temporary home

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My parents moved home in April 1982 when I was 18yrs studying for my A level’s in June 1982.  

Mum & Dad had been looking for a new home earnestly since 1977.   After 2 years of their looking I no longer took their house- hunting seriously.   I saw a fussiness that would rule-out all almost-right choices.   Hmmm….   like parents like daughter?   lets just not go there.    Suddenly in January 1982 they found a house nowhere near my school  and succssfully  purchased it.   They placed me in a foster-home for me to cover April 1982 thru June 1982.   Due to a vicious bout of the flu I was bed-ridden and couldn’t join in the choice.

My parents picked hosts who were a couple starting on their second marriage,   both recently divorced from their first marriages.  He was a ‘Royal Engineer’ who was thoroughly commited  to the Faulklands war  that started in April 1982 both were staunch supporters of the Ronald Regan and  conservative Prime Minister  Margaret Thatcher.     I hated the stink in the home.    Their Labrador puppy peeing on the floor daily didnt help.  The couple  made it clear that my  coloured friend should not come to their house.   She was not an appropriate person for me to spend time with.  They explained to me that it embarressed them and lowered the tone of the neighbourhood to see her walking towards their house.   Soon it became obvious that my male-friends were also not allowed to  call at this house,  apparantly it  made their home look like  it was a brothel.  

I had friends of all colours and genders,   but only the white females were allowed to be seen walking to their house.   Even  this honoured class had to  be dressed appropriately,   meaning some form of Victorian image of demure.    Village life in 1982.   It may be village life today.   At the time I was furious with my parents for leaving me there.   Retrospectively I think I learned a lot of valuable lessons from the difficult experience of living with these people.

temporary home
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