For reasons I don't recall I was thinking about my first home this morning. The house I was born in and lived in until I was twenty-five and married. Albert House.
Albert House was, as I once described it in a school essay, attached on both sides. The teacher crossed out my writing and corrected it: terraced. But terraced is too small a word for Albert House. Its very name is prepossessing. It was larger than the other houses in the terrace and looked straight down the road, Dunns Lane, to the sea.
As well as the big slate steps that led to the front door there was a drive, put in for my great-grandfather after he lost his leg and was in a wheelchair. Thinking about it, it was quite steep and he was a large man. It must have taken some pushing to get him up there.
Just before the bank at the end of the garden was the coal bin. The bank itself was a buried air raid shelter and a favourite place of mine to play. Up on top of that I could be Queen. After we sold the house one of the first things the new owners did was remove the bank. I would have loved to have seen whatever remained of the air raid shelter but, unfortunately, never did.
The little house, to the left in my masterpiece of a drawing, was originally part of Albert House, which had been a pub. It was tiny but big enough for Mr Shires, a retiring bachelor who lived there alone.
On the other side there were - are - four houses. The first house, which latterly was occupied by my Great-Auntie Joan, in my childhood was home to the Drewsons. We didn't speak to them. If my ball went over the wall into their garden, that was it. She was okay, apparently; he was the nasty piece of work.
Then it was Mr and Mrs Peachey, a lovely old couple. They had a daughter, Marion, who was married to Derek, who to our eyes had film star good looks.
The end cottage belonged to Mrs Dartnell, already a widow in my youth, and the other house was home to two boys. I can't remember their names but they were older than me and very scary. Scary insomuch as they were male.
It's strange the memories that come back, some good some bad. But Albert House was my home and my refuge for a long time. It will always be dear to me.
4 comments:
Do you have any photographs? Is it still standing? It's funny about our memories and the houses we lived in. I'll bet you can even remember where your mom kept the sugar and hid the Christmas presents, too. Where I stuck the sugar when I bought it last time, is a bit more difficult to remember ...
You have many memories .. and I understand what you are saying about the house . But attached at both sides is a terrace. Funnily enough I was going to write a blog post about ROOTS .. found it too hard as I have none. Well obviously i have but none that I can relate too. . I have a huge tug tonwards my Maltese side .. . I don't know any houses I have lived in as a child except two and this was from the age of 10 til 22 ..interesting that you said Males were scary :-)
Delightful drawing...
Delightful memories...
Come to think of it, I could tell all about the home, I grew up in, too. :-)
Luna Crone
Yes, it's still standing, Sharon. The owners have been having work done on it but i think maybe they ran out of money as it's been stalled for months now.
You could write about your ties to Malta, Anne. And your family history.
Please do, Luna!
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