Symbiosis

'Our' beach in Wales

I moved to this North West mill town on 23rd March 1976, having been dragged from Hampshire ( not quite kicking and screaming, but hugely upset) after 2.5 years there. My dad had been posted here with his regiment. We were on the move... yet again.

I arrived here after a nightmare train journey.  Mum, Dad, siblings, and a tortoise in a cardboard box. I was ill, and had been vomiting on the train. I was taken to a first aid place on a London railway station part way through the journey. I remember sitting on a suitcase in a carriage passageway feeling deathly; there were no available seats on the train.

We arrived to pouring rain, got into a taxi and were driven through grim looking, drab streets, past rows of terraced houses, a Victorian hospital, more grim looking streets and finally arrived at our destination in a nicer part of town, and another 'army house' to live in.

I remember thinking, 'Where have you brought me to now?'

I was going to be living in the 9th home of my 11 years and 1 month of life.

I hated being the new girl... yet again.

I hated the Victorian school with the ancient desks that had ink wells and lift up lids. 

I hated that I was told my methods of subtraction, addition, multiplication and division were 'wrong' because they weren't the ones used in this school ( my 5th primary school). 

I hated that I was singled out by the teacher in front of the entire class, and banned from entering a class competition because I had an  'unfair advantage' due to something I had learned at my school in the South.

I hated having to play skittleball, when I was used to playing netball and had been in the school team at my previous school.

I hated that, yet again, I was bullied about my accent... too 'common' when I arrived in Hampshire from East Yorkshire, so I changed how I spoke, only to be too 'posh' when I arrived here from the South.

I settled as best I could as a child; a child who I've now discovered was also unknowingly dealing with being autistic, whilst moving around the country from place to place and school to school.

Here, I met my husband; worked, married, bought and sold houses, had my children, and watched my grandchild enter the world.

It became home, and we always say that whilst others think our town is a dump, it's our little dump, and they don't know about all the wonderful, positive things about the place.

Now, after almost 50 years, I'll be leaving.

My husband, who has lived here his whole life, will be leaving his job next month,  we'll be leaving our home, we'll be giving up the allotment (we'll be taking some fruit bushes, rhubarb and shrubs from there), and we'll be moving to the caravan for 10 months of the year.

We'll make regular visits 'home' as I'll still have to do things for my mum ( we'll be telling her in a few days, and it will doubtless go down like a lead balloon), we will want to see our beloved grandchild, and J's family,  and I've been listed for an operation, but our time will mainly be our own, and spent in Wales.

I was told on two separate occasions last year, by medical professionals, that I need to rest and look after myself.

That's what I'm going to do.

Those things that people say like, 'You can't set yourself on fire to keep other people warm', and 'You cant pour from an empty cup', are true.

Trying to do just that is killing me, mentally and physically, and I've hidden the extent of that from everyone for far too long, so we're going to have peace and quiet in a beautiful place. 

It's a leap of faith, and a risk, but maybe this is how it was always supposed to be... my maternal Gypsy roots and my paternal Welsh ones, leading me to a life in a caravan on the Welsh coast.

I'm hoping it will heal me, and symbiosis has made it all possible.