Moving Home (Social History)

 Moving Home 

By Barbara Thomas 

A very short version of the moves I have made to different homes. Also a look into the past Social history. 

Looking back through the years from 1941 until 2025 I realized I must have moved at least 30 times.

A gipsy I’m not…….. 

Starting from my birth, my mother who had recently been bombed out, was living at my Gran’s with my two older sisters, Dad was overseas doing his bit in the army.

So after leaving the maternity hospital I went to live at my granny Smiths. 

When I was about 18 months old the house next to Gran’s became vacant, so Mum, my two siblings and I moved into my second home. Although there was some near misses with bombs and doddle bugs we survived.

I lived there until the tender age of 17 when I got married.

(As I had an obussive Father very handy with his strap I couldn’t wait to leave home). 

There was none of this living together malarkey not in those days. 

My new husband and I moved a fair distance from my family home. It comprised of literally 2 rooms which were way up on the 4th floor.

Our landlord who also lived in the house in the basement he was a very creepy old gentleman. 

With no bathroom, although what I never had I never missed. Tin bath and local baths were the norm growing up at both previous homes. 

At first I thought it was wonderful away from my tyrant of a father, I think he must have suffered what we now call PDST which took him a long time to settle into civilian life and ordered us children around like we were part of his battalion. 

After two years living in the 2 rooms, came the babies, one after the other Danny and Gary, I would heave their pram up four flights of stairs as we weren’t allowed to leave the pram in the passage.

My second son had been born in the terrible winter of 1961/62

Oil heaters were the only means of warmth; we had icicles that froze on the insides of the windows. 

When my boys were respectively 18 and 6 months old I heard from a relative that my parents had decided to move after my Gran died. They took out a mortgage, instead of renting a house. 

I seized the moment and took two very long bus rides through London where my parent’s landlady lived.

She always had a soft spot for me, as my Gran offered her the use of the upstairs parlour when she came every weekend to collect the rents and I would make her a cup of tea with a slice of my Gran’s cake. 

I rang the bell and Mrs. Philips opened the door and was very surprised to see me standing there. She invited me in and after a while I explained the reason that bought me there and informed her that Mum and Dad when everything money wise had been dealt with would be moving out of the family home as they were in the process of getting a mortgage.

This came as a complete surprise to her, the reason for this I explained was because Dad was having problems getting the mortgage due to being self-employed so until Dad could get a bridging loan my parents wanted to keep it quiet.

After being offered a cup of tea I then explained to the Landlady about my circumstances how with two young babies having to struggle daily up and down the stairs carrying them and then the pram up to the fourth floor, plus as I only had 2 rooms with oven on the landing it wasn’t an ideal place to bring up children. 

She listened intently then asked the 64 dollar question was I able to take on the rent of £2.00 a week plus rates, with my fingers crossed behind my back I replied, “Yes of course that was perfectly alright as my husband had a decent job” (Wages at that time were £6 a week If you were lucky to be in employment).

So at the age of 21 my husband and I moved back into my childhood home. My father was furious as he had promised to speak to the Landlady when the time was right to ask on behalf of my younger sister and her future husband (who were getting married within weeks) That could they take over the rent book? 

My husband and I moved in with our babies with a very small amount of furniture.

Due to only having 2 rooms, we slept on a put-u-up in the front room while the children slept in the back room.

My father thought he would have the last word and had given the removal men instructions that not one item of curtain, carpet light bulbs were to be left in the house. 

Not to be outdone I went to my aunt and uncle who lived a bus ride away explained the situation and they willingly gave us a proper bed, rugs, curtains and anything else useful with my uncle making sure that electrics etc were safe for all of us. 

Sadly my gran had died several years before but I soon got to know my new neighbours.

The bedroom floors had no covering so I placed blankets on the floor and nailed them down until one day I could afford better. 

The pleasure I had had putting that rent book down in front of my father saying that if my sister and husband wanted they could move in on the top floor. Even then he tried to lay down the law saying my sister was not used to living upstairs so therefore he suggested strongly that my husband and I move upstairs and my sister and new husband take over the ground and first floor, unbelievably!!!

So I told him that I was quite happy for my sister and her husband to move in upstairs.

I won the day and my sister and new husband moved in as arranged after their honeymoon. Rent sorted WHEW!!

My 2 children became three by then loved the freedom of the garden and I lived there 8 years before I was on the move again. (My sister had moved out to Harlow New Town within a year so I had to find another way to help pay the rent, through word of mouth, I took on a lodger. 

All was well in the beginning until the lodger bought a friend of his from the pub. I came back from work, and found downstairs had been trashed and the boxes containing Rent, Rates, Electricity which I kept in my wardrobe had been broken into. (That’s how we paid our bills weekly banks were for the rich people, that was what was generally thought) 

The lodger was the only person that I could think of as nothing like that had happened before while he had been living there it had to be his friend so I went upstairs and told my lodger that I suspected his friend, and that I blamed him for bringing that person back to my home. Then I asked him to pack his belongings and go. Before I called the police. The theft was indirectly his fault from allowing that low life in. He even stole the children’s Christmas presents from under the tree.

He said he would reimburse me for whatever had been taken but I told him no! He had to go.

So there I was a slight slip of a girl at the tender age of 22 evicting a giant of a man (6ft 3” actually) out of my home saying i never wanted to see or hear from him again. 

I then decided I would have to take a cleaning job, so one came up at the local school which fitted in nicely with my children’s nursery/school times. Up at 4am, I walked to work, back at 7am in time to get the children ready for school and then back again for work from 6 till 8 pm.

I survived and furnished my home and had Lino laid (carpets were beyond my pocket). 

Several years later unfortunately my marriage broke down, I had lost all respect for him. 

My ex-husband if you notice is not mentioned much and the reason being he was incapable of keeping a job longer than a few months due to lateness and laziness, once the children arrived.

I came to the conclusion I would be better off without him.

After my divorce, which thank goodness the Law Society had just passed a law that made it easier for the ordinary person to get adivorce.

One day a friend and I were having a long chat about leaving London and that’s when I came to rent a flat in Hornchurch Essex.

You may wonder why Hornchurch. Both my friend and I were beginning to get disillusioned with the way London had become with gangs of boys breaking up children’s playground equipment in our nearby park, threatening behaviour all in all making it unsafe to bring up our children the way we were bought up. 

One afternoon when our boys were out playing in my back garden, we made a pact that if we moved it would be together. My friend went an bought the Evening Standard well know for advertising flats to let, and we scoured the pages hoping to find rental accommodation outside London but as neither of us could agree where, we used a pin and stuck it into the paper and said where it landed was where we would go together.

The pin came down on Hornchurch which neither of us had any idea where it was, so we got the children ready stuck babies in prams and went to W.H.Smith’s where we found a map (neither of us could afford to buy the book) so I kept the children quiet while my friend looked through the pages and came to the page showing where Hornchurch was located and found it was near Romford.

Although neither of us could drive we felt “yes”, that’s the place we want to bring up our boys. Although it took several months to work out where we could get the key money, it was the costly sum of £100 a small fortune then. I bit the bullet and went hand in glove to my mother and asked her to loan me the money, promising to pay it back within 6 months. 

I arrived in Hornchurch with my children, who were over the moon with all the open green spaces. Although my eldest boys not realising the difference between private and public stretch of green had climbed over a wall and went scrumping thinking that was part of the park.

It was a terrible struggle at first but with the help of my Mum who had ignored my Dads instructions that she was not to do anything to help, as in his words, “I made my bed now I must lie on it,” strange words!! 

Four years on, I was moving again.

Another chapter in my life opened up when I met an old school friend, we dated for some time and eventually we married, and moved back to Highgate London. He was a builder and all his business connections were there. 

This is just a very short interpretation of moving home.

 

Copyright Barbara Thomas

 

Now Christmas has passed

 Now Christmas has passed

By Sis Unsworth 

The festive lights, have been taken down,

they’d enhanced the season, across Rayleigh town.

It signals the end of chaos in stores,

when last minute shoppers crammed through their doors.

Such a time for indulgence, some say it’s a sin,

once Christmas is passed, the bills will come in.

Many did not, send out Christmas cards,

for the cost of the stamps, hit us all very hard.

The rush and the hurry, expense and the stress

Preparing and cooking, then clearing up the mess

So glad that it’s over, some say with a cheer,

But we’ll do it again, in less than a year!!!

 

Copyright Sis Unsworth

To Danny Boy my son

 A letter to my deceased son, Danny:

By Barbara Thomas

“Oh Danny Boy,” so full of life and fun.

It’s been nearly three years since you went on your journey, leaving behind memories, never to be forgotten. 

“Oh Danny Boy”, why did you go so young, we miss your smile and mischievous fun. 

Looking back my lovely boy all those years, man and boy. Fun was the name of the day, laughing joking in your own familiar ways. 

Letting us know when your favourite team lost, joy and laughter when they won. 

“Oh Danny”, how we miss your voice. 

When you were first diagnosed with a Brain Tumor, your first re-action was “I bet that’s because of all the years of bundles we had at Chelsea’s football ground.” 

You were told unfortunately that you have only 4 months so it would be wise to sort out your affairs. 

Even then your reply was that, “I will beat those odds”, and so you did, “Danny Boy” after weeks of grueling chemo, radiation therapy you came through with that smile of yours. 

Four months passed we all thought that you had beaten the disease, life move on, days of hospital appointments even going to so many funerals of your friends in the cancer ward, 

Six months turned into one year, we all held our breaths. 

“Oh Danny Boy”, you surprised us all by divorcing your wife of over 30 years and married again, “shock, horror”. But then it was your life. 

One year turned into two, you carried on as normal, went up to London to have a drink or two with your mates. Making sure that every minute was covered. 

It became the 3rd year since the diagnoses. we all became complacent, surely the hospital got this wrong. 

“But Danny Boy”, you had other worries; your new partner was diagnosed with Breast Cancer.

You both cuddled each other and cried.

Your new wife Rea, who happened to be an oncologist matron of all things, bravely went through her treatment, she lost all her hair, but like you Danny, she carried her pain with dignity. 

6 months later Rea had completed her treatment, her hair began to grow. 

Then the two of you decided to put the misery of the harsh treatment you had both endured to halt your cancers, and go off on a cruise, then fly to Spain and several trips on the Eurostar to France, even to Disney Land and then Belgium and other European countries. “Two people as One. 

“Danny boy,” the fourth year started well, you carried on meeting up with your mates in London having a jar or two.

Then went for a check up, and MRI - X-rays tests, when fate intervened again.

Your Oncologist Consultant sat before you to explain that another tumor had been found.

Several weeks later you were recovering from your second brain operation to be told that all was well, the tumor had been removed.

We all said a silently prayer. 

Following the weeks after your operation you had an Epilepsy fit that came out of the blue.

So it was back to the hospital to find out why that had happened. 

And my darling boy, your Consultant explained that by removing the second tumor, unfortunately it had disturbed the first large tumor that had only been partially removed. 

The next news the Consultant gave you was that you now had months maybe even weeks before you would eventually succumb to this terrible disease and he suggested that you might want to put your house in order.

We visited you at your home, and as Rea was an Oncologist Matron, she had managed to get you a hospital bed and everything needed for your care, she had to fight all the way for her to receive all these, as you had said you wanted to die at home and not in a Hospice. 

When I first saw you laying there in your bed by the open French windows, your eyes were closed. I came and sat by your side and all I could feel was peace surrounding you.

Then Danny boy you opened those beautiful blue eyes, and I remember saying to you, “do you know who I am”,

your reply immediately was, “of course you are my Mum” that was music to my ears, because weeks before you were unaware of your surroundings or people, but you did say strangely enough to your Step-dad, “are you married?” 

Well, that was all the conversation you could manage from your bed “of course you are my Mum”, but that was music to my eyes and more than enough for me and I will carry that with me to the rest of my days and when I get really low thinking of you I will remember those words for ever.

Well “Danny Boy”, the Good Lord came and took you silently when Rea had gone upstairs to get something for you.

You had fallen into a deep sleep and never woke up.

So if you are looking down my “darling Danny Boy”, you would know how loved you are and that we pray for you everyday.

Your funeral had so many of your family, friends, work colleagues and even your darts team all filled the Crematorium.

You arrived in a wicker basket draped with Chelsea colours.

You had chose, Sammy Davis, “Bo jangles”, as your entrance song, and after the service you had chosen “A wondering Star” by Lee Marvin, which was so you, and Danny every-time I hear those songs on the TV or radio, I weep silently, but I understand that going quietly into the unknown had been the best thing to happen to you taking you away from all that suffering. 

God speed you on your way my darling boy, and fly high, Amen. 

Mum xxx

Spanish Holiday ~ (300 Word Flash)

 Spanish Holiday ~ (300 Word Flash)

By Bob French

Their friends told them that to take a holiday in Spain during the civil war was not only cheap, but dangerous. Regardless of the warnings, Alice and Thomas bought their train tickets to Barcelona in search of the heat, adventure, culture, and the wine.

          Their hotel in Barcelona, a once grand but now crumbling building, was the perfect mix of mystery and charm.  Most nights they simply wandered off into the ancient parts of the city.  On some nights the locals who quickly befriended them warned them that as foreigners, not to go to certain parts of the city, but to them, the world seemed as vibrant as the beautiful hanging plants that cascaded down from tall buildings.

          One evening while exploring the narrow winding streets of east Barcelona, they met a young man who insisted on showing them a traditional Spanish evening. They willingly followed him until the sound of castanets and guitars lured them down a narrow candlelit alleyway to a quaint taberna. They noted that the taberna owner was not too pleased at seeing them, and nodded them to a table in the back of the café.  Once the dancers started their flamenco everyone seemed to join in. 

       Suddenly, the doors were kicked in, whistles were being blown, followed by total panic. Before Alice and Thomas realised what was happening, they were arrested and thrown into jail. The following morning, after some rigorous interrogation, the officer declared that they were fifth colonist spies and would be dealt with accordingly.

          As the church bells sounded ten o’clock, they were blindfolded and escorted out into the back garden.  They felt the warm sun on their faces and the tranquil sound of the birds in the trees.

Then they heard the order. “Fire!” 

Copyright Bob French ~ December 2025

 

Multiverse & Standard Haiga

From Robert Kingston

Attached were Both recently published in “The word on the street” a Christian journal in the US.

Enjoy:

Autumn Harvest

 Autumn Harvest 

By Christopher Mathews 

Children wade knee deep through waves of golden carpet leaf,

 the crunch and snap of autumn’s dry discarded wreath.

 

Pockets full of conkers they search the forest floor,

ready for the schoolyard battle, with the boy who lives next door.

 

The stream is slow and lazy now,

at peace with the waving waterweed,

shrew and voles seek a place for the long cold winter sleep

 

Morning mist veils the land with a gentle silver glow, the cobwebs shine like jewels, the promise of an early snow.

 

The evening sun, falls swiftly upon the weary weald,

soon at rest, the summer harvest gone, labourers plod home to leave the empty field

 

A breathless breeze calls softly among the withering leaves,

the golden spell of summer’s gone,

announcing winter’s sleep.

 

Old and ragged butterflies search among the blackthorn leaves,

a place to lay their seed of life for the coming spring.

 

The king of trees has lost his robes of lush and verdant green,

and reigns alone without the Elm,

his long dead slender queen.

 

His labour through the spring and summer toil,

produced the treasured acorn, abundant with the richness of the soil.

 

An fruitful crop of life, hides inside the golden leaves, but lost among its branches the gall wasp lays her parasitic seeds

Autumn brings to mind my darker days,

as daylight flees and youthful strength begins to slowly fade

 

Copyright Christopher Mathews

 Erulan of Goss

By Len Morgan 

He was young, resourceful, and a fully paid up member of the “Goss Purloiners Guild.”  Erulan was licensed to acquire and fence, illicit goods, through the guild at the advantageous rate of 10%.

He was seventeen,  5’ 10”, wiry and muscular, with dark shoulder length hair flowing loosely in the wind. He was Intelligent, and well aware of the effect his perfect white teeth, and dark hazel eyes, had on the female sex. 

He could enrapture listeners with endless yarns. He needed to hear a story once to grasp its nuances, mannerisms, and the basic story line. He could then mimic the teller well enough to deceive his family and friends.  Women, of all casts, were drawn to and captivated by his charm. The resulting nocturnal liaisons were the source of countless pursuits across the rooftops of Goss; he had, in the past, escaped parents, irate husbands, and wild eyed suitors. 

He’d secreted money, weapons, and disguises in various bolt holes, through out the city, to aid him in his clandestine escapades.  Indiscretions were not his only reason for creating elaborate escape plans.  Erulan, a resourceful and successful thief, despite his age had amassed a tidy fortune at the expense of others.   There wasn’t a wall he couldn’t scale nor a lock he couldn’t pick in under a minute.  The Guild-master called him arrogant and cocksure, but liked him regardless, being reminded of himself at that age, there was no denying the boy’s talent.  His attitude put many backs up which was why, he assumed, he was now being pursued across the city, by a pod of stalkers from the “Assassin’s Guild”. 

  He was aware, there were two assassins tailing, him but he was more concerned with locating the third.  There would be two to harass and harry, whilst the third lay in wait somewhere up ahead.  He could sense they were herding him towards the Eastern gate so decided upon a detour, through a sprawl of dilapidated burned out ruins. He would head for the South wall of the city where he had a little surprise in store for them. He stopped, looking back anxiously he took a drink from his water flask. He bent to replace it in his pack, he heard a thud and on straightening he discovered a stiletto, throwing knife, imbedded in the door post level with his head. He briefly saw movement in his peripheral vision as the assassin moved on to a fall back location. 

“Oh you’re good!” Erulan whispered, ‘and expensive I’ll be bound,’ he mused, ‘so what have I done to warrant such specialist attention I wonder?’

He looked down at the ruby ring on the middle finger of his left hand; it had been hidden, in his clenched fist, until now. It began to glow red and pulse as he entered the burned out area.  The ring was a recent acquisition he’d purloined from the room of a visiting priestess.  It was shaped like a five pointed star, and now pulsed with an inner fire. He placed it in his belt pouch, but it glowed through the thick calico.  He wrapped it in coarse linen, until it was hardly visible, then he headed towards the Southern wall of the city.  But, as he passed an undamaged doorway something told him to enter, as he did so a crossbow quarrel hit the door jamb where his head had been. He didn’t understand why, but he had twice avoided certain death; coincidence?  He didn’t believe in coincidence; his pouch was now glowing red, no longer pulsating, he took out the ring. Its light revealed an incised shape on the wall at head height just inside. He compared the shape to the emerald; he reoriented the stone to match it. Then somehow the stone was drawn into the shape, and his surroundings changed abruptly; he was now at the South wall; his destination!?

The ring had lost its glow, ‘magic!’ he thought a cold streak of fear coursed down his spine at the realisation... ‘Why did I rob a priestess, was I mad’?  At once he knew ~ this was why he was being pursued.  His first thought was to return the ring, which would make sense. But, he was now miles away from her lodging house and he was being chased by a pod of stalkers, when those hounds took an assignment they would keep on his trail, until they kill him no matter how long it took them.  His only chance was to hunt them down and wipe them out… He had funds and weapons stashed close by, his course was clear ‘kill or be killed’. 

What do I need, Weapons and funds.  I can’t return the way I came so I’ll head for the Eastern gate, where the third hound will be waiting. The best route would be the aerial road, around the wall and then across the rooftops. He climbed the South wall and travelled toward the East gate, and then crossed over to the rooftops.  The best view point would be from the gatehouse above the gate.  He retraced his steps and traversed back to the wall. 

‘Good plan,’ he thought and made his way towards the gatehouse. The area where he planned to wait was in deep shadow, but as he approached he froze, he’d seen a glint of movement within the shadow area. That must be number three.  Has he seen me? He crouched low so as not to give ‘3’ a target, then felt the wind from a quarrel as it passed; a near miss he could turn to his advantage “Aagh!” He screamed then lay silent removing a knife from his belt.  He lay there for minutes but nothing happened. He was about to make a move, when ‘3’ moved first. ‘Of course he would have to confirm the kill and return the ring to its owner,’ he reasoned.

“You’re a dead man, that quarrel was tipped with blaqero poison."  He waited. Erulan lay there unmoving. ‘3’ waited, to be sure the poison had taken effect, then he approached and leaned over, knife in hand. Erulan’s blade stabbed deep into 3's chest, his fingers lost their grip on his blade and it fell; the tip grazed Erulan’s neck…

“Bastard!” He yelled in frustration, then looked over the parapet to see if anyone had heard his cry. He saw two men look up, and head for the steps to the gatehouse.  Erulan headed to where ‘3’ had been waiting. He picked up the crossbow and quarrels and aimed at the gatehouse steps. The first headed in his direction. As the second topped the steps, Erulan shot him. He died in silence, so the first was unaware of his fate until the second quarrel took him in the head.

Erulan’s vision was becoming blurred, so he dropped the bow and took an astringent pad from his kit and applied it to his neck, reasoning that No.3 wouldn’t use fatal poison on his blades in case he accidentally cut himself or a member of his pod.  Then he retreated rapidly along the wall and over the rooftops.  It might be days before the bodies were found, but he still didn’t know what, if any, poison had been on that third assassin's blade.  He knew a pod had three members, so It would be a while before the priestess set another on his trail. He returned to the place where he’d originally used the ring, and thought of the room where the priestess was lodging.

.-...-.

“I thought you would return once you sighted the pod. I’m surprised you are not dead. I am Mayli…”   

“Erulan,” he said, “I’m afraid your stalkers are dead. I hope you weren’t too fond of them…”

“Let me see that wound. His blade was tipped with a paralysis brew, you were lucky to get here before it took full effect. Ah just a scrape, you’ll live to tell the tale.” She removed a small leather purse from a pocket in her robe, she opened it and removed a ring, matching the one he was still wearing, his was glowing red, Mayli’s ring was glowing green. “They are twinned you see,” she placed it on the middle finger of her left hand. “I will have need of your services, in a sense you now belong to me and will do my bidding for as long as you are needed.”

He tried to remove the ring from his finger, but it was immovable.” What witchery is this?”

“You will need to cut off your finger to gain your freedom,” she said and smiled.

“So what do you want of me?”

“Unlike your many conquests, I have no need of your body.  It's your talents I require; so you are free to go for now, but when you're needed, you will know…”

 

Copyright Len Morgan