bit rebellious. My mother occasionally tried to ground me, but with a house like ours how the hell was that going to work? I used to just go out a different door at the other end of the house from where she was. I frequently told my mother that when I was sixteen I was leaving home, and her reply was that when I was sixteen SHE was leaving home.
When I was about fourteen me and a friend used to hang out at the local college student bar. We started spending time with people a lot older than us and met Cannabis for the first time. I remember my first joint, it was Sunday morning in one of the student bedrooms. There was a few of us sharing a good few joints. Not wanting to look uncool I smoked far more than I should have for my first try of the stuff. When I left I fell asleep on the stairs of the flats, not for long I don't think! I was meant to be home for Sunday dinner, but I was so stoned. I felt really sick and sleepy so I went home, told my mother I was unwell and then slept for the rest of the day. That's another thing I don't think she knows the truth about.
I hung out at the college regularly, smoking weed and drinking until I met my first 'proper' boyfriend. He worked at the college as a groundskeeper and was 18. I became cooler at school - I had a boyfriend who had left school, had a job and a car! He was a nice lad and didn't approve of some of the things I was up to so I calmed down a little. My mother loved him! We were together for about 18 months and we lost our virginity to eachother. That had been my idea! I think I was lucky to have met someone who although he was 18 was still a virgin. It wasn't the best experience but then who's first time is? We made up for it though and enjoyed a vast variety of inventive places to have sex.
It all came to an end when, after having a condom break, I had done what I thought was the responsible thing, and had gone on the pill. My mother eventually found my pills and all hell broke out. My father didn't speak to me for three days, I was devastated. That meant more to me than all the ranting and raving my mother did. We were made aware of what my parents had the right to do with regards to the law, and made to promise not to have sex again until I was sixteen. I was so gutted by my father not speaking to me I actually made it to sixteen and we only had sex twice. We broke up shortly after anyway, but I still see him now and again and he will always have been my 'first love'.
I din't ride again for a long time. The I started helping out on a small, local yard. I regained my confidence around horses but still didn't ride. Eventually though I got fed up with being the one left behind on the yard and started riding again. I would go every week for lessons and treks at a riding centre on the Quantock Hills.
On the last riding holiday I ever had I met a girl from near Exeter. I used to go down and stay with her occassionally. She was a bit of a Goth and when we went out she used to dress me up. It would certainly help get us into The Lemon Grove, the Exeter university club. It's amazing how much older you can look with all that crap on your face! Once we were on the bus back from Exeter one day. My father was coming to pick me up later. A bloke on the bus gave us some, well, it was meant to have been Cannabis. When we got of the bus we went under the railway bridge and smoked it. Nothing seemed to happen and we slagged it off quite chronically. About an hour later as my father arrived the damn stuff kicked in. I sat in the car on the way home off my head, desperately trying to hide the fact I was stoned. When cars passed us I kept thinking they were driving into us, I told my father I was just really tired but whether he actually bought it or not I'm not sure!
As with school I never did anything really bad. I never progressed to harder drugs even though at the college I had many opportunities, it never appealed to me. I just didn't come home on time, smoked and drank a bit. Nothing extreme, I was just a bit rebellious. My mother occasionally tried to ground me, but with a house like ours how the hell was that going to work? I used to just go out a different door at the other end of the house from where she was. I frequently told my mother that when I was sixteen I was leaving home, and her reply was that when I was sixteen SHE was leaving home.
Friday 12 September 2008
1988 - 1990 At school
Things started to change a bit in the third year at high school. Wedge/step hair cuts were fashionable and suddenly I could make my awful short hair cool. It was long on the top with a step then shaved underneath. My fringe swept across my face and was held there with two cans of hairspray! I think I got fed up of being a nobody in particular. I started to get interested in the boys and they weren't interested in me. I started to rebel. My school work began to go down hill, well if I bothered to do it at all. By the end of the third year I was 'on report' constantly. I had to meet with the head every week and keep a diary of what I was meant to be doing and what I had actually done. I very rarely did homework unless something 'grabbed' me.
I started to skip classes and get into general mischief around school. I met a girl in the first year who became a firm friend and was my sidekick. We always got into trouble together. Although she was the same school year as me, she was in fact a year younger, so any trouble we got into together I always got the blame for whether it had been my idea or not. I have to admit though, it usually was my idea. I frequently had detention during or after school but the postman came earlier than they seem to now and I usually got to the letters that were sent home before my mother did. She still doesn't know quite how many times I wasn't at Hockey practise or something similar!
I started smoking and used to employ first years, usually boys, as look outs for when we were smoking on the field or behind the gym. I got on well with one of the school bus drivers, he used to drop me of in town instead of going to school. He also used to let us smoke on the bus. I got into trouble for both those things because there was always a first or second year willing to 'split' on you. I was never really a bully but I did have a 'word' with one girl who had split on me for smoking on the bus. Unfortunately the warning didn't work and she promptly split on me again!
At the end of the fourth year I received my final warning, shape up or get out! None of the stuff I ever did was THAT bad, it was just a constant lack of respect for anything I guess. My sister had left school by the time I got there but her legacy remained. My sister is very intelligent and worked very hard at school and did well. She was quiet and compliant. I often had teachers remark that it was a shame that I wasn't more like her. The trouble is I think that just fuels the fire! I knew I wasn't stupid but I wasn't as smart as her.
I did get on with a couple of the teachers though, and one in particular, my Agri Science teacher. He was great, he used to ignore the fact that we smoked in the chicken coops. He had a very imaginative punishment system for the boys. There were coloured spots in a line going down one of the walls. Behind the door in his office he kept a selection of 'canes', although some were rubber tubes! If you were mouthy or did something wrong you had to put your nose on a spot and got a whack. The lowest spot was the black one, it was almost a prize if you managed to earn yourself a whack on the black spot. He never did it to the girls so we always managed to get away with quite a lot, but to this day I'm sure how HE got away with it, he certainly wouldn't now.
Anyway, after my final warning it kind of dawned on me that my final year was important. I stopped getting into quite so much trouble and started doing some work. I still wasn't the best student in the school but I had improved. My mock GCSE results came back pretty good, all As and Bs and I was determind to reproduce them at my final exams. I worked really hard that year but I think it was too late because when my results came back they weren't really what they should have been. Ok, so I got a B, four Cs and 4 Ds so it could have been a hell of a lot worse but they weren't really what they should have been. Too little too late!
I started to skip classes and get into general mischief around school. I met a girl in the first year who became a firm friend and was my sidekick. We always got into trouble together. Although she was the same school year as me, she was in fact a year younger, so any trouble we got into together I always got the blame for whether it had been my idea or not. I have to admit though, it usually was my idea. I frequently had detention during or after school but the postman came earlier than they seem to now and I usually got to the letters that were sent home before my mother did. She still doesn't know quite how many times I wasn't at Hockey practise or something similar!
I started smoking and used to employ first years, usually boys, as look outs for when we were smoking on the field or behind the gym. I got on well with one of the school bus drivers, he used to drop me of in town instead of going to school. He also used to let us smoke on the bus. I got into trouble for both those things because there was always a first or second year willing to 'split' on you. I was never really a bully but I did have a 'word' with one girl who had split on me for smoking on the bus. Unfortunately the warning didn't work and she promptly split on me again!
At the end of the fourth year I received my final warning, shape up or get out! None of the stuff I ever did was THAT bad, it was just a constant lack of respect for anything I guess. My sister had left school by the time I got there but her legacy remained. My sister is very intelligent and worked very hard at school and did well. She was quiet and compliant. I often had teachers remark that it was a shame that I wasn't more like her. The trouble is I think that just fuels the fire! I knew I wasn't stupid but I wasn't as smart as her.
I did get on with a couple of the teachers though, and one in particular, my Agri Science teacher. He was great, he used to ignore the fact that we smoked in the chicken coops. He had a very imaginative punishment system for the boys. There were coloured spots in a line going down one of the walls. Behind the door in his office he kept a selection of 'canes', although some were rubber tubes! If you were mouthy or did something wrong you had to put your nose on a spot and got a whack. The lowest spot was the black one, it was almost a prize if you managed to earn yourself a whack on the black spot. He never did it to the girls so we always managed to get away with quite a lot, but to this day I'm sure how HE got away with it, he certainly wouldn't now.
Anyway, after my final warning it kind of dawned on me that my final year was important. I stopped getting into quite so much trouble and started doing some work. I still wasn't the best student in the school but I had improved. My mock GCSE results came back pretty good, all As and Bs and I was determind to reproduce them at my final exams. I worked really hard that year but I think it was too late because when my results came back they weren't really what they should have been. Ok, so I got a B, four Cs and 4 Ds so it could have been a hell of a lot worse but they weren't really what they should have been. Too little too late!
1985 - 1887 Starting High School
All through my young school days I had long hair. The top and front was always pulled back into a pony tail so it was half up half down. I loved my long hair but hated the process of washing it, drying it and keeping it tangle free. So as I took over the responsibility of looking after it from my mother, I decided I'd had enough and had it all chopped off. That was a mistake. You see I have the weirdest crown on the top of my head, well actually it's two, maybe three. This means that my hair goes in all directions. Fine if you have it long, the weight of the hair pulls it down and for the most time it lays flat. Not so if you remove the weight of the hair. So I ended up with 'long' short hair. It was hideous.
At the time I thought I was ok. I certainly wasn't one of the cool kids, but I don't think we were victims of the media in quite the same way as we are now. I look back on photos of myself from this era and cringe. The dodgy haircut, the knee high white socks. I won't allow my kids to wear knee high white socks, they still make me shudder today. Mind you it's probably VERY fashionable now. So there I was, plodding along, being a nobody in particular but doing well at school.
Because my parents lived in the school boarding house they had no mortgage or bills to pay. This didn't mean we were spolit, in fact we weren't at all. I waited years for my first Sindy doll! My father is one of those people that is very good with money, and all the money they saved on the mortgage and bills was put away for when the time came to buy a house again. We never went on expensive holidays, my father was usually working anyway. We did get to Germany a couple of times, where I have a Godmother and up to Wales, or over to Kent. But it did mean that we maybe got one or two things that other kids didn't.
One day I decided that I could ride a horse, after probably only having sat on one a few times, and that I wanted to go on a riding holiday. My parents finally gave in to my demands and found someone that was willing to give me a few lessons to get me up to speed. I soon discovered I couldn't ride at all, but picked it up pretty quick. I went for my first riding holiday on Dartmoor and hated it! The pony I had been given was a gorgeous little palamino called Honey, every little girls dream pony. Except that she wouldn't GO! Because I didn't have the experience to make her go, I got left behind frequently and it turned into quite a lonely holiday.
I continued to ride after the holiday and got better and better. The lady that taught me rode Point to Point race horses for her father. One day she didn't have any ponies suitable for me to ride so she gave me one of the racehorses on a lunge. I found the difference in gait a little to much to handle and ended up simply sliding of the side! The last lesson I ever had there was the most memorable though. I don't remember the name of the pony, but she had a lovely, calm nature and was a pleasure to ride. My teacher was heading back to the house for something she had forgotten and I was starting to ride circles to warm the pony up. To this day I don't know what happened, my only guess is that something bit or stung her, or maybe the saddle pinched.
The pony launched into an incredible display of bronco style bucks and leaps and it wasn't long before I was flailing about without reins or stirrups. My teacher heard me call out and turned to see me turn a fine somersault in the air and land with a thud and a crunch. I had landed on my shoulder and was in a lot of pain.
I was again taken to hospital, I remember it well. The nurse that first checked me out wasn't really the sympathetic sort. She lifted my arm at the elbow and it didn't seem to hurt much so she let it drop. A burning pain seared through my shoulder. I go into shock quite easily, I'm quite good with emergency situations when someone else is involved but not so when it's me that's in pain. As I was led down to x-ray I began to feel sick and whoozy. Stood in front of the x-ray machine, I eventually fainted. When I came round it was like in the movies where everything is all blurry. All I could see was the face of the rather nice looking young radiologist who had somehow made it to me before my head hit the floor. I had the rest of my x-rays done lying down!
It was the first weekend of the summer holidays and I had broken my arm right at the top near the joint. Because of the position of the break they wouldn't plaster it, shoulders seize up easily so they wanted it to be free. All I had was a sling, and it was horrendous. The first night I was at home, I eventually went to sleep with plenty of painkillers, I slept fine, but when I woke I had moved into an awkward position and couldn't move. The next night I went to bed surrounded by pillows, well and truely wedged so I couldn't move again.
The whole summer was a nightmare, I couldn't do anything much because of how free the arm was. I did get myself stuck up that willow tree though, it must have been out of sheer boredom! My mother had to rescue me with a ladder! I still had my sling when I went back to school at the start of my second year (or year 8 as it is now). Going back to school like that was scary, I was forever terrified that someone would bash into me. I still have quite a bit of trouble with that shoulder even now. I have limited movement as a lot of scar tissue built up around the area. The doctors have told me it could be removed but would probably just grow back, so I decided to just get on with it.
At the time I thought I was ok. I certainly wasn't one of the cool kids, but I don't think we were victims of the media in quite the same way as we are now. I look back on photos of myself from this era and cringe. The dodgy haircut, the knee high white socks. I won't allow my kids to wear knee high white socks, they still make me shudder today. Mind you it's probably VERY fashionable now. So there I was, plodding along, being a nobody in particular but doing well at school.
Because my parents lived in the school boarding house they had no mortgage or bills to pay. This didn't mean we were spolit, in fact we weren't at all. I waited years for my first Sindy doll! My father is one of those people that is very good with money, and all the money they saved on the mortgage and bills was put away for when the time came to buy a house again. We never went on expensive holidays, my father was usually working anyway. We did get to Germany a couple of times, where I have a Godmother and up to Wales, or over to Kent. But it did mean that we maybe got one or two things that other kids didn't.
One day I decided that I could ride a horse, after probably only having sat on one a few times, and that I wanted to go on a riding holiday. My parents finally gave in to my demands and found someone that was willing to give me a few lessons to get me up to speed. I soon discovered I couldn't ride at all, but picked it up pretty quick. I went for my first riding holiday on Dartmoor and hated it! The pony I had been given was a gorgeous little palamino called Honey, every little girls dream pony. Except that she wouldn't GO! Because I didn't have the experience to make her go, I got left behind frequently and it turned into quite a lonely holiday.
I continued to ride after the holiday and got better and better. The lady that taught me rode Point to Point race horses for her father. One day she didn't have any ponies suitable for me to ride so she gave me one of the racehorses on a lunge. I found the difference in gait a little to much to handle and ended up simply sliding of the side! The last lesson I ever had there was the most memorable though. I don't remember the name of the pony, but she had a lovely, calm nature and was a pleasure to ride. My teacher was heading back to the house for something she had forgotten and I was starting to ride circles to warm the pony up. To this day I don't know what happened, my only guess is that something bit or stung her, or maybe the saddle pinched.
The pony launched into an incredible display of bronco style bucks and leaps and it wasn't long before I was flailing about without reins or stirrups. My teacher heard me call out and turned to see me turn a fine somersault in the air and land with a thud and a crunch. I had landed on my shoulder and was in a lot of pain.
I was again taken to hospital, I remember it well. The nurse that first checked me out wasn't really the sympathetic sort. She lifted my arm at the elbow and it didn't seem to hurt much so she let it drop. A burning pain seared through my shoulder. I go into shock quite easily, I'm quite good with emergency situations when someone else is involved but not so when it's me that's in pain. As I was led down to x-ray I began to feel sick and whoozy. Stood in front of the x-ray machine, I eventually fainted. When I came round it was like in the movies where everything is all blurry. All I could see was the face of the rather nice looking young radiologist who had somehow made it to me before my head hit the floor. I had the rest of my x-rays done lying down!
It was the first weekend of the summer holidays and I had broken my arm right at the top near the joint. Because of the position of the break they wouldn't plaster it, shoulders seize up easily so they wanted it to be free. All I had was a sling, and it was horrendous. The first night I was at home, I eventually went to sleep with plenty of painkillers, I slept fine, but when I woke I had moved into an awkward position and couldn't move. The next night I went to bed surrounded by pillows, well and truely wedged so I couldn't move again.
The whole summer was a nightmare, I couldn't do anything much because of how free the arm was. I did get myself stuck up that willow tree though, it must have been out of sheer boredom! My mother had to rescue me with a ladder! I still had my sling when I went back to school at the start of my second year (or year 8 as it is now). Going back to school like that was scary, I was forever terrified that someone would bash into me. I still have quite a bit of trouble with that shoulder even now. I have limited movement as a lot of scar tissue built up around the area. The doctors have told me it could be removed but would probably just grow back, so I decided to just get on with it.
Wednesday 10 September 2008
1978 - 1985 My Childhood
Now I've set the backdrop I will tell you about my childhood. It was a good childhood, I had everything I needed. We didn't have a television until my father won one in a raffle when I was about nine. I used to swap goes on my swing for watches of someone else telly. But it was good, I played out a lot and was inventive. I climbed the willow tree, made dens and mud pies. I made dandelion curls by tearing the stems into thin strips and putting them in water so that they curled up tightly. We always had animals, there was Scruff, who was a fantastic dog to grow up with. He came from a farm in Wales and had attitude as so often Jack Russels do. We would put him in the dolls pram with a biscuit under the pillow, he would lie there in the pram with his head pressed firmly down on the pillow to prevent anyone from removing the biscuit. But he had a line, that you learnt not to cross. I grew up with a healthy respect for animals and an understanding that they to have a limit to what they can take.
My father not only taught at the school he was also the manager of the farm and was involved heavily with it's day to day running. For many years he had sole responsibilty and worked very hard. Even at the weekends he was usually gone before we got up and more often than not, especially when I was small, didn't get home until after I was in bed. Because of this we didn't see much of him at home, so as I got older I spent more and more time at the farm. This was a wonderful opportunity and one I am grateful for. I used to help bring the cows in for milking and help to milk them, I helped feed the pigs and taught calves to drink from buckets. I played in the haystacks, building dens and such.
Many of memories from childhood revolve around that farm, especially the ones with my father in. Like when I used to watch the cows who were due to calve, and at the first sign of a hoof being to appear I would run and tell him it was happening. He would tell me i would be hours before the calf was born, but I would race back just in case. One day I was with him when a calf got stuck and needed help. My father tied rope around the calf's legs and I stood in front of him and we pulled the calf out together.
One day when I was about seven and I was exploring the farm, I earnt another couple of scars. I was behind the old chicken sheds, clambering over some old pieces of wood that had been dumped there. I slipped and fell onto one that had a rusty nail sticking out of it. The nail went into the side of my knee, and as I got up it also scraped another gauge out of my knee. The blood from the two ran together so we thought it was only one. My father took me home and mother cleaned me up. I was then whisked down to the hospital and needed stitches. Because the cuts were so close to the bone they couldn't give me any anaesthetic so I squeezed my father's hand as tightly as possible.
They got to know me by name at the casualty department of my local hospital. I was in and out of there on a regular basis. I was usually greeted with 'what have you done this time?'
My sister bought goats when she was fourteen and although they took up a lot of the garden it was a pleasure to have them. We raised several kids and had goats for many years. We were always surrounded by animals and it's a passion that has lived on.
My brother had a tough childhood, he had a lot of health problems right from the start. He was born with a squint and club feet, both of which had to be put right. He suffered meningitis when he was about two, which left him with quite bad hearing loss. As he grew he suffered from a 'sot hip' which meant he had to wear a caliper, which whilst learning to walk on, he broke his other leg very badly and ended up in a wheelchair for a while. He had his appendix out one Boxing Day and also suffered from Pluracy.
My mother on the other hand, I saw all the time. I don't remember her being a particularly cuddly mum, but she was always there when we needed her. She would sleep on the foot of my bed if I was ill and comfort us if we were hurt. But my mother is not very open with her emotions even to this day. Maybe the problems that my brother had toughened her.
Overall my early years were fun and fulfilling. I did well at school and was fairly well behaved. I did have a knack for wandering off and I was a bit of a tomboy, but basically just your average kid.
My father not only taught at the school he was also the manager of the farm and was involved heavily with it's day to day running. For many years he had sole responsibilty and worked very hard. Even at the weekends he was usually gone before we got up and more often than not, especially when I was small, didn't get home until after I was in bed. Because of this we didn't see much of him at home, so as I got older I spent more and more time at the farm. This was a wonderful opportunity and one I am grateful for. I used to help bring the cows in for milking and help to milk them, I helped feed the pigs and taught calves to drink from buckets. I played in the haystacks, building dens and such.
Many of memories from childhood revolve around that farm, especially the ones with my father in. Like when I used to watch the cows who were due to calve, and at the first sign of a hoof being to appear I would run and tell him it was happening. He would tell me i would be hours before the calf was born, but I would race back just in case. One day I was with him when a calf got stuck and needed help. My father tied rope around the calf's legs and I stood in front of him and we pulled the calf out together.
One day when I was about seven and I was exploring the farm, I earnt another couple of scars. I was behind the old chicken sheds, clambering over some old pieces of wood that had been dumped there. I slipped and fell onto one that had a rusty nail sticking out of it. The nail went into the side of my knee, and as I got up it also scraped another gauge out of my knee. The blood from the two ran together so we thought it was only one. My father took me home and mother cleaned me up. I was then whisked down to the hospital and needed stitches. Because the cuts were so close to the bone they couldn't give me any anaesthetic so I squeezed my father's hand as tightly as possible.
They got to know me by name at the casualty department of my local hospital. I was in and out of there on a regular basis. I was usually greeted with 'what have you done this time?'
My sister bought goats when she was fourteen and although they took up a lot of the garden it was a pleasure to have them. We raised several kids and had goats for many years. We were always surrounded by animals and it's a passion that has lived on.
My brother had a tough childhood, he had a lot of health problems right from the start. He was born with a squint and club feet, both of which had to be put right. He suffered meningitis when he was about two, which left him with quite bad hearing loss. As he grew he suffered from a 'sot hip' which meant he had to wear a caliper, which whilst learning to walk on, he broke his other leg very badly and ended up in a wheelchair for a while. He had his appendix out one Boxing Day and also suffered from Pluracy.
My mother on the other hand, I saw all the time. I don't remember her being a particularly cuddly mum, but she was always there when we needed her. She would sleep on the foot of my bed if I was ill and comfort us if we were hurt. But my mother is not very open with her emotions even to this day. Maybe the problems that my brother had toughened her.
Overall my early years were fun and fulfilling. I did well at school and was fairly well behaved. I did have a knack for wandering off and I was a bit of a tomboy, but basically just your average kid.
1978 The Garden
I couldn't have asked for a better garden. We had an enclosed yard outside the back door, with the garden on one side and a range of outbuildings on the other. There was a passageway which led to the front garden and driveway, and a scullery kind of place and drying room which you accessed through the big double sided garage. The scullery housed washing machines. Most of the major laundry went out to be washed but small items mostly underwear was washed on site by the cleaning ladies. When I was older I would earn pocket money by sorting the clean socks and underwear and putting in the dorms. The drying room was a big room full of heaters and clothes lines and was another favourite place to play in the cold weather! And I distinctly remember putting my sister's guineapig in one of the washing machines and then not being able to open the door. I had to go and own up to it so she could be rescued, needless to say I got a bollocking for it.
The garage was a great place too, the front had a normal door like any other garage, but the back was open. To the side was a large area where the lawnmower and all the tools etc lived. Here we had four big hutches that over time housed four guineapigs and a couple of pigeons. After this was the coalshed. In the coalshed there was a little round window where you could climb out onto the flat roof. I used to play up here a lot. The edge had a low wall that you could hide behind if you lay down. I used to drop things on or shout things at unsuspecting people as they walked passed below! Yet another place I wasn't meant to be!
Back in the garden there was a really big willow tree. I spent a lot of my time in this tree and got pretty good at swinging through the branches. I even climbed it when I broke my arm and had to be rescued by my mum because I couldn't get down! When it was windy I would climb as high as the branches would allow and sway in the wind. The whole area by the willow tree was trees and bushes and made a good shady spot for picnics. There was a large veg plot, as my father has always enjoyed growing fruit and veg. The garden was completely enclosed by a high stone wall and plum trees lined a lot of it. There was a huge lawn, which was later partly taken over by goats and a hard court area at the far end. The hard area was great for bonfire parties and we had a fair few of them over the years.
Standing alone next to the hard court was an old apple tree. Beneath it old Scruff was buried after doing a 'mad circuit' of the garden and suffering a heart attack as he rested beneath it's branches. Against the furthest wall was a very old stone arch that used to lead out to the road but had been bricked up. The arch was about a metre deep so there was a small area inside where I used to bury dead insects, birds and small animals. The arch was built from the crystal like stone that often comes out of quarries. Some of the stones had dislodged from the arch and lay on the ground. One day one of my brother's friends picked up one of the big stones and threw it back against the arch. We all expected it to hit the arch and drop, but because of the nature of the stone it bounced. I remember seeing it coming towards me but didn't manage to step out of the way and it hit me squarely between the eyes. My brother's friend went home. I added to my existing scar and again developed some cracking black eyes, but luckily no serious damage. A lesson in physics learned.
The garage was a great place too, the front had a normal door like any other garage, but the back was open. To the side was a large area where the lawnmower and all the tools etc lived. Here we had four big hutches that over time housed four guineapigs and a couple of pigeons. After this was the coalshed. In the coalshed there was a little round window where you could climb out onto the flat roof. I used to play up here a lot. The edge had a low wall that you could hide behind if you lay down. I used to drop things on or shout things at unsuspecting people as they walked passed below! Yet another place I wasn't meant to be!
Back in the garden there was a really big willow tree. I spent a lot of my time in this tree and got pretty good at swinging through the branches. I even climbed it when I broke my arm and had to be rescued by my mum because I couldn't get down! When it was windy I would climb as high as the branches would allow and sway in the wind. The whole area by the willow tree was trees and bushes and made a good shady spot for picnics. There was a large veg plot, as my father has always enjoyed growing fruit and veg. The garden was completely enclosed by a high stone wall and plum trees lined a lot of it. There was a huge lawn, which was later partly taken over by goats and a hard court area at the far end. The hard area was great for bonfire parties and we had a fair few of them over the years.
Standing alone next to the hard court was an old apple tree. Beneath it old Scruff was buried after doing a 'mad circuit' of the garden and suffering a heart attack as he rested beneath it's branches. Against the furthest wall was a very old stone arch that used to lead out to the road but had been bricked up. The arch was about a metre deep so there was a small area inside where I used to bury dead insects, birds and small animals. The arch was built from the crystal like stone that often comes out of quarries. Some of the stones had dislodged from the arch and lay on the ground. One day one of my brother's friends picked up one of the big stones and threw it back against the arch. We all expected it to hit the arch and drop, but because of the nature of the stone it bounced. I remember seeing it coming towards me but didn't manage to step out of the way and it hit me squarely between the eyes. My brother's friend went home. I added to my existing scar and again developed some cracking black eyes, but luckily no serious damage. A lesson in physics learned.
1978 The New House Part Two
Those huge wooden stairs led up to my least favourite place in the house. I always had a bad feeling about the top landing, and since then my sister has also admitted she didn't like it much. To the left of the landing led down to 'The Flat'. There was a dorm just before it but it wasn't used much. The Flat was a self contained area with a bedroom and it's own bathroom. When my father first started his job at the school the rest of the family were still living in Kent. Funnily enough, while he was looking for a house he spent 6 months living in The Flat.
The Flat was where our guests used to stay. It was also were my mother slept with my sister many years later, when, whilst working on a farm in Wales for her gap year from an Agricultural college, she witnessed a friend and colleague go under the wheels of a tractor right next to where she was stood. My sister was only about 19/20 at the time, and as you can imagine, suffered with terrible nightmares for a long time afterwards.
Heading in the other direction from the eerie landing brought you to another favourite place; the airing cupboard. This airing cupboard wasn't just any airing cupboard, it was the king of airing cupboards! It was where all the bedding etc for the dorms was kept and it was, again, HUGE! It was a small room and you could walk right into it. It had a large tank against the far wall and lots of shelves from floor to ceiling all around the walls. You can imagine how, as a child on a chilly day, this made one hell of a den. We weren't meant to go in there, and most times we were never caught but we would get busted by the cleaning ladies every now and then.
Most of the upstairs of the house was taken up by more dorms and washrooms, but up a couple of little steps and round a corner was our private accommodation. We had three bedrooms and a bathroom all lined up down a corridor. I shared a bedroom with my sister. It was a lovely big room, but my sister and I clashed pretty badly. Being five years older than me she wasn't really interested in me, and I just wanted what she had.
Thinking back, I just don't know how my mother ever coped with us kids in that massive house. Ok our actual private accomodation was no bigger than your average three bed semi, but it was so spread out! And then there were the extras like the airing cupboard and cellar to hide in. The bedrooms being so far from everything, for example, I know I rarely went to sleep on time. The door at the end of our private passage was quite noisy, so I always knew when someone was coming. I used to sit at my door reading by the light in the corridor ready to jump back into bed at the first creak of that door.
One of the things I remember most about this house was the fire alarms. It was an old system with very noisy old bells. When I was small I hated passing the alarm bells and frequently covered my ears and ran passed them. The smoke detectors were beams of light that would trigger the alarm when they were broken, in theory by smoke. Living in a big old house brings one common denominator, spiders. I'm sure every now and then they would get together and discuss setting of the alarms. We used to go through patches when they seemed to go off on regular basis, and more often than not it seemed to be at night.
Because the house was a boarding house my father had to call the fire brigade every time the alarm went off, whether there was a fire or not. We never actually had a fire, thankfully, but the fire brigade was called many a time over the 13 years or so we lived in that house! Sometimes ambulances and police cars would get dispatched too, filling up the street outside the house. As I got older I used to enjoy the fire alarms. It meant I got to go and stand outside with all the boys in their pyjamas! And I'm sure that's where my 'thing' about firemen came from.
The Flat was where our guests used to stay. It was also were my mother slept with my sister many years later, when, whilst working on a farm in Wales for her gap year from an Agricultural college, she witnessed a friend and colleague go under the wheels of a tractor right next to where she was stood. My sister was only about 19/20 at the time, and as you can imagine, suffered with terrible nightmares for a long time afterwards.
Heading in the other direction from the eerie landing brought you to another favourite place; the airing cupboard. This airing cupboard wasn't just any airing cupboard, it was the king of airing cupboards! It was where all the bedding etc for the dorms was kept and it was, again, HUGE! It was a small room and you could walk right into it. It had a large tank against the far wall and lots of shelves from floor to ceiling all around the walls. You can imagine how, as a child on a chilly day, this made one hell of a den. We weren't meant to go in there, and most times we were never caught but we would get busted by the cleaning ladies every now and then.
Most of the upstairs of the house was taken up by more dorms and washrooms, but up a couple of little steps and round a corner was our private accommodation. We had three bedrooms and a bathroom all lined up down a corridor. I shared a bedroom with my sister. It was a lovely big room, but my sister and I clashed pretty badly. Being five years older than me she wasn't really interested in me, and I just wanted what she had.
Thinking back, I just don't know how my mother ever coped with us kids in that massive house. Ok our actual private accomodation was no bigger than your average three bed semi, but it was so spread out! And then there were the extras like the airing cupboard and cellar to hide in. The bedrooms being so far from everything, for example, I know I rarely went to sleep on time. The door at the end of our private passage was quite noisy, so I always knew when someone was coming. I used to sit at my door reading by the light in the corridor ready to jump back into bed at the first creak of that door.
One of the things I remember most about this house was the fire alarms. It was an old system with very noisy old bells. When I was small I hated passing the alarm bells and frequently covered my ears and ran passed them. The smoke detectors were beams of light that would trigger the alarm when they were broken, in theory by smoke. Living in a big old house brings one common denominator, spiders. I'm sure every now and then they would get together and discuss setting of the alarms. We used to go through patches when they seemed to go off on regular basis, and more often than not it seemed to be at night.
Because the house was a boarding house my father had to call the fire brigade every time the alarm went off, whether there was a fire or not. We never actually had a fire, thankfully, but the fire brigade was called many a time over the 13 years or so we lived in that house! Sometimes ambulances and police cars would get dispatched too, filling up the street outside the house. As I got older I used to enjoy the fire alarms. It meant I got to go and stand outside with all the boys in their pyjamas! And I'm sure that's where my 'thing' about firemen came from.
1978 The New House Part One
I don't particularly remember the old house, I know what it was basically like because I visited the White's on a regular basis after we moved, and I had other friends who lived on my old road. But the new house was something else. Apart from the fact we lived there for over 13 years it was a memorable place. The house is probably pushing 400 years old, and has quite some history behind it. Down in the cellar there was a tunnel that led to the church, apparently the village had a whole network of tunnels. This tunnel had been bricked up a little way down it, due to the increase in traffic that passed over head. But there was still a good dark space to hide in and to frighten visiting friends with!
As I mentioned before the house belonged to the school that my father worked for. The accommodation was a bit jumbled up but we had our areas and the pupils areas. As you came in the back door, the front door wasn't used much, there was a big cloakroom and toilets. This was also the domain of the cleaning ladies. They had a little cubby in one corner were they could make tea etc. I used to visit them here on a regular basis when I was small. I also later discovered the polished floor of the big cloakroom was a great place for roller boots!
The next place you came to was our kitchen. It was huge, with a massive table right in the middle. There was a scullery attached and a larder through that. One wall of the kitchen was dominated by a very large Aga, which became the centre of the household. When people came round or we came in from the garden when it was chilly, we would all line up against the Aga with our backs against the rail. When it was really cold and we came in from playing in the garden with frozen feet, would sit with them in the coolest oven to thaw them out. Sometimes we had orphan lambs in boxes on the hotplate and I can remember our old Jack Russell, Scruff, sat quietly watching the boxes, wistfully. When there were no lambs he would claim his spot with his back against the Aga and good luck to anyone who tried to move him. The Aga was run on coal, which when it went out was a nuisance because the whole process of cleaning it and getting it fired up again sometimes used to take days. But with the village running on electric and no gas, when we had a power cut, which I remember having quite a few of, we were the only kids in the village that used to get a cooked tea!
There was a tall window on one side of the kitchen that, with a chair placed beneath it, made a good door into the beautiful, big garden. Otherwise it was quite a long way round! Everyone used this door including the dog.
The big table in the middle of the room used to host some lovely family get-togethers. Usually at Christmas. I remember one particular Christmas when we had a few relations there and there was a huge spread laid out before us. Happily enjoying the food we were all a bit surprised when a family of mice decided to join us by falling from the light fitting above our heads! I remember the mice falling with a sprinkle of plaster dust onto the table, but I don't actually remember the undoubted chaos that followed. I'm sure your own imaginations will paint a picture of aunts and uncles scattering, kids squealing, and no doubt a look of horror on my mother's face.
Also downstairs there was an office, my father was now Housemaster and my mother Matron, our private lounge, our playroom and the door to the cellar. There were also two dorms for the boys from the school. I always thought that I was lucky to have a playroom, but now I have my own kids I realise that it was my parent's that were lucky to have it! It meant we had our own space to play in, keep our mess in and it meant that the lounge was, well a lounge. That was the theory anyway. We still played in the lounge but we were usually using the coffee table as a slide or something equally naughty. The lounge and kitchen were a long way from eachother and as my mother spent most of her time in the kitchen we got away with a lot of things! We also had a piano in there, which I also consider myself lucky to have had. I just wish I had kept it up.
One of the best things about this house was the main staircase. It was our staircase, the boys weren't allowed to use it, they had their own. Which is probably just as well because it was a huge wooden staircase with some of the best banisters I've ever had the pleasure of sliding down! The stairs were in two parts with a big central landing. Over the years I mastered the banisters and could slide down the first part, do some fancy flip thing and then slide down the second part. We also used to climb them on the way up and not bother with the stairs at all. This is just what my youngest daughter would have been like, and the idea horrifies me! Thinking back it was pretty dangerous, the top banister was pretty high up and the floor below was a good hard polished slate. But I don't remember any major mishaps just the odd slip and crunch!
As I mentioned before the house belonged to the school that my father worked for. The accommodation was a bit jumbled up but we had our areas and the pupils areas. As you came in the back door, the front door wasn't used much, there was a big cloakroom and toilets. This was also the domain of the cleaning ladies. They had a little cubby in one corner were they could make tea etc. I used to visit them here on a regular basis when I was small. I also later discovered the polished floor of the big cloakroom was a great place for roller boots!
The next place you came to was our kitchen. It was huge, with a massive table right in the middle. There was a scullery attached and a larder through that. One wall of the kitchen was dominated by a very large Aga, which became the centre of the household. When people came round or we came in from the garden when it was chilly, we would all line up against the Aga with our backs against the rail. When it was really cold and we came in from playing in the garden with frozen feet, would sit with them in the coolest oven to thaw them out. Sometimes we had orphan lambs in boxes on the hotplate and I can remember our old Jack Russell, Scruff, sat quietly watching the boxes, wistfully. When there were no lambs he would claim his spot with his back against the Aga and good luck to anyone who tried to move him. The Aga was run on coal, which when it went out was a nuisance because the whole process of cleaning it and getting it fired up again sometimes used to take days. But with the village running on electric and no gas, when we had a power cut, which I remember having quite a few of, we were the only kids in the village that used to get a cooked tea!
There was a tall window on one side of the kitchen that, with a chair placed beneath it, made a good door into the beautiful, big garden. Otherwise it was quite a long way round! Everyone used this door including the dog.
The big table in the middle of the room used to host some lovely family get-togethers. Usually at Christmas. I remember one particular Christmas when we had a few relations there and there was a huge spread laid out before us. Happily enjoying the food we were all a bit surprised when a family of mice decided to join us by falling from the light fitting above our heads! I remember the mice falling with a sprinkle of plaster dust onto the table, but I don't actually remember the undoubted chaos that followed. I'm sure your own imaginations will paint a picture of aunts and uncles scattering, kids squealing, and no doubt a look of horror on my mother's face.
Also downstairs there was an office, my father was now Housemaster and my mother Matron, our private lounge, our playroom and the door to the cellar. There were also two dorms for the boys from the school. I always thought that I was lucky to have a playroom, but now I have my own kids I realise that it was my parent's that were lucky to have it! It meant we had our own space to play in, keep our mess in and it meant that the lounge was, well a lounge. That was the theory anyway. We still played in the lounge but we were usually using the coffee table as a slide or something equally naughty. The lounge and kitchen were a long way from eachother and as my mother spent most of her time in the kitchen we got away with a lot of things! We also had a piano in there, which I also consider myself lucky to have had. I just wish I had kept it up.
One of the best things about this house was the main staircase. It was our staircase, the boys weren't allowed to use it, they had their own. Which is probably just as well because it was a huge wooden staircase with some of the best banisters I've ever had the pleasure of sliding down! The stairs were in two parts with a big central landing. Over the years I mastered the banisters and could slide down the first part, do some fancy flip thing and then slide down the second part. We also used to climb them on the way up and not bother with the stairs at all. This is just what my youngest daughter would have been like, and the idea horrifies me! Thinking back it was pretty dangerous, the top banister was pretty high up and the floor below was a good hard polished slate. But I don't remember any major mishaps just the odd slip and crunch!
1973-1978 The Early Years
I was born at 3.20am on the 10th December 1973 in Taunton, Somerset, weighing in at 6lb 7oz. I wasn't a beautiful baby. I had a big nose. My father has brought this up from time to time and will say 'look how she turned out'. Obviously inferring I turned out ok, but I still have a nose that is larger than I would like! The youngest of the family, I have a sister who is five years older than me and a brother who is nearly three years older. The story goes that after the quite traumatic births of my siblings, I popped out before my mother even made it to the delivery room.
Both of my parents were teachers. My father came from Mid Wales and my mother from Kent. They met at teaching college. Both my sister and brother were born in Kent, but by the time I came along the family was living in Somerset. My father used to teach Agriculture at a local specialist farming school and my mother gave up full time teaching to raise us kids.
My first house was a new build on an nice estate in a large village. I wasn't very old when we left that house but my earliest memories come from there. I remember the 'big' snow we had, must have been winter 76/77. I remember that my father had to dig out the path and that the drifts were huge. Of course they probably weren't, it's just that I was so small. I also remember the path to the front door. You had to climb a few steps, and it was lined with rose bushes. I fell off that path one day into the roses, I can clearly remember running into the house crying, while my sister tried to pluck out thorns from the backs of my legs!
My father's family in Wales and mother's family still in Kent, we didn't get to see our grandparents that much, so we adopted the couple that lived next door. They were a lovely couple who took on the adoption as readily as us. I can remember Mr W teasing us regularly, he used to use the handle of his walking stick to catch our ankles as we passed him.
One day my mother was talking to Mrs W over the fence outside the back door. (I always love this image of neighbours chatting over the fence, it's not always so easy to find good neighbours anymore, although I have been lucky). I think I was about 7 months old. Mother had placed me in my baby seat on the table and hadn't meant to leave me there, but obviously got distracted. Impatient as I was, I began to jiggle in my seat. I managed to jiggle the chair right off the table and to land on my face on the corner of the storage heater. The result of this was that I earned my first scar. I had a gash across the bridge of my nose which had to be stitched and later developed two beautiful black eyes. I have wondered over the years whether I could bring it up in an arguement, but have decided that my mother probably payed enough. She tells of the horrified looks she got when people would peer into the pram to see the 'beautiful' baby!
We left this house the spring after I turned four. We moved to a very big place that was a boarding house for the school were my dad worked. It was just round the corner from our first house, so wasn't very far to go. I clearly remember my father carrying our swing down the road over his shoulders!
Both of my parents were teachers. My father came from Mid Wales and my mother from Kent. They met at teaching college. Both my sister and brother were born in Kent, but by the time I came along the family was living in Somerset. My father used to teach Agriculture at a local specialist farming school and my mother gave up full time teaching to raise us kids.
My first house was a new build on an nice estate in a large village. I wasn't very old when we left that house but my earliest memories come from there. I remember the 'big' snow we had, must have been winter 76/77. I remember that my father had to dig out the path and that the drifts were huge. Of course they probably weren't, it's just that I was so small. I also remember the path to the front door. You had to climb a few steps, and it was lined with rose bushes. I fell off that path one day into the roses, I can clearly remember running into the house crying, while my sister tried to pluck out thorns from the backs of my legs!
My father's family in Wales and mother's family still in Kent, we didn't get to see our grandparents that much, so we adopted the couple that lived next door. They were a lovely couple who took on the adoption as readily as us. I can remember Mr W teasing us regularly, he used to use the handle of his walking stick to catch our ankles as we passed him.
One day my mother was talking to Mrs W over the fence outside the back door. (I always love this image of neighbours chatting over the fence, it's not always so easy to find good neighbours anymore, although I have been lucky). I think I was about 7 months old. Mother had placed me in my baby seat on the table and hadn't meant to leave me there, but obviously got distracted. Impatient as I was, I began to jiggle in my seat. I managed to jiggle the chair right off the table and to land on my face on the corner of the storage heater. The result of this was that I earned my first scar. I had a gash across the bridge of my nose which had to be stitched and later developed two beautiful black eyes. I have wondered over the years whether I could bring it up in an arguement, but have decided that my mother probably payed enough. She tells of the horrified looks she got when people would peer into the pram to see the 'beautiful' baby!
We left this house the spring after I turned four. We moved to a very big place that was a boarding house for the school were my dad worked. It was just round the corner from our first house, so wasn't very far to go. I clearly remember my father carrying our swing down the road over his shoulders!
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