Chris O’Mahony

So next door had the original front? No, I think we had the original front door. They had the tatty front door, but we only had a wooden partition between the two houses. They got the staircase, which was really grand, and we got this staircase that kind of went up almost like a ladder. And everyone who came to the house would go, ‘Oh my God, your stairs are steep’. You know? Um, it had really, really high ceilings. I mean, abnormally high, probably at least twice as high as this ceiling, you know, uh, I guess to support the station above. But anyway, my dad being colourblind and my mum being in hospital, the railway said to him, what colours do you want? And he went that, that, and that. And it was all brown and cream. Everything was brown and cream.

Chris:

cold. It was really, really cold. Um, the house was really cold. We only had a, um, a fire in the sitting room. My sisters and I had an enormous bedroom, um, with a lino floor and, you know, drafty window. Oh, so cold <laugh> and uh, um, how was my childhood? It wasn't awful. Um, we used to play out in the street a lot. We used to play with the Knowels'. They had family of 10 children, would you believe, and they weren't even Catholic. Um, she was a widow and she had eight boys and two girls.

Alex:

Were they a local family?

Chris:

Yeah, they lived in Bonny Street as well. Um, we did play with the kids in the street, but every so often we'd be suddenly excluded because we either 'cause we were Catholic or because we were Irish or just because suddenly they didn't want to. And we played a lot on the bomb sites everywhere as well, which was great. It was like one big adventure play, uh, playground, really, you know.

Alex:

Can you remember where those sites were?

Chris:

Yeah, there was, um, what was it called? The Theatre up Camden High Street. Um, that was great to go in. Um, and also opposite us where there's a gap between the houses and a road that goes into it. There's a sort of dip that was a big bomb site as well. We used to go over there a lot. And we used to go down Prowse Place. There was a house that had been bombed out there and had, um, oh, it was great. We used to kind of play houses in it, you know. And, uh, it still had its garden. It was sort of at the beginning of Prowse Place before you hit the tunnel y'know? And it had these lovely roses in it. I do remember that. And my sister Maggie would kind of find a vase or a bottle or something um, we'd find broken tables and make a little house. And then the Knowles' boys would come and wreck it all <laugh>.

Chris:

Yeah. We were very unsupervised really. 'Cause my mum had to go to work from when I was about six. She was a child minder for the first couple of years. And that was nice. Um, you know, because she was home and she liked babies, but they didn't have enough money. So, and in fact, I forgot, she went to work for the railway initially. She worked, um, at Euston doing the Comptometer, I think.

Alex:

What was that?

Chris:

Which was a sort of, I think it was the kind of adding machine that sort of printed out payslips or something like that. And then they moved her office to Alperton. And so she used to get the overground train to Wembley. She'd have to go very early. Um, that wasn't the first job she had. C&A was the first job she had. Did you ever hear of them?

Alex:

No. What's that?

Chris:

Department store? She had to wear a black dress and high heels. <laugh>.

Alex:

Where was it?

Chris:

It was in, um, Oxford Circus. And, uh, yeah, the dress had to be, um, dry cleaned every week. So I remember picking up the dress from the dry cleaners. Um, and she had to work Thurs- work late on Thursdays. Hated that. And then she went to work for the railway. And then she was there a few years, I think. But then she got a job as a civil servant and she worked in department of trade industry for the rest of her life, I think. Yeah

Um, I don't really remember much about Northampton except the garden. We had a really nice big garden there. And my sisters and I were digging a hole to Australia, <laugh> because Queen Elizabeth was visiting Australia. And we figured if we went long enough, we'd get there. But my dad was filling it in secretly every night, which was really sad. <laugh>. So we never got very far. The other thing we used to do, which apparently drove him bananas, was we'd pick his tomatoes before they were ripe, take one bite and then bury them. So he had tomato plants coming up all over the garden. <laugh>. Yeah, it was nice having a garden. I mean, in, in Bonny Street we didn't have a garden. We just had a yard and an outside toilet. And there was just one little sort of triangle of light that came through. Um, sad, you know.

Well, we went to the gardens, Camden Gardens. We went there most days with our dog. We nearly always had a dog. And also we went to school, well first of all, we went to, um, uh, Church of England School just near here for about a term before we could get into Catholic school. Then we went to the Rosary in Belsize Park. So we often used to get the train up to Primrose, uh, to, um, not Primrose Hill, what's it called? Parliament Hill. And or to Hampstead Heath. And then if we went to Parliament Hill, we walked over The Heath to school. So we did, we did, um, we used to go to Regents Park as well, quite a lot. Um, in the summer, my mum would take us up there to see the rose gardens. That was nice. I remember swimming in the ponds up there as well.
You weren't allowed to do that either. You used to go on the boating lake. And sometimes we get the train to Richmond, 'cause we got free travel being, um, railway man's daughters. You got, um, you either got a sort of third of the railway cost or he had a thing where he, he got six free passes a year to anywhere in Europe. So you could actually six free passes for six kids for six, uh, family of six. So 36 trips, you know. So, um, wasn't until I left home that I realised I had to start paying fares. I was outraged. <laugh>.

No, No. Um, there were, it was the bus terminal there for the 53 and the number three bus. So we kind of knew the bus drivers. And sometimes they give us a ticket roll, really exciting <laugh>. Um, sometimes they'd let us sit on the bus until they went. Um, but no, those were the only people we met there. Um, if you like, our, our street played in our street. The kids played in the street and, um, yeah, I mean, it was very Irish, our street. It really was. There was the O'Connors, the O'Haras, the O'Mahonys, um, the Murrays on the corner. Um, yeah, next to us were the O'Haras who had a, who had twin sons, one of whom had learning difficulties and never went out. Um, yeah, they had three boys and across the road from us was the Murphy's. And they lived on the top floor of one house.

And they only had like, I mean, it, you know, talk, they're go on about housing shortage now. It was really, really bad in the fifties. And they had, uh, I think two rooms and a kitchen on the landing. And they had four kids. And she was my brother's child minder as well. Then up the road, the Mur- The Murrays, they had, um, five girls and they literally had a bedroom, a sitting room and a kitchen on the landing and a shared toilet with about four or five other families in the house, <laugh>. And we were good friends with them. We were, I used to, we used to laugh though, because, um, they had a sitting room that had sort of four arm chairs. And when it was dinner time, instead of laying the table like we did, they laid the arms of the chairs, <laugh>. And we thought that was hilarious. But there was no room for anything else, you know?

Yeah. I mean, our, our, our sitting room was really big and so was my bedroom. And then my mum and dad had a smaller bedroom, and Kieran kind of had a bedroom off and on. 'cause it wasn't, it didn't have a window. Um, it had been partitioned off to make a hall. And it had a kind of glass bit at the top, but no real window, you know, he and my dad used to get terrible asthma, both of them, you know. Um, yeah, it was polluted, definitely. And we had smog. A lot of smog

Oh yeah. Um, I could see the Murphy's house dead opposite. Um, I could see down the road, I could see the Knowles' house. I could see, oh, the Knowles' had some cousins who lived about two doors down from them. I forgot what they were called Mondeys. The Mondeys. They, they lived- like we were here, the Murphy's were there. Um, the Mondeys were there. The gap in the buildings where there'd been a bomb was there. And you could see, um, like the wallpaper and everything from the people who'd, you know, who'd been bombed out. You could see what their houses were like, which was quite interesting. But got a bit boring. Um, and then there was a sort of row of houses here and um, I dunno who was next to the Mondeys, but then there were the Knowles' upstairs. They had um, I think two floors, 'cause she did have 10 children. And then beneath that and the basement were the O'Connors. And she was like an Irish landlady. She had loads of properties and lodgers. Um, so I could see that quite clearly. And I could see the rest of the street. I'm not sure who lived in the rest. But there was an ice cream factory on the corner,  um, you could see that. We used to hang around there hoping - didn't get very much <laugh>.

There was buddleia in a lot, a lot of places. Um, it was a depressing place to be. I mean, there was lots and lots of Irish people around, but most of them were kicked out of their digs during the day. And if you came from Camden Road Station, I mean, you couldn't actually make it to my house without somebody vomiting, <laugh>, you know, there was a lot of drunkenness, I think, you know, due to loneliness and not having anything to do.

But Mrs. O'Connor, she was, she was a good landlady. I mean, you know, and she was a good person as well. So she had that house, the bottom of that house in, um, Bonny Street. And she had another whole house opposite it where she had god knows how many lodgers, you know, she used to turf them all out in the morning, you know, ‘Get up and go to work, you lot!’ You know, you'd actually hear it down the road, you know. Uh, she had lots of lodgers and she also had a couple of other properties, I think one in Royal College Street, and I dunno where the other one was. She had a daughter called Joan, who was the first out lesbian I ever met. Yep. Yep. She was out and proud in the sixties. Introduced me to her girlfriend. Um, Mrs. O'Connor was, she was the kind of person who dip into your life in an emergency and then leave you to it as soon as you didn't need her anymore. So, you know, she was, she was very kind, you know, she was kind. Um, and she was kind to her lodgers as well. But she had a husband who was completely soaked in drink all the time. I mean, he was absolutely y'know, a sot.

And she had a lodger called Red Ted, Red Ted? And everyone knew that he was her real partner. And eventually the husband died of alcoholism, of course. And Red Ted was really nice, you know, he was a fine, upstanding man, really, you know, and he helped her with the properties and with the lodgers and things like that. I think it was Red Ted Red, Red something. Anyway, he had red hair. Um, and he was good looking, you know. I mean, it was all a secret. You're not supposed to have boyfriends in those days, you know? Oh, yeah. And, um, we had, we had some real characters living in the road. We had Old Mac who was, um, he had a kind of, what was it called? Uh, second-hand shop, just the other side of Prowse Place before the Bonny Cafe on our side of the road. Um, and he, he sold junk, basically. Um, and bought junk. So we quite often sold things to him or bought things from him. And he <laugh> he always wore exactly the same. He wore a beret black beret, he was quite big and a, and a sort of brown raincoat thing. And he shuffled down the road, you know. Um, and he also had a woman kind of living with him who everyone called Mad Maggie and <laugh>.
And she used to walk down the road clutching this bag under her arm, talking to herself all the time. And everyone said her fiancé had died in the war and she never got over it or something. Yeah. There, there were characters, definite characters. <laugh>

Um, a lot of people worked for the railway. Mr. O'Hara worked for the railway next to us. Um, Mr. Murray was a navi, I think, um, or a foreman. Um, and their cousins used to live in that house as well at the bottom, but they only had one child, so they had a bit more room. Um, God knows what Mrs Knowles' boys did. I mean, you know, they ranged when we were there, the youngest one was my age, Alfie. And he was gay and really got a hard time from his brothers. Um, I think quite a few of them worked on the market and things like that, you know, picked up odd jobs here and there. They range from his age. Um, mine, you know, when I was about seven, up to about 23, you know, and they used to play football a lot in the, in the road.

And we also had the taxi garage. So the road was always lined with sodding taxis. Oh. And next door to us was the coal man who was a bastard, um, <laugh>. He was horrible. Um, they lived in the top floor of next door on, uh, on our right as you, uh, what was they called? I've forgotten. Anyway, they had one son and they used to get a new puppy. Um, keep it for six months and then have it put down, 'cause they said they never liked puppies. They were horrible people. And also used to cheat my mum and dad on, on coal, you know, 'cause they carried three bags and he always kept him short by one. But my mom and dad never dared complain because they thought he'd stop delivering altogether. You know, you kind of, you had to kiss the feet of anyone would give you anything in those days, you know, or serve you. But he, yeah, they were horrible. And their son used to break into our house all the time as well. So we were robbed several times by him.

I mean, it was so cold in our house at the best of times. And, um, you know, you weren't allowed to wear tights or, or trousers or, or boots even to school. You know, you had long socks, knee socks and a skirt. So we all had trap legs all the time. Little boys had to wear shorts, you know, at their knee. And our dog got killed and broke everybody's heart. He was a beautiful dog. Everyone loved him, to bits. And he got, um, a car skidded and on the ice in Prowse Place and ran over him and he died. That was, that was a total tragedy in our family. Even my dad cried, you know, <laugh> sad <laugh>, but true, truly awful. So we were all in mourning.

And it was the year for my 11 plus. And I do remember when the dog got killed, you weren't allowed to go to school and say, I didn't do my homework 'cause the dog got killed. But there were a lot of power cuts. And we'd had a power cut this one night. And I always did my homework. And I, I was good at school in those days. Um, but uh, I went in and I said I didn't do it because of the power cut, but really it was 'cause we were all sitting crying about the dog. We, we all slept in the sitting room to try and keep warm. We had the fire going all night and um, it was hard to get fuel as well. It was hard to get coal. I said we had a, um, a paraffin stove as well, which was really smelly.

Um, but, you know, the only place that was warm was right by the fire. The room was so big and so high. You, you know, it took all night to actually warm up, you know. So we all slept there. That was quite cozy. That was quite nice. But we all carried on going to school and work. I mean, the trains ran and the buses ran. You know, it wasn't like these days where everything just stops, you know, didn't, there was no such thing as a ‘snow day’, you know. And we went on the underground with the overground up to Hampstead to school. Um, yeah, you just got on with it really, you know.

Yeah. Okay. So we went for three months to a CofE school, which my parents weren't happy about at all. Um, but they were waiting to get us in. Then they got us into the Rosary. And I guess we must have started in the January when I was just turned five. Um, so it was convent school and the nuns were nicer than the nuns in the children's home, that's for sure. <laugh>, with the except exception of Sister Bridget, who was a tartar, she was in the top class. Um, you had like two, two streams and going up up the school, you know, the clever kids went in one class and the not so clever kids went in the other class. So all of us were always in the top class, you know, except the year that I turned 11, they decided to change the system and mix everybody up so that both teachers would have a mix. And we were on holiday when school started, and I came back three days too late. And my best friend had been put in Sister Bridget's class, and I was in Miss Ainsworth's class. And I was heartbroken, absolutely heartbroken. And by then it was too late. I mean, so many parents have protested when they seen their children weren't in Sister Bridget's class. You know, they were, uh, that they'd been allowed to change, but I wasn't, 'cause I was three days late starting. So I was bitter and twisted about that for the rest of my life. Um, but that teacher we had there, um, I was one of her favourites, but I really didn't like her 'cause she wasn't very nice, you know, I mean she, the fact that she had favourites put me off. And we had this girl in our class, Susan, her name was, and she was obviously, you know, from a really poor background.

And, um, she was always dirty and she smelt and you know, teacher would kind of ignore her most of the time. But anyway, her mother, in her wisdom pierced this girl's ears and to keep the holes open, she put dirty rags through and knotted them either side. And this poor girl, her ears were just, you know, flaming up. And we were saying to the teacher, ‘look, miss, look at Susan's ears, look at Susan's ears’, you know, and she just ignored it, you know? And eventually this poor child just fainted and she had to take her to the hospital then. But I really hated her for that, that teacher. I really, really didn't like her. Even though she liked me, I didn't like her. She only liked the clever kids, you know. And it pissed me off a bit 'cause I thought the others could be clever if they were given a bit more attention and stuff, you know?

Mm-hmm <affirmative>. And also in primary school, I was deaf. Um, but nobody knew I was deaf till I was seven. The school nurse told my parents <laugh>, that's how much attention they had, you know? Um, and at that stage, I think I was only deaf in this ear. Um, but then all hell broke out, you know? And I started having to go to Great Ormond Street and have tests and have water pumped up my nose and all sorts of strange things. And, and this ear started to go deaf when I was about nine, I think. So. Um, and it wasn't a problem for me, um, at primary school 'cause they face you don't they, you know, and talk to your face. Whereas in secondary school they kind of do it like this on the blackboard and, you know, I lost it really. But, um, yeah. So yeah, I did well in primary school and I was always a little bit surprised that, um, that I was doing well, if you know what I mean. Like, I remember when I got chosen to narrate the Christmas play, um, which apparently a huge honour when I was seven. But I had no idea that it was a huge honour, you know? Uh, it just did it, you know. And, uh, my mum and dad were terribly impressed and my sisters were terribly jealous. <laugh> And nasty about it.

Um, well we did go to mass every Sunday. Um, and if you went to early morning mass, I mean, you couldn't you in those days, I dunno how much you know about Catholicism. Okay. Right. So you, you make, you, you made your first communion when you were seven. And we all got dressed up in lovely dresses. And I was terribly impressed with that. You know, it's the first time in my life I had new garments, head to toe, including shoes, socks, nickers, everything. And this lovely white dress and sandals and every, you know, beside myself, head dress with a bow. Um, I had no idea really what we, what we were doing. But you studied for that. You had to do the Catechism, uh, which is the sort of list of questions that they ask you and you have to do the right responses. So I did that when I was seven. And my sisters that year, they made their confirmation, like, once you've made your first communion, some years later you confirm that you really are a Catholic. But because the, the head, the head priest, it wasn't a priest, it was Cardinal was coming to town. Um, so they got all the kids who hadn't made the confirmation to make the confirmation. So I made mine about three weeks after I'd made my first communion <laugh>, which was a bit bizarre as well, you know, mopped us all up. And so we all, so I got dressed up in my lovely dress again, you know, and they had white dresses. So I have got a photo of that actually. Um, and we went to Our Lady of Hal Church. Um, but the priests there were Belgian, I dunno if you know about this, okay, it's just, you know, near the, um, homeless shelter place.

And they had these terrible accents, <laugh>, most people couldn't understand what the hell they were saying. They, and they did kind of like the same sermon every week. It would be like ‘Mary was a good girl. But she came to London and she met Patrick and Mary fell’, you know, and they, so nobody really liked 'em, but everybody had to go to church. And it was mobbed. I mean it really was, if you went to 11 o'clock Mass, all the, all the drunken Irishmen used to go to the 11 o'clock Mass 'cause they could go straight from there to the pub afterwards. But that was the longest one. That was the high mass, which went on forever, ever. Um, and they'd all be spilling out the back. But um, if you wanted to do first com-, if you wanted to do communion in the mornings, um, you weren't allowed to eat from the night before.
So we might go to the early Mass at seven. I mean they were at 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, you know, um, you could choose uh, <laugh> and then you go home and have a lovely breakfast. So that was quite nice to do. The early one was a short one as well. My brother <laugh> Matthew's dad, he was sent to Mass one day, he hadn't been, we used to get sent if we hadn't gone. And uh, he went off to Mass, I think he was about six or seven at the time. And he came back, on the way there he got stopped by um, someone from the Methodist church who said, where was he going? And he said he was going down to Mass. They gave him six pence to go to their church instead. And they gave him a comic. He came home so pleased. He said, ‘look! Can, I got sixpence’. My parents were appalled. Yeah, it was, it was very definitely a Catholic household.

And you have to do confession as well, you know, it's quite hard to think of something you’d done wrong, you know, ‘I told lies, I was naughty’. I just, you know, uh, and the priests were horrible, really. You know, they're creepy. Some of them, you know, one of them landed up, uh, finally being done for pedophilia after many, many, many years. Dunno if you know that story. Yeah. I mean he taught in the school my best friend worked in. He didn't teach actually, he was their local priest, you know? Yeah. Yeah. It was horrible. Creepy.

Okay. So when you got a telephone, I mean, it was a really big deal to get your own telephone anyway, but you had to share it with a neighbour 'cause they didn't have enough lines. So we had to share with somebody who lived next door to Mrs. O'Connor on her side, <laugh>, we used to wind him up so much 'cause you could hear their phone calls, you know, so we'd, we'd pick it up while he was talking to his girlfriend. He'd say in this posh voice, you know, 'would you mind putting the phone down?' And we'd go, 'no, you put yours down.' He'd go, 'I'm sorry I was speaking first'. 'No, it's our phone too. We can, we can listen as long as we like.' We were cheeky little brats. We really were. But um, yeah, so sort of started with him, I think, you know, and that house sort of got done up and then gradually, uh, two or three other houses started to get done up.

Um, yeah. Oh, I know the one next to the Murphy's, that's where Bridget lived and she was um, she was this kind of woman who took it upon herself to make sure all the Catholic kids got to school every morning. She had a club foot and um, she'd kind of position herself so that all the Catholic kids had to go with her to the underground station. She takes us up to Hampstead and we never wanted to go with her. We were quite able to go on our own, you know. Um, and she was a good sort I think, but she was also very bossy and annoying. <laugh>. We didn't wanna go in her little train, you know? Yeah. So we used to try and avoid her quite a lot. Um, yeah, she was very fat as I remember. Oh yeah. And there was a posh family that lived in that house as well.

There was a boy called Christopher that we used to take the piss out of a lot, um, who had a very posh accent. I think he went to private school, but as did my brother, that's, that's the weird thing. My mum and dad sent him to St. Aloysious private school. 'Cause you could only go to our school as a boy till you were seven and then you had to go to another school and they didn't like any of the others. So he got this private education, came out worse than any of us actually. Um, yeah. So what was it like? So yeah, it started to get gentrified. We had some friends who lived, my mum had one friend, um, Auntie Marjorie and Uncle Charles, uh, who lived around the corner opposite Camden Gardens. And uh, he was posh and she wasn't, she was a, she was a nurse and um, oh, he was vile, he was really horrible to her, they had five children as well. And he used to say things to the kids, like, ‘go in the mother and tell-, go in the kitchen and tell your mother she's an idiot, will you?’ Um, yeah, we, so they were there for quite a while. And then they moved, they moved to Ely Island. And so we did go and visit them there a couple of times. That was the only friend mum had, I think, you know, she, Auntie Marjorie was lovely. She was a very, very sweet woman. But, uh, the kids thought they were cut above us as well. And, and he'd, I mean it was awful. He was one of those posh people who think they don't have to do anything, you know. So he'd send her out to work, but he didn't work. And he'd run up debts and people would knock on the door and he'd come and say, ‘How dare you come here asking for money, be off with you. Go!’ And they'd go, <laugh>, we were absolutely gobsmacked, you know? Yeah. Her dad had a pub down at Gower Street and uh, oh, he hated her husband. I mean, you know, he was not, not a good choice at all. Anyway, I digress. So how was it changing? So they moved out and that house started to get, got done up, I think. And then the, the Murrays moved to Enfield and that house got done up and became sort of owner occupied as opposed to lots of different tenants in there. Um, I dunno what happened to big- to Old Mac.

I think he was gone by the time I was gone. Um, so that started, and Camden Lock Market started up when I was in my teens as well. And I was really into making clothes. So I used to go there for buttons 'cause they had, there was a store that had the most amazing buttons and even if I bought something, I would change the buttons, so my stuff looked unique, you know. Um, we were all, well, Maggie and I were both into making our own clothes. And clothes are expensive then as well, you know, um, and you could make a dress in the morning and wear it in the evening, you know, so we used to do that and make a terrible mess. But my mum was pretty tolerant of that. And well actually she didn't like housework, so it didn’t matter.

She was a terrible cook. She was intent on killing us all I think. <laugh> My mum's the only person I know who can burn potatoes on the outside and still have them raw in the, in the middle, you know, <laugh>, she was terrible. So I didn't really discover food tasted nice ‘till I left home. But, um, you know, her way of kind of cleaning the floor was to flick a tea towel at the carpet, <laugh>, and that was quite amusing. But we all had jobs after school and so one person had to hoover the carpet, one had to light the fire, one had to go shopping and Maggie always put herself in charge of supervising. So, um, but the hoover was always crap, you know? And my mum would come home and say, ‘I don't believe you've hooved that floor’, even though we might have done, you know. But, uh, yeah, she had a, an account at the green grocers around the corner.

And so she'd leave us a shopping list in a book and we had to take it round and he'd put the prices next to it. But he used to cheat her as well. And he used to treat us badly as children, you know, we'd have to wait till every adult had been served. And he'd always kind of, yeah. Looked down on us 'cause we had an account, as opposed to cash, you know? Yeah. It was not nice. Yeah. My mum was timid, really, you know, she was timid and she didn't stick up for us, you know, I mean, she'd, 'oh, well, you'll just have to put up with it, you know?' Um, yeah.

So how did Camden change? Well, the market started and so, oh, and, and the Roundhouse. Um, so a lot of hippies started moving in and quite a lot of the houses up around Regents Park got squatted. I think. You know, there were a lot of squatters there, so you'd see these strange people coming and going. Um, the market was good, but it was only that little bit over by the canal at first, you know, it's kind of spread and spread and spread, hasn't it? And um, the Roundhouse had good acts on. I mean, in those days you could go to see a good band for very little, you know, my sisters took me to see the Tremeloes when I was 13, um, in Tiles down Oxford Street. And it was about three and six each, I think, you know, and the Tremeloes, you probably never heard of them, but they were uh, you know, top class band. They were like the Oasis of the sixties. And you know, they've just were just on a little platform about that high and you could just go walk right up to them, you know, it's very different.

Um, so I think that's the first time I went out to an adult show. And, uh, but I used to go to the Roundhouse with my friends in my teens, um, because you could stay there all night and, and I was a naughty girl and I would stay out all night on a Saturday. And um, if you went in after a certain time, you either got in for free or not very much. You know, after, after the big act had gone, you could just go in. So we'd kind of go in and snuggle down and lie on the floor and fall asleep usually, and get up at seven and go home <laugh> and then lie about where we been <laugh>. Um, yeah. How old was I then? Probably about 15, I think. Yeah. Um, so what was Camden like? I mean, the market was still there. The food market was still there and the shops along the high street start, oh and the um, dance hall opened up and my friend Maree's father was, um, he was kind of like in charge of the Meath Society.

Meath is the place in Ireland, Meath. Okay. And they had their sort of headquarters at the Dublin Castle, uh, and um, he used to virtually beg me and Maree to go so that the boys coming over from Ireland would have someone to dance with. And he was a very nice man, our dad. So we'd go in like these London dolly girls, you know, <laugh> with our mini skirts. And we looked down at these boys over from Ireland who looked terribly old fashioned. They had Brylcreem hair, you know, and we'd, and Maree's dad virtually cried tears of gratitude at us for going, you know, he used to arrange the dances. He used to try and welcome other people from Meath to London. He was, he was a sweet man, he really was. And um, yeah, we'd go in like royalty. We'd probably be the only two girls there as well, you know, and we were very pretty in our teens, you know, so I think we're about 15, 16 then, you know, we'd make an appearance and then we'd go off down the West End or something, you know. <laugh>

Um, we all had Saturday jobs as well. My mum used to chuck us out, really. She come downstairs on a Saturday and say, ‘what you doing here go and play’ or <laugh>? ‘Aren't you supposed to be at work or something’, you know? So she more or less insisted we had a Saturday job as soon as we could. My first job was, um, as a paper girl and when I was 12 in a newsagents round, it was in Royal College Street and oh God, it was exhausting. It really was. I mean, it was a huge round to do. And my dad was so sorry for me he’d get up and come with me to help me <laugh> so sweet. I got paid 12 and six, which is like 55 pence or less, um, <laugh>.
So I didn't last long at that <laugh>. And then my next job I worked with my sisters in, um, Cake House in, what's it called? It wasn't around here, it was in, um, it's in St James's Park. So it was kind of seasonal work and we got paid five shillings an hour, which was really good for those days, you know. Um, but it was very dependent on the weather and stuff. And I worked there sort of summer holidays and whenever she phoned me for- till I was about 16, I think, you know, and a lot of us, kind of, became a community there, you know, like next week I'm going out with my sister's best friend who used to work there as well, you know, and there's something very comforting about knowing someone who knew you when you were 13. You know? It's really sweet.

Uh, well we wore Shamrock on Christmas day, not Christmas Day and St. Patrick's Day. And um, how did we celebrate? Um, well we went to Ireland quite a lot. Um, and we liked it there when we went there, when the Cuban Crisis was on, that was I think 1960. And we were in Ireland at the time. And my mum and dad were actually talking about staying, and we were over the moon, you know? ‘Yeah, let's stay in Ireland!’. Then the bloody crisis was over, so we had to come home. Um, I was gonna say something else. I suppose... how did we celebrate being Irish? I mean, like, everyone was Irish, so didn't really think about it being Irish. We used to have like these holy days of obligation. Have you heard of them? Okay. Catholics have to do them, right?
And you have to go to Mass and they're about five or six a year. So you get a day off school. And the non-Catholics in our road are going, 'Why are you here? Why aren't you at school?' And we'd say, 'It's a holy day of obligation'. And they'd go, 'what?' <laugh>? You know, they've never heard of it. But, um, yeah, we did that. Um, what else did we do? My dad was very keen for us to be proud of being Irish, but we weren't, 'cause it was, it was such a negative experience being Irish in Camden Town. It really was. You know?

Um, I guess after my dad died, which I think is a bit sad, he died when I was 29 and I'm 72. Um, he died of cirrhosis of the liver, surprisingly, um, <affirmative>. Um, and I mean, the uncles who stayed in Ireland, they didn't drink at all, or one did, but you know, just social drinking. The two who came to England, one went to Leeds and died of alcoholism as well. Much younger than my dad. And yeah, you know, I think it would, I think it's the kind of thing of being in England and the expectations of Irish people. You drink, you drink and drink, you know? Um, I mean, my dad would've been sacked these days, like he worked on St. Pancras station and if you phoned him up at work, people would say he is over in the Shires, which is the bar, or was the bar on station.

I think they've still got one called the Shires. But, um, yeah, you know, he always smelt of alcohol and I hated it, you know, I didn't like to be hugged by him. I didn't like the smell. Um, but he, he mainly drank beer, so that was his excuse. I'm not an, I'm not an alcoholic 'cause I only drink beer. Um, but at Christmas he would, oh God, he would show my mum up so much, she'd be so upset. Her sister would come once a year, or we'd go there once a year and my dad would tuck into spirits and get leglessly drunk. I mean, and she was so embarrassed by him, you know? And, um, she'd beg him not to get drunk. And of course, you know, it was like a red rag to a bull, you know, she'd go, 'oh, you won't get drunk will you, Brian?'

'Yes'. <laugh>. Um, yeah, it was sad. I mean, it was horrible and kind of really put me off addicts, frankly, you know, I did love my dad. Oh, and also the other thing about being Catholic was you had to give something up for Lent and Advent, do you know about them? Okay, so Advent is four weeks before Christmas. So he'd stopped drinking for four weeks, and Lent is six weeks before Easter. So 10 weeks of the year he didn't drink. And that was great. You know, we had money in the house. Um, my dad was nice and he would play board games with us, and he'd be there and talk to us, and I got to see what he was really like. But then of course, he'd just go back to it again as soon as Lent or Advent was over. But I'm glad we had those times.

Yeah, yeah. He did really believe in it all, you know, and, um, <laugh>, and it sounds really naive, my dad was pretty upset when the first men hit the moon, because he'd always been told that heaven was up in the sky. And clearly it wasn't. And also all of us children turned away from the church and stopped going to Mass and things like that. And eventually he stopped. And I asked him about why he did and he said, 'well, you know, I'm not a good Catholic. I haven't managed to bring up all good Catholics'. And it kind of broke my heart, really. 'Cause I thought, yeah, that's what he thought it was his job to do. And none of us stuck with it. You know, Maggie said she was gonna go, she was gonna get married in the registry office, and he said he wasn't going to the wedding. My mother said, 'Don't be so ridiculous, Brian. Of course, you're going to her wedding'. She did get married in the church. Both my sisters did actually, and their husbands had to do, um, both of them married non-Catholics. Both of them had to do religious instruction and agree that their kids would be brought up Catholic. None than did it. But they both said they would. Yeah, I mean, being Catholic was a big feature. It really was, you know?

Oh, we used to go to a youth club! I forgot about that. We went to a youth club in Holloway for a bit, um, that was attached to the church there, <laugh>. And we, and we hung out with a big group of boys from St. Aloysius School. Last school was, um, my school started off as Our Lady of Sion and then became comprehensive with La Sainte Union. So we joined them and St Aloysius, which is up in Highgate, and so our, our boys and our girls kind of interacted. So we used to just hang around as a big group of horrible teenagers, really. And we used to go to the Wimpy Bar a lot and cheat the waitress till she threw us out after we'd eaten, um, <laugh>. And we used to go to each other's houses and have kind of snogging sessions in each other's front rooms.

Um, and we used to, so we had this, this youth club that we all really liked. And I remember discovering the Rolling Stones in there, you know, I mean, um, it was Ruby Tuesday and Let's Spend the Night Together. I really remember dancing to that and really enjoying dancing. But that was, um, anyway, some of the boys got drunk and the parish priest came in, found and chucked us all out and closed down the youth club. So that's why we started kind of roaming the streets as a kind of gang of disembodied teenagers, you know? And we used to, what did we do?

Bunk off school together, um, in my teens, yeh, the fourth year, I'd kind of, I couldn't really hear in school, but I wasn't allowed to say it was a problem. And so I'd kind of, sort of given up, you know, but I did like learning, so it was a bit annoying. Anyway, so the summer of my fourth year in school, in secondary school, I kind of used to bunk off a lot really. And I barely went, I think. And I used to send in letters in my dad's handwriting in inverted commas, if I was bunking off and my, and get a genuine letter from my mum if I wasn't bunking off. So they never really knew what my dad's handwriting was like. But <laugh>, uh, yeah, it was kind of, when we went from being a grammar school to being a comprehensive, the nuns at the comprehensive were all, it was a private school and it was a boarding school as well.

And you know, it had like, it had some posh kids there. Um, but none of them were clever as us. So there was a lot of resentment from them because we all ended up in the first and second levels. And I think we only had two girls from their year that were in our class. And the rest were all lower down the streams. And, you know, there were the, um, the Peruvian ambassadors children all went there, you know, there was some interesting people. There was a Jewish girl there. I could never understand it. She wasn't allowed to come into assembly. She had to stand outside. And I said, why would you send your Jewish child to a Catholic school? Bizarre. You know? So there were, there were these remnants of boarders, and some of them were still boarding. So it was kind of a weird setup, you know? And the nuns, most of them weren't even trained teachers, I don't think, you know, but we got these second rate teachers after having had first rate teachers. And it was really boring, you know? It was, it was crap, actually. You know, I mean, both Maree and I, my best friend, became teachers and I- and teacher trainers, and she's an Ofsted inspector. And she said God wasn't, wasn't teaching terrible. And I said, that's why I became a teacher. I wanted to show 'em how to do it, you know. <laugh>.

Um, when I was 16, just after my 16th birthday. And I'd been, when I went back to school after that summer of bunking off, I found, I didn't know where every, what, what was going on and I felt really stupid and I couldn't really hear either. So I, and it was, um, o-level year, and I just thought, there's no way, you know, I can't do this. So I nagged and nagged and nagged at my parents to be allowed to leave school. So they let me leave, uh, the January of my 16th birthday, um, after my 16th birthday. And I got a job, um, in an office and oh God, it was so boring. <laugh>. It was horrendous. It was, um, I mean, in a way, I didn't realize how lucky I was 'cause it was, it was down by, um, I wanna say Prince's Gate or something. Anyway, Clarence House, somewhere like that. And it was in this old, old building, you know, real posh place. And my job, it was for a company called Tube Investments, and I was supposed to cut out the adverts about, about Tube Investments and, and file them, but nobody showed me how to file, so I didn't know what to do. And they kind of put me in this room on my own, and I was like, you know, spinning a <laugh> about there. And I phoned my friends and I wrote poetry and sang songs and, you know, and, uh, the money was terrible. It was six pound a week, and I got hardly anything outta that. You know, my fares were two pounds and I had to give three pounds to my mum. So it was crap. Um, and, but they gave us really nice lunches kind of cordon bleu lunches.

I do remember that. Um, anyway, nobody realized I wasn't doing anything 'cause nobody ever checked, you know, until I handed my notice in. And then they came in my office and went <laugh>. Then when someone told me how to do it, we did it all, back dated in two weeks. You know, it was all done by the time I left. But, um, yeah, that was a funny job 'cause I had to take news articles to Fleet Street, and they had this fleet of really posh cars with chauffeur, and they put me in the back of one of these things, you know, a limousine or, you know, Rolls Royce or Jaguar or something, you know, and, uh, the chauffeur were dead nice to me, you know, and I'd ride in the back like Lady Muck, you know, <laugh>. It was really weird. So I never realized that that was an extraordinary job until long after I'd left.

So I did that for about six months, and then I left and went back to The Cake House again for the summer, and then I started doing a secretarial course in the autumn. Oh and that was deathly boring as well. That was at, um, I think it was called Islington FE College now. Um, yeah, I mean, it sounds really snobby, but I was so shocked at the girls who were on this course and how trivial they were. You know, all they wanted to talk about was boys and their nails and things like that. And I was used to, you know, my mates kind of, well, me and Maree, we used to talk about books and things we'd read and what we, you know, I mean, different things. Yeah. So I didn't stay long. <laugh>

I did, I learned how to type, um, touch type, but that was quite handy and that, and I'm always glad I did that. Um, we also had shorthand lessons where we had to walk around with a pad in our hands, um, in case our boss ever wanted to dictate to us on the way to the lift, so we could do it at the same time. That, that never ever happened to me, even though I did spend a few years as secretar- doing secretarial work, you know? So I think by about, I don't know, four or five months in, I left that, and then I got a job in an office, um, doing similar work to what I'd done at Tube Investments, but that was a bit better 'cause I was in an office with two other people that I liked. Um hmm. Then my boyfriend got sent to prison, <laugh>.

Oh, that sounds mad, doesn't it? Yeah. Okay. So I had this boyfriend called Chick, but his real name was Richard Forsey and we met when I was 16 and he told me he was 18, and subsequently I found out he was 21. And I was, 'what?' You know, I dunno why, why? I didn't understand why he'd have lied about it, but I guess he thought he was too old, or I'd think he was too old. But anyway, so yeah, we only used to sort of see each other on a Saturday night and then come back to my house. And on my 17th birthday we had sex for the first time. And after that we had sex every Saturday night on my parents' sofa and <laugh>.

We never really talked to each other, <laugh>. And I really knew very little about him, you know, but I knew a lot of his friends who he'd gone to school with and things like that. So then to my absolute astonishment, he and two other friends did an armed robbery and went on the run. Huh. 'What?' You know, I mean, I had absolutely no idea he was into that sort of thing. I mean, it never crossed my mind at all. And, um, and I remember saying to one of his friends, 'Oh, well you'll only get, um, youth detention 'cause he's only 18'. He said, 'He's not 18, he's 21'. I said, 'No, he's 18'. 'No.' He says, yeah. So while I was doing that job, what was it called? Rosen something? It was a, it was an advertising agency. Um, so I used to go and visit him up in Brixton while he was on remand. So I'd get into work really late, you know, and nobody ever actually said anything to me, <laugh>, but I knew I was gonna get the sack if I didn't leave soon. So I did, I left. Then I got another job in an office. Which, what was that one about? It was something to do with, oh yeah, it was a, an educational one. It was, it sort of conned overseas students into doing, um, kind of business studies by correspondence course. Um, and there was a, there was a pa- there was a postal strike on that year, there was a very long postal strike. So I wasn't getting any letters from Chick and I wasn't hearing from him. And I was kind of losing interest in the whole business really, you know, so, um, yeah, didn't write to him anymore. And, uh, he didn't write to me. And the weirdest thing is, recently Maree said to me that she found a letter in her attic from him to her, like a year before his release date, asking how she and I were and things like that. And she showed it to me, I was like, gobsmacked. <laugh>.

But she also had a boyfriend who went to prison <laugh>, what is his name? Johnny Whitley. And, and she said to me, 'God, I could never have told my mum and dad' <laugh>. I was like, 'Hmm'. My mum and dad did, did know about Chick, but her mum and dad had no idea. You know? Um, yeah, our kids don't know anything either, you know. So, um, anyway, by then Maree, Maree and I, we went on a holiday together to Spain when we were, oh no. First of all, we met, um, she was going out with this guy and he took us to this birthday party of his friend, a 21st birthday party. And I think we were 18, which was where I met Tony, who's the father of my first child. And, um, it was really weird because we were the only young people there.

There was his aunt and uncle and his mother who were all absolutely drunk and his cousin and me as a single female and Maree and her then boyfriend and Tony. So he had to dance with me. And his mother really took exception to me and tried hit me <laugh>. And I got really shocked. And uh, Tony kind of went to move her off me and she fell over. She said, 'Hit your mother, would you? Go on, hit your mother!' That's it. Anyway, 'Get that whore outta my sight!' So I was out of her sight and he asked me out and I felt so embarrassed by the whole thing. I thought, oh God, he is probably only asking 'cause he's embarrassed. But if I say no, I think it's 'cause of his mum. So I said yes. So we, we did land up forming a relationship for about four years in the end <laugh>.

Okay. So, so I'm working at this place and I think I left there to go and do temp work. 'cause actually it was a bit more interesting learning a new job every two weeks than it was just doing the same thing over and over again. 'Cause I was, I was too smart really for it, you know? It was, it was stupid for me to do that. But, um, but also I couldn't bloody hear on the phone and I couldn't tell a temp agency I couldn't use the phone or I wouldn't have got any work <laugh>. I used to do this thing where, you know, whenever the phone went, I'd kind of just head to the loos so that someone else would have to pick it up, you know? But, you know, it was awful. 'cause I did make mistakes and people didn't know I was deaf and I didn't have a hearing aid.

And, um, yeah, it was hard. It was, it was really hard at times, you know? Um, it was like kind of, yeah, not being an out lesbian, you know, like yeah, people assuming you can hear everything, you really can't, you know? And I never, ever did, um, shorthand because <laugh>, I couldn't have heard them properly. But I did used to do audio typing 'cause I could stick it in my ears and turn it up really, really loud, you know? Um, yeah. So I did a lot of work in legal firms and things doing that. And then, um, when I was 20, 21? 21, yeah, I decided I really wanted to get a proper education and do something better. So I went to the Working Men's College and even though I didn't have O-level English, I persuaded the English literature teacher to take me on in A-level English.

I started doing that. And I also did history. And it was great. We, I mean, it was really good class. Um, and yeah, it was really good. We used to, you know, hang out as a, as a group and go out for meals afterwards and things like that. And a lot of them would sleep on my bedroom floor. I had a very big bedroom 'cause my sisters had moved out by then. And um, yeah, the people who come from far away would stay overnight. And that, I have to say that about my parents, they were incredibly tolerant about us having young people in, I mean, you know, much more tolerant than my friend's parents were.

So I stayed there and I got pregnant with Regan, my older daughter. And Tony, the day after I got pregnant, got hit by a bus coming home from the Roundhouse on his motorbike. And his leg was broken right? In about three places. So he was in plaster for the whole of my pregnancy. He was nine months in plaster <laugh>, but sort of killed two birds with one stone 'cause my mum said, 'well, he'll have to marry you.' And I was like, 'I don't wanna marry him'. She was like, 'well, you know, he can't live here if he's not gonna marry you'. So I said, 'mum, I do not wanna get married'.

And she was like, 'well, you can't live here either anyway. You'll have to find somewhere else to live'. And she was so embarrassed by me. She was so mortified having a daughter pregnant out of wedlock and also totally refusing to even count the idea of getting pregnant. And he was in hospital up in the Royal Free. And I went and told him I was pregnant. And he said, oh, get rid of it. I went, Hmm. <laugh>. So I didn't. Um, and everyone told me to get rid of it, actually, it was horrible. Only one person said congratulations. And I was 22, I wasn't like a baby, you know? Um, and I knew I really wanted this child, so I didn't say anything. I just went hmm. To everybody and refused to discuss it really. You know, people were incredibly tactless and thoughtless and stupid around me, you know?

And it hurt. It hurt a lot. Um, the only people who were kind of kind was my sister Sheila, who was a midwife at that time. And Maree, my best friend, you know, most other people just thought I was ridiculous to even think of having it, you know? So I just stopped talking to anyone about it. And I went off to the antenatal, I went to the EGA and every time I'd come out crying, you know, I was really depressed, I think. So, yeah. So there I was, studying away, getting A+s and things like that for all my essays and oh yeah, my English teacher was so fucking rude. He said to me, um, you know, he noticed that I was pregnant. He said, 'um, any of you could have done what you've done' pointing at my stomach, 'but you had a brain. It's a shame you didn't use it'.

Unbelievable. Yeah. You know, really outrageous. My dad, my dad was nice. My mum wasn't. My dad- my mum said, 'well, I don't know what your father's gonna say about this. you know, you'll have to tell him'. So I spent an evening trying to tell my dad I was pregnant, you know, and he got all busy emptying the bins and washing up and, you know, I said, 'Dad, can we talk?' And 'yeah, in a minute now, you know?' And in the end I said, 'Dad, I'm pregnant'. And he went, 'Ah, what you gonna do? Go on the social?' <laugh>.

Which was really sweet. And also my, um, my boss at Beauchamp Lodge was, she wasn't a kind woman, but she was kind to me about that. And she said, 'Well, we're gonna have to see if we can get maternity leave for you'. Which they didn't have in those days. I mean, you either left work or you didn't, you know. And I was like, 'What?' You know? And so she negotiated a three month maternity leave for me, which was great, you know, it seemed like forever at the time. And I was immensely grateful to her for that. So, um, yeah, I think I stopped working about two weeks before the baby was born and had her in the EGA maternity home, which was horrible. Really horrible. Um, and then I had puerperal psychosis, like my mum, and I came out of hospital in a really bad way and got given barbiturates and Valium and all sorts, and landed up in the Whittington psychiatric ward and in, um, Muswell Hill, which, yeah, I mean, it was not a bad place to be for me, actually. It wasn't the worst thing that's happened to me, it wasn't a bad place.

You know, Tony was on tour again, and we weren't together. We kind of were good friends through my pregnancy. We never slept together again. And yeah, he was seeing someone else, but he hadn't told me. Um, yeah, he was a very good looking man. And he had this groupie who was following him from one theatre to another. And he had introduced her to me when I was pregnant, but he hadn't really explained who she was or anything, you know. So, I was in there for about nine weeks, ten weeks. And yeah, I remember I came home one Sunday when I started to get better, you know? And um, I came down the road and Mrs. O'Connor was on her doorstep and I was crying, which I did quite a lot in those days, and she kind of came out, she said, oh, don't let your family see that. And she took me in, she was very kind, she sat me down. I think it was the only time I ever went in her house. She sat me down and gave me a cup of tea and sort of, you know, it was really sweet. And then she said, oh, I think, you know, you, you know, when I, when I'd stopped crying, I went and had Sunday dinner with them and went back to the hospital. <laugh>. It was very strange. It was a very strange time.

that was the deal I had with Pamela, who had been my boss before. Only, by the time I got back there, Pamela had left and there was a whole new set up going on. And I had this new boss called Amanda who was not at all happy about me bringing my baby, but felt it was too uncool to say so, you know, they were all Oxbridge the new lot. And they all knew each other from Oxford. And, uh, yeah, and they all thought they were left wing and right-on and everything <laugh>.

And they drove me bananas. They messed up all my filing systems. They said, 'Well, we're a collective now, so everybody has to do everything.' Well, I didn't want them doing the clerical work 'cause they were all really crap at it, you know? And they messed up all the systems that I had. Uh, but whatever, you know. So I think I stayed another year there. And then I went and did a degree by independent study at North East London Polytechnic. And the thing you had to do with that was to write your own curriculum. And that was really tricky. It was really, really hard. You know, you, and it had to be at least, it was two year initially for a diploma and three years for a degree. Um, but you didn't sort of go to lectures, unless you could negotiate with a particular lecturer to go to theirs.

But you had to- anyone could study anything they wanted. I mean, it wasn't very hippie, wasn't it in those days, you know? Um, and so I, I decided to do alternatives in education. So I did a sort of, you know, major kind of research project on alternative education systems. And yeah, it was, it was good, you know, 'cause Regan would go to nursery. It only cost me 60p a week for Regan to go to nursery. And because I was a mature student, I got a full grant and a, and a grant for my daughter. And I was better off than I'd ever been in my life, you know? And the rent was only about six pound a week as well. And I had this three bedroom flat, which was really nice, apart from where it was, you know, it was on the 21st floor and yeah, there was a big bedroom and two little bedrooms of the sliding door. So she was in one and I was in the other. So I decided to rent out one of the rooms and, uh, got six pound a week for that <laugh>. Yeah. So I, I was happy. I was, you know, it was all right.

So after I'd done my degree by independent study, I got headhunted to do, to teach literacy at Tower Hamlets College Institute in White Chapel. And <laugh>, this is quite, this is the kind of undermining thing Jim would say; I said to him, 'You know, they've asked me to go for interview,' you know, uh, and I mentioned the name of the person who said, 'Oh, well they won’t have you, 'cause they only have people who are really good there' <laugh>.

Uh, it was funny really because he tried so hard to break me, but the more he did, the less I broke. You know? I mean, I rose above it. I just looked at him, you know? Got it. He was so surprised when I got the job as well. And then, um, yeah, so I worked there teaching adult literacy and liked it a lot. You know. Um, we had small groups and my kids were in nursery and I wanted Jim out, but he just would not go. Um, so I kind of got on with my life and separated from him, you know, and did what I did. I had a really good friend who lived on the floor below, and our girls were the same age, and they were really into each other. So I used to hang out in her flat a lot.

Um, oh yeah, And I set up a self-defense class <laugh> with a, with a lesbian collective that lived in a squat down the road from us. Um, yeah. That, that was quite funny, I mean, it was sort of at the height of, um, women's lib really, and it was kind of uncool to admit you adored your children, you know, or that you could live without them <laugh> or you couldn't live without them, you know. But, um, me and another friend, Carol, we went to meet this group and, um, before we went, I said, 'Is it okay we bring our children with us?' And they said, 'Girls or boys?'. So I said, 'Well, I've got two girls.' And they said, 'That's all right'. And I said, 'But Carol's got a boy'. And they said, 'oh no, he can't come'. <laugh>. He was 1-year-old. You know, I mean, it was very hard line at the time, you know? And everyone yeah, lesbians- lesbians and feminists were very hard on each other, you know, they were.

Chris:

By then I was working at, um, Centerprise. You ever heard of that?

Alex:

Don't think so.

Chris:

It was, it was a very, oh yeah, he was really astonished I got that job. Um, it was really a cool place to work. It was a collective on, um, yeah, Kingsland Road. It was a cafe and um, a youth project, a literacy scheme, a publishing project. Um, what else did we have? Anyway, everyone had to do everything. And it was great. It was really cool place to get a job. It was very hard to get a job there, you know? And I didn't think I would get it, to be honest. And Jim definitely didn't, you know, everyone wanted to work at Centerprise 'cause it was so right-on <laugh>.

We just had these collective meetings on a Monday that would last all day, <laugh>, while we changed the world. It went on forever, you know. But it was fun. It was fun. And I liked learning. Oh we had a bookshop as well, you know, I liked learning all the other things as well, you know, how to run a bookshop, how to do the cafe. You had to cook 20 meals. No, you had to spend not more than 20 pounds. You had to cook 30 meals out of it, which was a challenge, but we were up the road from Kingsland Market and, uh, you went to the market when it was your day and bought all the things, you know, and there were a lot of regulars, you know, come in and interfere with your cooking and tell you you were doing it all wrong. <laugh>,

Alex :

What did you make?

Chris :

Oh, things like, um, pasta, you know, with vegetables, um, or soup and things like that, you know. Each, each project had its own kind of boss. So there was a good guy there, Dennis, who was in charge of the cafe. And everyone liked it when he was cooking 'cause he used to do little bowl of sunshine soup and, you know, rainbow veggies and that, you know. Um, yeah. So I worked with, Irene up the top of the building doing the adult literacy and also lived with her, which was a bit of a problem really. Um, and it wouldn't have been my choice, you know, but, um, that's what happened. And my kids were then four and seven, I think. Yeah, they went to local school, which was a bit crap. But then you just had to in those days, you couldn't try and brush your kid anywhere. And I didn't want to anyway. I wanted 'em to go local. And yeah.

Then I met Elaine, my first, uh, lesbian partner. We met, oh no, by then I'd left and I went to work at NACRO. Um, and that was four years later I think, I went to work at NACRO in, which was a sort of, um, education project in Hackney. But it was for people coming outta prison who wanted to change their lives and with education and, and go somewhere, you know. But it was also a drop-in centre for local people to come. So I had the basement, I was like deputy project leader, and I had the basement, which was the drop in education thing. And upstairs there were flats for, um, ex-offenders. And we also had two hostels and about, um, I like-, I liked that job. But the boss I had left, and it kind of all went to pot. And then I went to work for Camden Institute and I worked in the Working Men's College, surprisingly enough, <laugh>.

And I worked in Camden Institute down by Euston. And, and on and on. I landed up kind of, yeah, I, I think, yeah, I went as far as Assistant, uh, Vice Vice principal of Brent Community Education and Adult Education Centre. But what I really wanted to do was work with, um, disabled people and understand a whole lot more about it. So I went freelance the year my mum died. I, um, you know, I wrote to my boss and said, I'm sorry, she left me 4,000 pounds. So I had enough to kind of support myself for a couple of months and go freelance. And then they were paying me to come back and tell them what I'd been saying for months, for nothing. <laugh> Pay me 500 quid to come and give them equality training. It's so bizarre, you know? Um, and I did freelance sort of equalities work for a long time.

I had a four year job, a thing called Disability Equality in Education, which was sort of campaigning and training teachers about including disabled children in schools. And I think we did a really good thing. I mean, it's now assumed that your disabled child will go to mainstream, but it wasn't, it, it wasn't then, you know, I mean, if the head said no, you had no choice, you know, go away, go and do something else. You know, did a lot of good work with them. And then that place got ripped off, by one of our trustees, stole our money, and I got made redundant. Um, so I went back to freelance and then I was freelance until Covid. Really.

Oh, I was a foster carer as well. I forgot about that, that for about, well, about seven years. Um, but I, I was an emergency foster carer for teenage children in sort of crisis, um, in Hackney. And, uh, oh God, that was hard <laugh>. But, um, I was glad I did it. I mean, I did it because, you know, my, my girls were in their teens and often their friends were in crisis, and I had no power to help at all, you know? And one of their friends, she was at my house and I, and, um, her dad came around to pick her up and I said, and he was obviously drunk and, you know, they were having a hard time. And I said, oh, why don't you leave her with me? And he said, no, she's coming home. And he took her home and broke her arm. And I thought, I'm not, I, I want the power to say no, she's not, you know? So that's why I did it. And I had, um, one child, Louise, who was profoundly deaf and also had autism, but she went to deaf school during the week and came to me every other weekend. And, uh, <laugh>, she was a delight, but she was, she was so difficult as well. Anyway, I had her for about seven years at weekends. You know, the others were all kind of short term and three months, four months, things like that, you know. But she was lovely. She was lovely.