Dancing between worlds...

Made several corrections regarding the value of things in Derry in the late 60s. I'd forgotten how it was in the 70s that inflation hit the UK hard. Up till then, wages were low, the dole was even lower than I thought, and prices were cheap.

We lived in London from the summer of 1958 to the summer of 1961, and even on a USAF non-com's pathetic salary lived quite well. We had a 3-bedroom row house in Ruislip Gardens, off the next to the last stop on the Central Tube line. It had a gravelly front, a short front yard but long back yard and shed. Behind us was an alley. Between us and the shopping area were cricket and rugby pitches. I loved it, there.

Did my first three years at a school that served American as well as British kids, around whom I felt more natural. I spoke like a Brit. Loved tea. Called cookies biscuits. Was bold enough to wander about wherever I wanted, in the area. Which got me into trouble a couple of times.

There was one occasion a friend and I were exploring the far side of the pitch, where a creek rambled past, and didn't get back to his place till well past six. I was supposed to be home by then, but I didn't notice the clock till it was nearly 6:30 and my stepfather came looking for me. Pissed, in every sense of the word. Whipped me with a belt all the way back to our house.

Didn't teach me a thing. I never built up a good sense of time, and kept on doing my rounds as I wanted. The Scottish lady across from us would feed me tea and cucumber sandwiches made with cream cheese and we'd talk. She just let me prattle and I felt very grown up. Her husband was employed by the Ministry of Defense so was rarely about. I don't remember if they had adult children or grandkids.

My mother had difficulty living there. She became pregnant with my younger sister, who was born in the UK, and wound up having her first nervous breakdown. It wasn't long after my sister was born, so probably was something akin to postpartum depression. We probably would have come back to the states once she was released from the hospital, but it was middle of my third year and we were set to be transferred to Kansas City, so stayed to the end.

A high school fills the cricket pitch, now. Our house was the little white slash to the upper left of Just Cork. Almost dead center, at the top. I went back to see it a few years ago, when I was there. It's painted white.

I remember I did not want to return. London had become my home. But my grandmother was in San Antonio and we'd be stopping there, first, so that made up for it.

I still feel at home when I travel to London. Funny how that works.