Page 35 - My Story (final)

We went home to Streatham and decided that it was time to look for a bigger, better house. The
time was ripe because our elderly tenant had been shipped off to an old age home as he was no longer
capable of looking after himself which left a future owner free to convert the two flats into one house
with bathroom and indoor loo. We had already made the decision that we couldn’t have a baby until
Peter was earning £1,000 a year which would enable us to live without my salary. Peter remembers
having a conversation with our friend Brian Ludlow and both agreeing that their £1,000 a year was drawing
closer, but they couldn’t see where the second one was going to come from!

We looked at a lot of houses. Peter’s salary was upped to that elusive thousand and I got pregnant
and then one day we were led to Thurlow Hill in West Dulwich. The house was at the top of the hill in a
cul-de-sac, built in the thirties and was, for us, enormous with three bedrooms, living room, dining room,
kitchen, bathroom (such a treat) and was light and airy with a nice back garden. We bought it. Jackie and
Peter were at the ready to buy our old one and convert it and they lived there happily for some years,
sending their girls to the local elementary school.

We did a lot of work to that house. It was painted in heavy blues and reds – I wanted pale lilac
and lavender. We painted the nursery yellow because in those days you didn’t know the sex of the baby
until it arrived. We bought a beautiful white cot and Julie gave us her no longer in use Silver Cross pram.
This was a stately affair made like a royal coach and we were very proud of it – looking at it you knew the
correct word for it was perambulator! But the big thing we did to that house was have central heating
installed. Peter’s mother shook her head in dismay. “It’s not healthy” she said “And you’re spending all
that money” but we were adamant. To compensate for “all that money” we did the painting ourselves as
we did for many years after that.

I retired from work in about July of 1958 and stayed home to supervise the construction which
seemed to go on and on. We were anxious for the men to finish so that we could get on with the painting
but here we were in October or November, the baby was due early December and they seemed to have
moved in with us. Peter was driving the old Austin at this time and had some trouble starting it first thing
in the morning. One morning I had been listening to the coughing and gasping of the old car and suddenly
yelled out, “It’s started!” The workers paled and offered me a chair and asked whether they should call
for an ambulance – but it did give them a jolt and they seemed to hurry the job along after that!

Meanwhile our friends the Ludlows had also upgraded their home and June and I decided we
were going to try to make our own curtains and we were going to do a perfect job of lined curtains. We
each had a simple sewing machine, I believe mine was a Jones in those days and we got hold of a manual
and lo, we made perfect, lined curtains with lines matching and hanging straight and evenly. Peter, of
course, was now in the venetian blind business so we had to have those, as well. I remember we chose
red for the dining room to go with the red sailing ship patterned curtains. I shudder now to think of the
effect but in 1958 as we were recovering from the drabness of the war, we thought it was pretty lively.

The central heating was installed, we did not immediately die of some rare and awful disease, the
nursery was ready, everywhere was painted except for the hall and stairway and Helen was born. We
were supposed to be in the Womens’ Hospital in Clapham but they were full, so we went to the annex in
Nightingale Lane which was a big, old house and, I fancy, less formidable than a big hospital. We went in
th
th
during the night of the 12 December and she was born at 9 o’clock in the morning of 13 December.
She was the most beautiful thing on earth. She weighed in at about seven and a half pounds and spent
the next six weeks screaming for food and GROWING. In those days, babies were fed on a regular four
hourly schedule and if they were hungry in between, hard luck! They were also put outside for fresh air
every day, whatever the weather and whether the air was fresh or not. So, my baby was tucked into her
stately pram and put out into the back garden every morning and afternoon while I tried to catch up on
washing nappies and sleep.

Peter had almost managed to finish the painting while we were in hospital – a week in those days
while we regained our strength and learned to handle a baby and did a lot of laughing, I seem to recall.
We were four to a room, all with first babies and life was fun and funny. He came in to visit one evening,
bearing some early daffodils, and said he’d totaled the car (then a small Renault) and couldn’t finish the
painting and would Helen and I go to my parents for a week while he did so. I was not best pleased,

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