Chronicles Part V - 1972 - 1974 (2)

From http://renshawschronicles.blogspot.com/

Well it's taken me since late May, 2011 and 14 episodes to date of these Chronicles to get through the first 25 years of my life, so, by my reckoning, by the time I've brought these up to the time I started my first proper blog diary almost 5 years ago, it's going to be at least the end of 2012 and another 18 chapters or more, so I best get cracking on then.

April, 1974 was the month we made the big move dahn sarf. Our little semi-detached bungalow in Chryston wasn't sold yet, but it was on the market at offers over £6,500. Black & White were paying the removal costs and had even arranged to send one of their maintenance team (who worked with Dad) out to cut the grass once we'd gone, so that the place didn't look like a jungle when potential buyers came to view. The house was bare enough inside, with no furnishings left by us other than the coir carpet - we didn't have much to leave anyway.

We had to arrange Lucy's Christening as well - and this was the next little Catholic/Protestant issue we had to deal with. Jo's faith was much stronger than mine and we'd got married in Jo's Catholic church, so there was really only one place for Lucy to get Christened. Had my family been Catholic, it probably would have been logical for my Best Man (Barry) to have acted as Godfather, but this obviously wasn't going to work, so we had to think of somebody else. New Brother-in-law Brian was considered, but eventually we decided to ask my pal Austin Donohoe, who had worked beside me for the last few years. He ticked the Catholic box and happily agreed to do the honours.

There was one other issue that had been rumbling away since about the time I qualified as a C.A. in 1972. A pal from school - actually one year behind me, but the same age as me, and who had been instrumental (with me) in starting up Knightswood Amateurs Football Club - Ronald MacDonald - yes, I know! - but he didn't wear a clown's outfit, although he was commonly known as "Chubby" - had some ideas about what he wanted to do. His Mum and Dad had a newsagent's shop and the family were pretty well off - at least by our standards. His parents worked long hours, however, and it seemed to us as if Chubby was home alone much of the time. He was a bit of a budding entrepreneur and wanted to start up an estate agent's business - and he wanted me to go in to partnership with him.

Going in to business just wasn't something that working class people of my generation did. Getting a job was the way of things then, and even although I had spent all these years training as a Chartered Accountant, with most of my fellow trainees staying in the services sector, and ending up as Partners in their firms, it still didn't feel right for me to be starting up a new business. It was probably an easier decision for Chubby, who didn't seem to have to worry too much about where his next meal was coming from, but, for me, I would have a wife, child and mortgage to look after and a (relatively) well-paid job seemed like a much safer option. So, I chickened out again.

Jo, Lucy and I travelled to London by overnight Motorail - at least that saved our poor little Fiat from too much of a battering on the motorways - and also made for a more comfortable journey for the three of us. I had been working in our London office prior to the big move and had spent most of my evenings travelling round the South East, trying to figure out where we wanted to live. I looked both south and north of the river.

For my journeys south in to Surrey and Berkshire, I was escorted round by Peter Hillsdown, our Personnel (as they were called in those pre-HR days) Manager. Woking was one place that seemed pretty attractive - and Jo agreed when she later toured round some of the options. We were looking at new builds mostly - that seemed the easiest, and most affordable way we could get a toehold in what was a much more expensive market than Lanarkshire. I specifically recall one evening when Peter was taking me around and, rather than drive me all the way back in to Central London and then back home again, he suggested dropping me at a suitable Tube Station.

At the southern end of the Victoria Line was Brixton station, and that's where I boarded the stationary train. I sat down and looked around as the train slowly filled up prior to its scheduled departure time, and then it dawned on me that I was the only white man on the train! Nothing happened, but the sudden realisation gave me a jolt - this wasn't something I was familiar with, coming from the West of Scotland, where, apart from a small Asian community in the West End of Glasgow, blacks/coloured people - not sure how I'm supposed to describe non-whites now? - were not around.

Over the next few months, I came to realise that whilst, unlike the West of Scotland, there was absolutely no religious bigotry in the South East, racial intolerance was widespread. I guess people's intolerances are generally driven by their personal experiences. Race just wasn't an issue in Glasgow, but I suppose we'd never experienced mass immigration from the Carribean, and the consequent changes in surroundings and culture, like London did in the 50's - although I guess that's what must have happened in Glasgow with Irish immigrants decades before.

Enough of that - our choice of where we wanted to live was driven largely by geography. Although we quite liked places like Woking and Rickmansworth (in Berkshire), we instinctively felt we should live north of the river - it felt nearer to home and would make for easier journeys back up to the West of Scotland. Hertfordshire became the main target, and we found a new estate being built in Broxbourne, in the south east of the county that sits immediately above London:

As you can see, Broxbourne is right on the border with Essex - in the heart of the Lea Valley. Our estate was built between the River Lea and New River:

The name of the latter is a bit of a euphemism - the New River is actually a canal, but it's nothing like the man-made waterways we'd grown up with in the West of Scotland - as you can see from the image above. It was a nice place and we made a wise choice.

Our semi-detached house in Broxbourne cost us £12,995 - twice the figure we were hoping to get for our house in Chryston. We had to wait for it to be finished by the builders - we would be one of the first families to move in to Caldecot Way. In the interim, James Buchanan & Co (Black & White) put us up temporarily at Chelsea Cloisters (http://www.chelseacloisters.co.uk/), right in the heart of the chic and trendy West End. It's a serviced apartment block in Sloane Avenue - Jo could now join the Sloane Ranger set!

The apartment could be described as bijou, but it suited us fine for the few weeks we would have to wait until our new house was ready. Many years later we discovered that one of the other residents at the time was none other than that frazzled former founding member of Pink Floyd - Syd Barrett (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Syd_barrett). Apparently, he was living in 2 apartments there, but we never saw him - at least not knowingly.

I had a very short commute to the office - along under Wellington Arch via the underpass on to Piccadilly. Jo used to enjoy her daily strolls with Lucy past all the little garden squares full of nannies looking after the little rich kids - she got mistaken for a nanny herself a few times - that tickled her. Jo would walk Lucy up to Hyde Park and pop in to Harrod's for a pint of milk, walking home with her Harrod's bag swinging from Lucy's pram!

Enough for now, I think - the next episode will be from the time we moved in to our new house.