Part 17: A Nottingham Lad’s True Tales of Woe – Several enforced moves of abode

W16 Wilford Grove

From the lodgings to a flat…

I was content living at the ex-offenders lodgings, but the cost eventually led me to move into a flat on Melton Road. It was far less than the full board that I was paying that had just gone up to £6 a week, at 17/- (35p), but of course meant I had to buy food and cleaners and stuff like that.

It was one room, with shared latrines and bathroom. But I felt more grown up somehow… for a while.

Within a week, the landlady’s rather buxom daughter arrived at my door holding a bottle of Walker’s Red Label whisky…

Things took place that I cannot fully remember but…

It seem I was legless when she returned back downstairs to her mater, and I thought it a good idea to cook some sausages…

The fire brigade officer woke from my alcohol induced sleep, and the landlady kindly threw me out.

From the flat, to another flat…

I was lucky, in quickly finding another flat on Ryeland Crescent.

Again, an attic room, with a woman and her, er… oh so scary daughters.

I had to avoid certain situations to be safe from them.

Then one Saturday night, they all went out, so I sneaked down and watched their TV. As I was watching Morecome and Wise on the set, a rather large built bloke burst in through the back door, demanding to see Christine (Scary daughter number two), and wanting to know if I was messing about with her. I indicated that I was not messing about with her, and she had gone with her family to the Odeon cinema.

“Oh, she don’t wanna go awt wi’ me though does she?” shouted the man, he seemed to be getting very het up. He blamed me for some reason, and started to trash the room – heroics called for here I thought (What a burke!) I tried to restrain him, and got the radio set over my head for me efforts, followed by a few well place thumps and a rather tear producing kick in the groin. We continued to struggle with one other for a while, until he suddenly stopped, broke down in tears, apologised and left?

I stopped the bleeding from my head, then spent the next couple of hours trying to sort the room out as much as I could, and rewired the plug onto the radio – still not really believing what had just taken place.

The family returned, I explained what happened, she did not believe me, went upstairs and packed my suit cases and I was thrown out again!

From the Flat to Digs off Huntingdon Street…

A mate from work took me in for couple of days, and I found lodgings with a family on Huntingdon Street. (Just off it actually, I can’t remember the name of the street though… mind you, I can remember the name of the landlady and her daughters!

Landlady Mavis, daughter one Audrey (night nurse at Rampton Mental Hospital very handy cause she could visit me during the day), and Veronica.

I was only there a few months, ’cause the landlady had designs on me, Veronica the younger daughter was unsure what she wanted, and Audrey… phew, she was rampant!

Moved to Carrington rented a small house…

The best thing about this place was Audrey would visit twice weekly, and left me feeling weakly… but oh so contented! (Ah memories)

It wasn’t me, any bloke would have done, and did regularly, but without doubt I learnt more from Audrey than any other gal. Plump heavy gal, massively hairy armpits etc, and what a personality. (Shudders with the thoughts, and regrets of no longer being acquainted with the sexpot)

Carrington to a flat at 30 Bingham Road, Sherwood…

Stayed here for many years, and was happy, oh so happy too. I think it was £9 a week.

Had the entire ground floor to myself, big front room, bedroom, cellar, bathroom/toilet, living room, kitchen and garden too!

Started me angling here, joined a local club, it was quiet and peaceful, I just loved it.

One night while I was in this flat is worth mentioning…

I’d been out to the local social club at lunch, but didn’t even get through my first pint, when I started to feel oh so poorly. So I returned to the flat,

Struggled into the front room, and plonked myself on the settee, around 1230 hrs. I remember waking around 1800 hrs and seeing the lamp lights through the window swaying, going back and forth, and thought I’d better have a look in the medical box see if I’ve got something to take.

I found a bottle of ‘Night Nurse’, and consumed a good swig of it, then laid down back on the settee.

I woke up in the morning (later found out if was 0700 hrs) naked and flat out on the garden lawn, with the landlady bent over me slapping me face.

A neighbour later told me I was dancing for hours in the garden, and trying to sing?

I’ve never tried ‘Night nurse’ medications again!

But the landlord sold out and the new one wanted to update the place, and charge £20 a week.

Oh dear…

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