Saturday 30 January 2021

31 Postcodes - Poem 30

 



A long stay


In 1970 this house was IT,

then it got stuck and left behind;

it’s a bit light on bathrooms.


We fill it up with generations, 

change a few of the tired features,

turn up the volume on the walls.


I walk the little one to nursery,

and then to school and what comes next.

We make our stories long and funny.


The singing here is sound as folk,

all squeezed around that hefty table

for cakes and parties, ups and downs.


Fourteen years is a long time – 

life and death and friends to see it – 

too much for one poem.


RF 2021

Video/audio for this one here.


In September 2004 we moved into a house in Hillside, on the edge of Montrose (I was 37). This would be the longest I ever lived in one building because Mark, Heather and I stayed here till 2018 (14 whole years*). Looking for this home we had another family member to consider (my Mum, she was 80 and moved up from England to be with us) so we needed somewhere that could work for two households in one. Some of things we had to keep in mind were – my Mum absolutely did not want any kind of ‘granny flat’, also she really wanted a garden, Mark wanted a train connection for work and I wanted to be able to walk Heather to school. In the end it was Mum who found the house that met all these criteria – it wasn’t much to look at in the listings, and indeed no-one else was interested in it, but she was totally right as, after a few tweaks, it had everything we wanted and it worked out just fine (she had some experience of moving house if you see the early poem/posts in this series). Plus it was just a few minutes (in the car) from miles of lovely beaches (St Cyrus, Kinnaber, Montrose) – after living most of my life so far from the sea we were now spoilt for choice.

The house was in a village-suburb hybrid (with a psychiatric hospital at the top of the street – I always found that more reassuring than anything else – it’s closed now). Built in about 1970, the house was a bit old-fashioned (not old enough to be interesting, not new enough to be fancy or luxurious) but it had space (inside and out) and that was what we needed this time, especially as we all got used to the new living arrangement. We three were used to our way of doing things and Mum was very used to hers (after years of living alone) but we did make it work. Mum was great – she did loads in the garden, played and watched TV with Heather, got on well with Mark. As with many mother/daughter relationships there were times when the close quarters was too much of a good thing for me (and her) and we wound each other up (she could be a bit of a snob, I could be a bit of a slob, she could do disappointed really well) but luckily, because of the space, we could just remove ourselves to a different room or go out to the garden and it would blow over soon enough. I learned pretty quickly that she was happier if I cooked meals she liked (who isn’t?) so we all ate like Grandmas for a few years (or that particular Grandma anyway – meat, puddings, chocolate, more puddings).

We lived here for all of Heather’s school years so she did a year of nursery and her primary years at the village school and then her secondary years at the local secondary school, Montrose Academy. She loved her schools and had some amazing teachers (and librarians and other staff). She enjoyed great extracurricular events too (mainly musicals-related and you can read about that on her own blog). My Mum lived with us for six, mostly fun-filled years and died, at home, after a short illness in 2010 (she was 86). She had once again found a group of quakers to hang out with and, as friends often are, they were a strong support to her throughout her time in Angus. We fostered for a while after Mum died so there were a couple of other young residents at this house too (one small boy in summer 2013, another from 2013-4). Mark continued to work in Dundee throughout our time here (so he did that train journey up and down the beautiful coast many, many, many times). In 2008 we added a pup, Zoe, to the pack (Mum’s dog Ailsa died in 2009 at a grand age). 

There were a lot of changes over these years, many visitors from all over the world, new friends, lots of parties, many lives in one place. Although I loved the area there were aspects of living at this address that I found tricky. The suburban nature of the village (and the large salaries some residents had thanks to the oil industry) manufactured quite an atmosphere of competition (whose child is most popular, who has the biggest car, who’s been on the most holidays?) and that stuff is such a waste of everyone’s time and energy. Even though not everyone was involved in this, as often happens it was the most vocal who were and they could be hard to ignore. Likewise, even though you know why people do it (usually there’s a fairly big sign over their head saying ‘material things make me feel better about my lack of interesting achievements’ or ‘my husband’s a dickhead but look at our range rover’), it’s hard to shrug it off every time. 

I did feel I didn’t really fit in (certainly amongst many of the other parents of young children, though I found one or two I could relate to eventually). For a start I was still suffering from some of my earlier anxieties so I didn’t drive much and took the bus (very few people from the village took the bus here, whilst I, on the other hand, was quite excited at the number of buses on offer after our Auchmithie limited service). Also we only had one child (always a rebellious step in the suburbs) and then I made friends with oddballs too (one of my closest friends here for a while didn’t wear shoes). I did try to fit in now and then (I even went to PTA events briefly when Heather was in primary) but in this kind of competitive environment it was pretty painful so I withdrew again fairly quickly. Generally I find that kids are fine but parents? I always say to anyone who’ll listen that the hardest thing about parenthood is other parents (the crap they talk and the things they do). And thank you for coming to my TED Talk.

Anyway, one very happy place for us in Montrose during our time there was the fortnightly local folk club. I had been a devoted fan of lots of different kind of music over the years (pop, rock, soul, house) but part of my post-rave recovery had been the gentler sounds of acoustic music so the folk club (or at least the singer/songwriter guests) were exactly what I was ready for in 2004. The Montrose club is run, not by committee as many are, but by one local man who shares his name with a Radio 2 DJ and quizmaster. The club usually takes place in one of the hotels in the centre of town and once we’d discovered it, Mark and I went to as many shows as we could during our time in this house (it helped that we had a built-in Grandma/babysitter for at least some of our years here – and she absolutely wasn’t the folk music type). 

Also I had been working more and more on poems since moving to Scotland in 2002 and the folk club gave me another important opportunity to develop this side of life in that I read poems aloud as part of the regular open mic slot at the club for a good few years. Scottish east coast folk have a reputation for, let’s say, keeping their cards close to their chest so it was daunting when I first read a poem or two to the folk club audience and they showed me their serious poker faces. I started off thinking they must hate me but almost everyone at the club, at some point or other over the years, made a friendly comment or gave me some encouraging word for a poem, or an image or a line. It really meant a lot to me and I never took it for granted. 

I did put on a couple of poetry and music events in Montrose too over the years (bringing in poets from all over Scotland and mostly local musicians). I had some plans to carry on with that but then Mum died and for that and other reasons my priorities changed and I didn’t organise another event of this kind after 2010. I put out a couple of books of my own poetry (one in 2008 and a smaller one in 2017) and did launch events for those, featuring friends and family on the bill with me for both (the second one was especially lovely in the glorious setting of the café/diner at Lunan Bay). I’m very much not part of any kind of poetry or writing scene (I’ve tried here and there, but the only time it ever felt anything other than forced or uncomfortable was some of the looser blog/online writing groups like The Poetry Bus/Monday Poem in 2009-2010). I’ve had very little outward success with poetry (and writing in general) and yet I do it still. It used to bother me (partly because I know my Mum really wanted me to succeed at something) but it’s less of an issue now. We can’t all be successful at everything all the time and, look, you’re reading this aren’t you? I’m pretty sure that one good reader, like one good parent, can be enough.

Speaking of ones, one more home (and pome) to go. See you for the last dance tomorrow.


*Apart from the time when we went away travelling in North America for 6 months in 2011. That journey has its own blog  You just can’t have enough blogs.


This poem is part of the annual Fun A Day Dundee project where participants try to do something creative every day for the month of January. You don't have to be in Dundee to take part and there are other Fun A Day projects around the world. People post as much of their work online as they want to (largely on Instagram but it can be elsewhere too). This year I am posting a whole poem a day (one poem for each of the 31 addresses I have lived at, covering the period 1967-2021). Videos/photos of the poems show the places remembered in the poems but were mostly taken from recent Google Street View. The videos are on my Instagram, maybe elsewhere too. Use the hashtag #fadd2021 on social media to see other people's online contributions.


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