by Mary Hayward
“Hello Mare.”
Why couldn’t she just use my name?
“It’s Mary, Mum.”
“Ahm, right, yeah. Well, I just rang to tell you that I’m getting a divorce.”
“That’s good news then, Mum.” At last, I thought, she was doing something.
After all the time I had been nagging, now at last something had changed. She was full of excitement as she read out an article in the paper.
“The Divorce Reform Act was passed, allowing couples to divorce after they had been separated for two years.”
Newspaper rustled on the table.
“So I can get divorced now,” she said.
“Mum, I haven’t got much time—I’m going to be late for work. So what do you want me to do then?” I was impatient with her.
“Well, ah,” she said, “I want you to come up to County Court with me.”
“All right, I’ll speak with you later, bye.”
It was a few months later when I was standing at the Court that I felt the mixed up emotion spring out at me. I found it very awkward with Dad there, because I still had feelings for them both. He had his hangdog look on his face, as if to say, all right, do your worst. Mum was always spiteful and bitter, but Dad, he always had a kind word, except when he talked about all the do-gooders.
Once the Court had made the decision to grant the application, my brother Les drove to the house in Langhedge Lane. Dad sat in the chair and said he wasn’t leaving. Les’s moment had arrived. He grabbed hold of Dad by his jacket and hoisted him out through the front door. He must have waited fourteen years to be able to get his own back on Dad, for all the beatings he said that he had as a child. He looked as if his birthday and Christmas had both come in one day.
Dad went back to live at his mother’s house in Argyle Road, or so I was told, but I didn’t know, and to be honest I didn’t really care at that time.
The change in the family dynamics was so immediate, that I was stunned by the speed of it.
Jane, my sister, replaced my father as the dominant force within the family, and Mother simply continued to play the victim, but now under the direction of my sister, now fifteen years old.
I felt so shocked. After all those years of living with Dad, Mum had insisted that she wanted her independence and freedom. I had thought that she might have taken responsibility. But none of that seemed to happen, and her daily routine continued from where it had left off; the only difference was that now my sister Jane called the shots.
Mum ironed Jane’s clothes for work every morning, and accompanied her everywhere: to the doctors, job interviews, and dentist, just about everywhere. Jane even sat in Dad’s chair every morning and evening when she got home from work, smoking and calling our for her dinner in her lap. It was exactly as our father had done before her, and it seemed to me that nothing fundamentally had changed.
I found it nauseating. I realised that all Mum’s moaning was just a game she played. She enjoyed being bitter.
Meanwhile Joyce was living with Pete and soon she was expecting a baby; she gave birth to a son, also named Peter, who was born in September of 1970.
I loved Terry, and I was so excited when he proposed to me. It completed me, and I longed for a family of my own.
I married Terry in 1970 at the Havering Registry Office earlier in the year. It was a lovely big wedding, with all Terry’s aunts and uncles. The reception was held at Auntie Sylvie’s place at Gidea Park. I didn’t invite Dad—I didn’t think it was wise; instead my brother Les gave me away. Terry’s family really took me into their bosom. It was my dream come true, and I was part of this wonderful caring family.
Terry and I moved out of his parents’ house, and we were lucky enough to find a studio flat in Ilford, Essex. It was just two rooms and a bathroom, but it was heaven to us. Not long after that Terry’s parents bought their own home a few miles away, and moved out of the council house. We moved back into their home, continued to pay the rent on their council house, pretending to be them. Florrie, Terry’s mum, left some furniture for us and we settled there reasonably comfortably for some time.
For the moment things were going well, except that I had a burst appendix soon after the honeymoon, and was rushed to hospital. Terry got a job at Rayovac batteries as a sales representative, and then three months later, I found myself pregnant. It was unexpected, but I was looking forward to having a complete family.
Life settled down as I happily watched my bump grow, and I continued with my temp work, until I was nearly seven months pregnant. I busied myself at home, preparing for the baby, when I got a telephone call from Jack, Terry’s dad. I was now nearly full term with the baby.
“Hello Mary,” he said. “Have you seen Terry?”
I looked at the clock. It was getting late and I would have expected him to have been home. It made me worry.
“No, I haven’t—not yet—why?”
“Do you know where he is?” He sounded concerned. It was 10 p.m.
“No,” I said, “I haven’t seen him. He hasn’t come home yet, and I haven’t heard anything.”
If Jack knew something, he never let on, but I got the impression something was wrong.
Terry came home at 2 a.m. I didn’t know where he had been.
A couple of days later the telephone rang. Terry had just walked in after work.
“I’ll get it.” He took the call.
“Your dinner’s on the table!” I shouted.
“Okay Mary, thanks.” Terry put the phone to his ear.
“Hello, it’s Terry... oh, hello dad.”
I heard raised voices. Jack was shouting so loud I could overhear the conversation from the kitchen, only a few feet away.
“Mary could have her baby at any time, poor girl.” Jack seemed upset.
“She’s fine,” Terry said, “there’s no problem.”
“She’s not bloody fine. Where were you the other night?”
“Just doing business, that’s all.”
“Doing business! She could have been in trouble while you were out.”
“She’s fine.” His dad wasn’t listening.
“God knows where. You should be at home with Mary, not gallivanting around all over the place.”
“I wasn’t gallivanting anywhere. It was just a bit of business dad, that’s all.”
“Up to no good, I wouldn’t be surprised.”
The doctors were concerned that I was overdue by two weeks. I thought that I would be all right without them interfering, but they persuaded me to go into hospital early where they induced my labour. I was at Harold Wood Hospital for a week having my baby son Colin. He was whisked away almost as soon as he was born. Then I was told he was jaundiced and I couldn’t have him with me for a few days. It was a time of mixed emotions. I was pleased I had given birth to a lovely little boy, but I yearned to hold him in my arms. It was heartbreaking. I now embraced the role of a mother. I loved my baby, but it was two or three days before I could see him. When I finally had him next to my bed, I learned that I could tell his cry from all those around, no matter where I was in the ward.
When I came home Terry told me he had lost his job. Furious, I felt so let down. My emotions washed around my mind. Joy, disappointment, downright frustration and anger—I had them all. I felt myself start to get upset, but I carried on.
Florrie told me she thought Terry was nicking batteries, and selling them. I didn’t know anything, but he seemed to have been a worry to his mum. He was probably buying them at staff discount and selling them on at a profit.
I had to admire his attempts to make more money, but he wasn’t good at it. He was like a little boy lost, he couldn’t seem to see the disaster waiting to happen. I thought it was about time he grew up—he was a father now.
Whatever the truth of it, he lost his job, and seemed to be reluctant to get another.
His mum came round a few times to encourage him to get a job. When that didn’t work she sent Pete (Terry’s sister
’s boyfriend) round to coax him. Pete was a big chap, and that seemed to have the desired effect. He got a job at Maplin Furniture as a sales rep.
We still lived at Terry’s parents’ council house. The rent book was in their name and so we had to pretend that we were Jack and Florrie. It was all a deception and I found it difficult to continue because if the Council found out, they would evict us. I wanted to be the same as everyone else and have a home in my own name.
Terry and I put our name on the waiting list for a local authority home. It was difficult to get allocated a council house to rent at that time, and so we saved for a deposit for a mortgage, just in case. We were determined to get somewhere to live, either way.
We made enquiries about buying a house on a second phase of a development at Canvey Island, Essex. It was an unbelievably lovely spot, fresh air, near the sea, and only a short commute to Terry’s work. No sooner had we started dreaming about owning our own home, when the Council offered us a rented flat at Minehead House, Hilldene Avenue. Really we preferred to buy our own home like Jack and Florrie, but it was a stroke of luck we couldn’t turn down.
Terry was ambitious and wanted to prove to his family he could climb the social ladder, and house ownership was the first step on that rung. We received a letter from the developers at Canvey Island. The building project had been cancelled, and suddenly we didn’t have a choice to make.
Bitterly disappointed, I slung the letter down on the table and cried. The only thing we could do was to take the offer of the flat at Minehead House, and wait for a year or two for the next phase at Canvey Island to restart.
We ambled on for a little while. Joyce came to visit with her little boy, Peter. She loved him so much you could see the pride on her face. We chatted all afternoon, comparing our babies and all the things young mothers do.
A few months later I unexpectedly received a telephone call from the police. I wondered what on earth was going on. They asked for Terry. Apparently, an undercover policeman, pretending to be a Maplin customer, had purchased kitchen taps from Terry. They were investigating because there had been a string of complaints from customers. Within a few hours, the Flying Squad came round looking for stolen goods. They came into my home searching all the rooms. I knew that Terry had stuffed some taps behind the armchair in the corner of the living room, and so I started to change the baby’s nappy on the carpet there.
The big policeman burst into the living room.
“Do you mind!” I shouted. “I’m in the middle of changing my baby!”
“Sorry.” He gave a quick glance around the room and left it at that.
I was relieved that I had diverted the policeman, but then I watched out of the window as Terry was marched out of the house, and driven off to the station. It was to help them with their enquiries, or so I was told. The police didn’t find anything at the house.
When I asked Terry what was going on, he told me he had gone to Maplin suppliers and done a deal to buy kitchens direct. He then sold Maplin kitchens to Maplin customers, cheaper than Maplin could. The taps he bought from Maplin at the staff discount and sold them at Maplin prices.
I guess that Maplin didn’t like the idea. Although legal, it was a bit of sharp business practice. Terry lost his job again and was banned from all Maplin stores. This was the second job Terry had lost, and I began to see a pattern that worried me. It sounded just like my father. I felt myself start to get upset, but I carried on.
Despite the problems, things were picking up for Joyce and I. Joyce got married in Redbridge in October 1972 when their son Peter was two years old. My son Colin was eighteen months, and for a moment, Joyce and I seemed to be making our way in life, both socialising together with our husbands in a foursome and creating regular happy families.
26
The Good Life
LIFE CARRIED ON AS NORMAL for a while and we continued saving in the hope that we could find a new house somewhere. Then we heard that the Greater London Council (GLC) were giving 100% mortgages for people moving to places like Thetford, or Kettering, that were sixty miles away from London. The only criteria was that one had to have a job in the area.
We decided that Terry would apply for jobs in Suffolk and see if we could qualify for a GLC Mortgage. In the meantime I would stay at the flat with Colin.
Eventually Terry managed to get a job with Pedigree Pet Foods in East Anglia in November 1972, and started to work for them as a sales rep, travelling the country. He had to work for six months before he could get his own committed round in Suffolk. That would mean he would be travelling all over the place, only coming home at the weekends.
This would put a strain on any marriage and ours was no exception. However, we realised it would only be for a short period of time, and we were both looking forward to the day we could get a home of our own.
Terry managed to find a Bungalow on a large corner plot on a modern estate at 47 The Paddocks, Brandon, Suffolk, not far from Lakenheath US Air Force base. It was in a lovely town, and the bungalow was for sale at £9250. I thought it ideal, all new, clean, and far enough away from London for me to make a fresh start. I was very proud of Terry because he had picked a beautiful bungalow; now there was only one thing stopping us realising our dream—the Mortgage!
We applied to the GLC straight away. But they said we both had to have a job near Brandon before they would allow us to have a Mortgage. It came as a shock to realise I would have to have a job there as well.
Terry, his head in his hands, was upset that we couldn’t get the loan. I felt for him. He tried so hard. He could see that he would be away from home all the time; he could see the house and the dream slipping away; and I could see that he couldn’t bear the shame of it. There was a period of frantic phone calls, of rushing around to find a way round the problem, when suddenly we got an idea.
Uncle Len had a double-glazing office up in Cromer, Norfolk. We decided to ask if he could write to the GLC to say that I had a job there. Cromer wasn’t anywhere near to Brandon, of course, but it was our only chance.
Whilst Terry was dashing all over the country with his job, I was working full time for Leslie and Godwyn Insurance, Fenchurch Street, London. Joyce and I would meet up lunchtimes and exchange all the gossip. She was going through difficult times with her marriage, and I gave her a lot of support and advice.
Dropping Colin off at the nursery in Ilford, I would travel to work, then return by train to pick him up at night.
I phoned Uncle Len and told him we had a problem getting a Mortgage. He listened to me carefully. He said he would be happy to write a letter for us outlining a job offer for me. I was over the moon! For the first time in my life it was all coming together, and there was hope. Would the Council check the location of Cromer and realise that it was miles away from Brandon?
Fortunately for us, no! The Council didn’t check to see where Cromer was, otherwise perhaps they wouldn’t have given us the Mortgage. Instead, to my surprise and delight, they accepted the letter as proof of a job offer and gave us the mortgage at 7%. The bonus was that this interest rate was lower than the bank rate of the time at 8.5%.
Then came the bombshell—they would only lend us £9000 and we would have to find the other £250 plus all the expenses and legal fees, which came to about £1200.
Still, we managed to scrape together all the funds. Terry sold some taps, and we borrowed on the credit card, just in time to secure the home, and we moved in during September 1973. Colin was enrolled in the Nursery School and later the Glade Primary School, and I soon got a job with Target Life as a secretary.
Unexpectedly we had landed on our feet, with new jobs, a new home and a fresh start in life. Things couldn’t have been better for us, and I remember feeling so happy for once on my life. I had escaped and now tasted freedom.
Colin, our son, soon made friends with a little girl called Julie, although I had my doubts about her influence on him. Julie was loveable, but headstrong. Julie’s mum used to give us a l
ift to school. One day Julie had a bag of cakes. She told me that she had got them out of her mummy’s freezer, and although I remember thinking it a bit strange, I didn’t question it.
She had taken them from her mother’s freezer, without asking, and started to give them to all the children at school. Colin obviously thought this was a good idea, so he took my purse from the kitchen table and together with Julie, he gave all my money away.
Life seemed to lurch from one disaster to another with Colin, and I didn’t realise how much effort looking after a child took. He fell over in the street and broke his collarbone, which left him strapped up for about six weeks. Not content with breaking his collarbone once, he then fell off the shed, and broke it again!
On the whole it was happy times, swimming in the river on hot summer days, and generally enjoying the good life. Terry and I joined the Parent Teachers Association (PTA), and raised money for a swimming pool. We ran fashion shows getting ‘D minor’, the kids clothes designers, down to the school to put on a show. We got the kids from the school to model the clothes.
Hosting cheese and wine suppers raised a lot of money for the school. We held Bazaars selling clothes from Terry’s Aunt Sylvie, putting them on the racks with the nearly new and brand new clothes. We hosted all sorts of stalls and events, raising so much money. Not only did we have fun doing it, but we were so good at it.
Colin was still a bundle of fun! I held a party for his fifth birthday and made all the Jellies and no sooner had my back turned, when he had gone down the hall plastering the melted Jelly all over the walls with his fingers. He said he was making paintings. Colin was always a challenge.
He made friends with some of the children of the US airmen, who worked at the nearby Lakenheath airbase. Rhonda was his favourite. We used to fill up a small swimming pool on the patio, and let all the children play.
Rhonda’s parents became good friends, and they used to invite us to the Rod and Gun Club dances—although we were under strict instructions not to talk, especially at the guardhouse. If they realised we were British, then we wouldn’t get onto the base. It was great fun to go to the dances and the movies, and at long last we had arrived!
