When I was about four, we moved from Enfield, to Braintree in Essex. We were a part of the mass evacuation, which was called the London Overspill, which started in the 1930s and continued into the 1970s, to relocate families from Inner London to new and expanded towns, like Braintree. Although we loved living there, from the first day we arrived it was always so much cooler, when people asked where we were from, to say we were from Braintree but born in London. Truth be known, apart from the smell of piss and leather, some of my fondest memories are from number 19 Goldingham Drive, Braintree, Essex.
Our new home was a three-bedroom semi with parking space out the front for Dad’s green Consul, with beige leather interior. One of the best things for us kids was the garden, which was big enough for a small paying show. We staged many shows and guess who was the star attraction? We would charge between 1p and 5p, depending on what costumes and sets we needed.
It’s as clear in my mind as if it were yesterday. The first song and dance number I performed in our garden theatre was the song ‘Me and My Shadow’, choreographed and staged by Mum. The curtains were made of old bed sheets.
You see, when she was young, she and her older sister, my Auntie Maureen, had tap lessons as well as Ballroom and Latin. If Mum had been given the opportunity, she could have been a professional dancer.
She had, and still has, such wonderful rhythm, and whenever she danced you could not take your eyes off her. At family weddings we always danced together and everyone would say, ‘Oh, he gets it from you, doesn’t he, Pat? He’s a great little mover, isn’t he?’
I always felt so proud of my mum. She always looked beautiful and wore the latest fashions. She looked very sexy, but not in an obvious way. She had a wonderful figure and I remember one particular occasion, my cousin Gary’s wedding, that we attended.
Mum was beautifully tanned and wore a white dress with a pattern of black butterflies. The dress came just above her knees and the skirt part was like a second skin. It was very fitted, while the top half of the dress was a very loose sleeveless blouson with a slash neck.
The best part of the dress was the back. I say the back, there was no back to the dress. It was a scallop back, which fell in soft folds at the very base of her spine, and when she walked across the room, everyone stared as the ruched folds of the dress swayed from side to side. With each step she took, her exposed back would contract and release like it was dancing in perfect rhythm with her step. I was filled with pride to have such a beautiful mum.
Her choreographed number for ‘Me and My Shadow’ was a soft-shoe shuffle with lots of sways here and there. It was a hit and often repeated in the garden theatre.
For refreshments we served diluted orange juice and a couple of butterfly cakes. I tell you what, it was worth every penny. You can’t get me for 5p these days.
Truly, Braintree was like heaven. All you could smell was the manure that had been laid on the nearby farmer’s fields, mingled with the beautiful smell of fresh-cut grass. Anyone who comes from the country will know exactly what I mean. My first memories of Braintree are of bright sunshine and open space, with fields going on forever. I had never seen so many trees – the only ones I could remember from Ponders End were in the middle of a roundabout. Thinking back, they were not even trees, they were just bushes. I remember that, even though I didn’t understand the meaning of the word posh at the age of three. I think if I did, the new house would have been it. I knew things were about to change, I could smell it along with the shit in the air.
Remembering our earlier life in Ponders End, I’m sure my parents argued neither more nor less than any other parents. With Mum’s nervous breakdowns and Dad working every hour God sent, being in a one-bedroom maisonette with three screaming kids would put any relationship under pressure.
I remember once when the pressure got too much and it all exploded. We had popped round to Nan and Grandad Twinkle at Christmas.
Dad had bought Mum a beautiful chocolate-brown, full-length leather coat, with a split up the back and a fur collar. Mum loved it. She had bought Dad a lovely watch with a black leather strap – I say leather but knowing Mum, it was probably a bit of PVC, but it’s the thought, isn’t it? There we were, in the pissy lift on our way up to the sixteenth floor … The three of us kids were modelling suede and sheepskin jackets. My sheepskin was white and my sisters’ was pink. I wasn’t happy about it – I also wanted pink sheepskin – but what’s a budding gay to do when he can’t make himself understood at the tender age of three?
1st floor. Ping! 2nd floor. By the 3rd floor the argument had started, but don’t ask me what that was about. By the time we reached the 6th floor it was in full swing.
Me, with my dad, modelling a sheepskin and suede bomber jacket with a lovely piece of costume jewellery to boot!
10th floor, Mum was trying to get Dad’s watch off his wrist and I don’t think it was because she wanted to know the time.
12th floor, Dad had taken off the watch and thrown it on the floor.
13th floor, Dad had ripped Mum’s coat off her back.
14th floor, Dad had torn the coat in half.
15th floor, Mum stamped on Dad’s bright new watch.
Ping! 16th floor, doors opened and there was Nanny Twinkle waiting to meet us, none the wiser about the antics that had been going on between floors 3 and 16.
IT’S FUNNY, isn’t it, how everyone’s Nan and Grandad seem to have certain names? Nanny Twinkle, Nanny Downer or Irish Nanny as we called her was an absolute treat. She literally made us piss our pants. Then there was Nanny Lock, because she lived down by Enfield Lock. Nanny Twinkle was Nanny Twinkle because she had a Yorkshire terrier called Twinkle, whom we all hated. It was like a little rat with a bow in its hair; it bit our ankles without fail whenever we visited.
Nanny Twinkle was as deaf as a blinking dodo so she would never hear us screaming and Grandad Twinkle would just growl back at the dog. He was a stern little man, Grandad Twinkle. In fact, he also had a talent – the complete opposite of mine and a little bit rougher. In his day he was a champion flyweight boxer. In fact, he was third best in the world. We didn’t really have much to chat about, he and I, when I was a child. I only liked to visit them for the 50p that Nanny Twinkle would give us out of her teapot when we left.
Grandad Twinkle knocking them out.
Nanny Twinkle was a tall lady, so we can safely say that I didn’t get any of her genes. She was a lovely woman who used to make all her own clothes. When Grandad wasn’t looking I would try to get on to her Singer sewing machine, to run up a costume or two out of her old doilies. She always had a lovely purple rinse – not always the same shade, but she was way ahead of Gaga.
Then there was Nanny Lock, who was my great nan – she was Mum’s nan. She was pretty amazing, I must say. At age 90, she was still getting on the bus going into Enfield Town to do all her own shopping. You could guarantee without fail that every time we turned up to visit, she would have rock cakes ready. And I do mean rock – I think they were left over from the last time we visited. She would give us a nice glass of R Whites lemonade, but don’t ask me why, she would always put a teaspoon full of sugar in it. This would take away the fizz and made it taste like syrup water.
She was the sweetest old lady, always so generous and giving, and actually gave Nanny Twinkle a run for her money with her rinse. While Nanny Twinkle was working purple, Nanny Lock would work orange and white – white roots, orange at the ends.
She topped Nanny Twinkle on the old lady scale with a slight smell of stale wee that trailed her as she passed by in her stretch polyester pants. To top it all, her crowning glory was her knitted-lady toilet-roll covers. They were white and she must have modelled them on herself, as they all had red hair.