MY LIFE BEFORE GOING INTO CARE

The start to my life came in 1957. For my early years, there are few of my own memories, but with what I have been told, I can build a picture of what life at this early stage was like. My mother had been born and brought up during her younger years in London, the second eldest in a family of five children with slightly over 20 years age gap between the youngest and eldest. My mother was 35 when I was born, my father apparently slightly younger.

  My mother needed to support me financially; from early morning to mid afternoon, she continued in restaurant work. In these early days, it was my grandmother who saw to my daily needs. Having only recently finished bringing up her youngest son who was nearing 20 and who still lived with them, a new arrival to look after was not that much of a difficulty; with more or less 40 years’ experience of child care, I was not going to be that much of a problem.

In my early years my appearance had a slightly tanned look. I had rosy cheeks, a thin build and fast movements. I could have passed for one of many origins; with no father around, if no serious questions were asked, there was no reason to reveal my true details.

Our flat was the top floor of a detached house in Cricklewood, London NW2. Originally, when it was built, the entire house would have been occupied by one family. Now divided into two, with our family living upstairs and another family downstairs, more use was made of the building.

The house and the complete area had been built between the 1880s to 1890s. The road in which our house was situated had been one of the first parts of the development, and as the other roads were built up, the odd extra house was squeezed into each road – so those houses gradually became smaller and had less ornate finishes to them. If they had a slight advantage, it was that their ceilings were lower and it took less to heat them.

There was one disadvantage to the building’s layout, this was having only a single main entrance. The communal hall divided the lower flat in two, although our upper flat, once you were up the wide open staircase, was relatively private; the lower flat, having rooms that led onto the main hall, was not. In a similar fashion a passage that led to a side door equally invaded the privacy of the lower flat. It was down to both families being good neighbours that little conflict took place.

This slightly unusual layout may have been fine for adults, but for a young growing child it was a disadvantage. In my first two years other than noise I might make when crying, or slightly later when I find that any object that can be picked up and banged would make a noise, I caused only a slight nuisance.

From the time that I became a toddler my presence was more of an issue. In today’s terms I might have been labelled hyperactive at that point – I was very active and on the move all the time, with slightly out-of-control movements. The floor and I had regular contact. A first-floor flat was not the best location to be brought up in, when this coincides with a building that has only a garden and outdoor area for the lower flat. With the need to keep me away from the main staircase, restrictions to my movements had to be made.

If I had any annoying qualities it was down to my energetic ways, that started from the moment I got up to the time I went to bed; a bad temper and vocal opinion also gave me a slightly unlovable personality. Whilst I was around, there was neither quiet nor stillness. The only point when I was quiet for any length of time was when I caught the measles, but I was soon over the worst and back to my slightly demanding self.

My life was not totally confined to the indoors; during the morning I would on most days be taken shopping by my grandmother. Often two separate journeys were needed to carry the various groceries the family needed, and with only a cool larder to store food in, shopping was almost a daily task. Early on in life I had the luxury of being taken out in my pushchair for most journeys, but when it became apparent that I was capable of walking quite long distances, although I might start out in a pushchair, the return trip often had the shopping travelling in comfort and me walking alongside. My active movements demanded total control of me: a stout pair of leather reins were always required to keep me from darting along the pavement to view some interesting object in the far distance or across the busy roads.

By far the most interesting shop was the fishmonger’s. This was a very traditional affair, set up from a small shop quite a distance from the edge of the pavement and built outwards with counters and tables covered in ice. It was my grandmother’s habit to visit  this shop first. Early on in the morning the fish were fresh and nice; by late morning to early afternoon, the best choices had gone and the aroma was starting to get a little strong.

From early on in my life I had found that there were two attractions in this shop, and often made requests to visit the fish shop when we went out, even if my grandmother did not have fish on the day’s menu. The ice sprinkled around the fish was not something a small boy was allowed anywhere near. Additional ice was stored at the rear in fine broken chunks, and as ice from the display melted it was replaced from this pile. This pile was also out of bounds to a boy of around three. It was in an area near a small grating for water to run away and a small amount of waste ice, that became the interesting plaything.

There were a few times during the shopping trip when my reins could be released without any fear of me running away. When the shopping was finished they were required to prize me away from the ice. The coldness of the ice never seemed to cause me any discomfort and without any instructions I had invented small ice balls rather than snowballs. An added bonus, extra ice could be trodden down into the grate to make a hard surface to build on. Had I been wearing shoes this last activity would have been forbidden. When going out with my grandmother if there was the chance that we might go near to the fishmonger, I always wore my wellingtons.

Eventually my grandmother would have completed the purchase of the fish and I would be now encouraged to come along. I was a little foolish to try and hide a small amount of ice to take home in the gap between my leg and the inside of my wellingtons –  within minutes it had all melted away. When out with my grandmother it was necessary to obey any instruction given: if ignored, the rest of the trip could be very miserable indeed. 

If I’d been good then the second attraction at the fishmonger’s was allowed. A deep metal container with live eels might revolt most people but I was fascinated by them. Between 20 and 30 long black eels would be swimming around, so tight that it was often impossible to see where one eel ended and the next started. I’d been told never to touch them, as they would bite me. Apparently I was sensible enough to look and wonder at the wriggling mass. If one of the staff was not busy I might be handed one of the long wooden sticks that they used for separating the eels and allowed to prod them gently. Eels were one item my grandmother never seemed to buy. I knew they were for eating, but I never actually discovered how you took one home. The grocer’s also provided a learning experience, with everything from watching bacon being sliced to large lumps of cheese getting cut down to more manageable lumps that would fit on the tea table.

The one drawback of having to go shopping for food was the number of clothes and shoe shops that were in between our flat and the shops we had to visit. Most of the journey seemed to be spent with my grandmother looking in the windows. A sale on, and even more time was spent trying on the various bargains that appeared but it was seldom that anything was ever  actually purchased. For the rest of the trip I would be told that the items were the wrong colour, it was the wrong season, or a host of other reasons for not buying the item. I found no real way of persuading my grandmother to speed up the search for these elusive bargains. With my mother the threat of, or an actual temper tantrum was enough to move us on; behaviour in this way was certainly not tolerated by my grandmother.

  The only thing that was slightly worse than gazing pointlessly into clothes shops, was being taken out when it was  necessary to buy clothes for me. There was slight rivalry between my mother and grandmother, it was over the clothes I should wear. My mother’s choice was more for cardigans or jumpers with design embellishments; my grandmother was more for something plain. Often I might wear my grandmother’s choice in the morning and if taken out later in the day by my mother then redressed in her choice of clothes.

By mid-morning, we would return to the flat. If I had been good, a glass of squash or milk and the odd biscuit now came my way; whilst my grandmother would put the kettle on to get a pot of tea ready. If she decided she fancied something other than tea then a solitary bottle of Guinness would be brought out. The glass was just too small to take the entire bottle of this black liquid with its interesting creamy head that formed as if by magic. If I had been good then a special miniature drinking glass would be taken from the cupboard and the last part of the bottle would be poured in for me. Not the average drink for a young child, but to me it was interesting and its quantity did no harm.

The rest of the morning I was free to amuse myself. The front window gave a good view of local events, although by this time of the day there were few people about. Eventually lunch was ready, and once that was finished I was encouraged to go for a little nap. If I managed to get to sleep, I would be woken in time to listen to the children’s story on the radio. Once over, the programmes reverted to more adult themes and I was left once more to my own devices.

Occasionally, if it was a nice, I would be taken to the park by my mother. The park was quite a distance away, and on the days I walked there most of my energy had been used up by the time we arrived. There was little inclination to do much running about until the moment it was decided it was time to go home.

The most interesting part of the park was to be allowed to run up the grassy sides of the communal air-raid shelters that were still standing from the last war. The speed at which I could run down depended on how confident I felt. Occasional trips and falls did no real damage, but it appeared I had little ability to put my hands out in front of me when I was about to fall so I acquired a good assortment of bruises and many nose-bleeds.

The other attraction in the park was the swings. My requests to be pushed higher each time were ignored; my size dictated from quite an early age that the safety child swings with bars across to hold the child in place were of little use, as my feet touched the ground. I was allowed on the ordinary swings with orders to keep a good hold.

Eventually it would be time to return home for tea. If things progressed without further problems I was then allowed to watch the television, the signal for me going to bed being the start of the News. From this point on the adults wanted peace and quiet. There was little protest on my part. Having used up all my energy, all I could do was hope I had been good enough to have a story read to me in bed. With me asleep, the family had a few hours of peace and quiet. The following morning I would be up as early as possible and ready for another day of learning about what things were, and generally getting under everyone’s feet who were not sensible enough to have left the house at the earliest opportunity.

If there were things missing in my life – like a father and other children – I didn’t really notice. I was quite content with my daily life. On a Saturday I would be taken out for the entire day by my mother. Bus rides, exploring the London Underground, playing in the park, watching the events on the River Thames, visiting museums and interesting trips to the larger shops allowed a good basic education of life around me to evolve. On the days I was taken out for the day, those still in the flat breathed a sigh of relief at the peace and quiet that had descended.

Sunday, also gave my mother the opportunity to take me out again. Often our day’s events would involve the park and a picnic if it was fine. The whole day could be spent together, though if there was enough open space I’d be allowed to run about without any restriction. When I eventually ran out of steam it was judged time to eat and when all the food had been eaten and I’d run about some more, the slow return journey would then take place. If the weather was dull or raining I would still be taken out. Long bus rides and looking at famous buildings were far better than having to stay indoors.

Continued

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