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Twenty years ago, we arrived in Woolacombe with our two little boys, having survived 15% interest rates and negative equity from our one and only house in Steeple Claydon. We had nothing and I was 40. A woman overheard us talking on the beach that we couldn’t find anywhere to live and led us to view a studio flat, opposite Marisco’s disco, that we subsequently rented for 6 months.
Harry, in a confused state and with an anxiety patch on his arm, on going to the launderette, asked if this was our new home. In fact, after we had taken him to the doctor’s about a minor fall, we had a visit from the social services! I took Jack for a visit to this wonderful school in such an idyllic beautiful setting, thinking there’s no way they’ll take someone out of the area. Inexplicably, he crawled under the headmistress’s desk and refused to come out while I was trying to convince her that he would be an asset to the school. Anyway, I think the boys made a better impression when Kris Winthorpe, the Year 1 teacher, came round for a home baseline visit and found a 3 year old and a 5 year old playing chess! To this day, I amuse myself that we rigged it. “OK, places everyone. Now remember your lines boys. Jack, you start with,’…aah I see you’ve employed the old Sicilian defense opening with the Scheveningen variation’. Harry, you push the pointy black one forward and don’t eat it this time”
Slowly and happily, we established ourselves. I had some business cards printed which I took round local schools, hoping to get some supply work, – John Walker B Ed (Hons) – ‘Have chalk, will talk’ ! A morning’s work here, a couple of days there. Meanwhile we soon came to end of our 6 month tenure and beachlady wanted us out. More anxiety pains. Cue Romy to talk to the local greengrocer who knows of a small flat in Lee. The elderly neighbours are initially wary of a couple with two noisy youngsters but it’s the start of us living at the Grange. After a while, Jill Beaumont, the owner inquires, if we are interested in buying the 3 bed-roomed wing of the Grange in which she lives. We tell her that, because neither of us have a permanent contract, we can’t see us getting a mortgage seeing how the housing market had just come out of a crisis where everyone had stretched themselves too much. She said nonsense, persuaded us to do it and the rest is history.
Fast forward twenty wonderful years of happiness to now. We are leaving our beautiful home in paradise because we love it so much. We can’t stay because we would sentimentally drown in blissful memories. I come from Ipswich, Suffolk and Romy from Tewkesbury but our boys come from a small village called Lee. “Have you heard of Woolacombe? – Well, it’s near there.”
Basically, we are very very sad to leave. We may come to our senses, and like Jerry, come back home from Bristol with our tails between our legs but until then goodbye and love to all our friends.
A Monkey in Manhattan 