Firsts not Lasts

Tell us about your first day at something — school, work, as a parent, etc.

I recall a little about my first day at school, Kelvin Grove Infant School in Sydenham South London, to be precise. It’s still there.

Walking the 100 feet up our road, through the gate, a vague moment in a classroom, crying for a moment when mum left, then forgetting all about her. I was born for academia.

I was also very lucky as she taught me to read and write before I went to school, that helped a lot. I was inordinately proud of the word ‘ the’, penned by my little wobbly hand.

Home

Even thinking about it now I could cry. That’s where I truly belong. Possibly not now as it will have changed in 61 years, yet I finally went back in 2015, and it still felt like home. I was so glad my mum’s ashes were scattered in the one place she wanted to be – finally home.

It’s the oddest thing to be able to say, but that day was one in the happiest of my life, my mum bought me home. God bless her. You’re standing in a crematorium, thinking you haven’t felt this right in a long time. So peculiar.

Mum was back with dad though, her beloved parents and brother, soon to be joined by her youngest sister although we didn’t know that then, so that made it extra okay to be happy.

Moving on

In 1964 Dad moved us back to his home of Beckenham which was in Kent at the time, but much to his disgust absorbed into Greater London in the 1960s.

It was posh, people all had cars, mum and I hated it, hated the house, I didn’t look back when I left to get married and mum didn’t look back when she finally escaped to Herne Bay. Dad asked if she was going to miss their home of over 20 years, she said a version of ‘not one bit’.

I moved to Bromley when I married, which was okay. I was used to a bit more posh and a lot less neighbourliness by then. Then I moved to Croydon with Tony, which was far friendlier.

Sadly due to pressure from a so-called friend, that happened behind my back, we landed up moving to Wiltshire, which IS beautiful. However, that’s where I discovered that I don’t belong outside London.

From there we moved to Glastonbury in Somerset, way more gorgeous. Then to the West Midlands, which is flat!

I don’t belong where I live now, and yes it has a great deal going for it, and there are some gorgeous places.

Not feeling at home isn’t about the place, it’s a sense of belonging.

Last night, on our political programme ‘Question Time’ they were in Beckenham. As soon as I heard the accents I was home. The Beckenham accent isn’t posh, it’s soft, clear, precise. Beautiful.

Moving on again

We want to move when Tony retires, but don’t know where. The truth is we would both go back to London if we could. To give you an idea, our four bedroom house in the West Midlands would be worth half a million more down there.

If we came into money then we would at least explore. Times change, places change, but memories remain the same, and you can’t let the past lead the future.

What it has taught me though, is how horrific it must be to be forced to leave your country. Wherever I am, I am in England.

Asylum seekers are immigrants who cannot stay where they are born, may never hear their language spoken or their home accent ever again.

They may never live under the same sky, feel the same weather on their skin, walk the same highways and byways. Hear the Imam calling them to prayer across the vast expanse of desert.

They may never visit their family graves, never be laid beside those they loved.

My mum finally got home, they probably never will.

I can drive for about 90 minutes, or get on a train for an hour, and I can be home.

Dear God what kind of a world isolates people from everything they know due to beliefs?

To live your entire life carrying your home in your heart and never being home.

There are no words, but I am so sorry.

Welcome

In the UK in the Summer we had unforgivable riots. Briefly, a young man of colour with mental heath issues walked into a children’s dance class and shot several children dead.

He was widely believed to be a Muslim, he was Christian. This gave awful human beings the idea to riot, attack the police, burn buildings, damage Mosques.

In a town reeling from shock!

A few days later there were unforgivable and despicable anti racism riots in other places not even related to the initial event. A few days after that there was a hoax that they would take place all over the country including in my town.

It cost a lot in the way of police time and money. They didn’t turn up but something amazing happened.

Thousands did. People from all areas of British society turned up together, walked together, and placed themselves in front of hotels housing asylum seekers. They put themselves in the way of danger to protect those people.

They carried placards saying “all welcome”, “we are multicultural”, and so on. “No to hate.”

In Southport native British builders turned up at the Mosque the next morning and together everyone worked to clean it up and protect it. They posed proudly at the end of the day in front of the newly repaired wall, together.

The endemic British said no that week.

Wherever I am, that attitude is my home.

Still meandering

It fascinates me how these blogs develop when you follow a train of thought. One of the problems in modern society is the lack of empathy, lack of understanding. This leads to fear of “the other”,

If you don’t believe what I believe you’re just cannon fodder. Non-human.

Following my path of dis-location led to a deeper consideration of what it means when it’s thousands of miles bigger than my problem.

I didn’t use the word understanding, because I know I don’t understand, it would be wrong to say so. However…

If we all think more about others we will all improve this world.

Let’s do that! Reach for understanding through consideration.

Deb xx