London in the Seventies

A reminiscence of flat sharing, in Ealing, West London, in my 20s, many years ago. Crazy times.

At the tender age of twenty I lived in Ealing, in a sunny flat with a garden.

I shared a room with Dor, short for Dorothy, a lovely, cheery Scottish girl, who used words like breeks for knickers and goonie for nightgown. My enduring memory is of her sitting on her bed, surrounded by books and folders as she studied to become an early years teacher. She didn't seem to enjoy her teaching practices much and as far as I know never became a teacher.

From our bedroom, French windows opened onto steps going down into the garden, a small square of lawn. I think there must have been a gardener, as somehow the flowerbeds were maintained and the grass was cut, short enough for us to sunbathe on, which was after all, what a lawn was for. And behind us was Lammas Park. All in all, a fairly leafy part of London.

We painted the ceiling of our room purple and were in awe of our own creativity. Having painted one coat with a roller, we imagined it looked like the night sky, and left it like that. The landlords weren't impresed, but they didn't see it till just before we left. They used to come and collect the rent from us, £5 a week each, or maybe a month, I don't remember. We had a poster on the wall of the sitting room of a naked man, from one of the new soft porn magazines for women, someone had bought. On rent day we decided to pin a daffodil leaf over the naughty bits, as genitals were referred to. We were all trying not to giggle as we led the landlords into the sitting room. But I don't think they even noticed the picture. We however, thought we were very risque.

I was taught to cook spaghetti bolognese by the other girls, all older than me, and was expected to wash up after myself and share the cleaning, but I don't think I did either of those very well. It was a basement flat, but I remember the sun streaming into the sitting room, so there must have been windows high up. I went out with Tony, brother of Mick, a lorry driver who lived upstairs. I spent some nights at Tony's and we would idle away Sunday morning reading the paper in bed, getting up in time to go to Earls Court for lunch, in a long narrow cafe called the Hotpot. It was always packed, especially with Australians. I remember eating moussaka for the first time. It came with chips, as did everything, and cost 50p.

And Eugene, a tall thin Irishman who also lived upstairs and worked on building sites, and when drunk frequently fell down our stairs, came with us. He bet us that he could eat the curried egg dish twice over. He won the bet, so we ended up paying for it. He once told me that I was OK, in spite of working for DHSS; I had a strong feeling that he was up to stuff, possibly stealing from the building sites, and I with my posh accent and middle class ways, and a civil servant to boot, represented a world he didn't want to get too close to.

Tony and I spent many evenings in music pubs, and my life was full. I remember one band especially, with at least one member of the Bonzo Dog Doodah Band, who were very funny. Fab in fact. I was introduced to Indian food, starting with a lobster korma, somewhere in Putney, near the bridge. It was a whole world away from my Mother's chicken curry with raisins!

He was a mechanic and went with me to buy my first car, a white Renault 4. I fell in love with it straight away, not knowing or caring whether it was any good. Both the handbrake and the gear stick came out of the dashboard, and it always seemed a small miracle neither came off in my hand. Later I had a small accident and one wing was crumpled. I took it home and my Dad bought a new wing and bolted it on, all for £8, it was that kind of car. The car lasted longer than Tony, and when he was no longer around I found I was able to fix it myself by tying bits of wire round things, or tapping it with a hammer. But that's another story. Tony broke my heart. He was still in love with a previous girlfriend, now married. He was also friends with her husband, and they all ended up going to Australia together. You could go for £10 in those days. I wonder if the threesome still exists.

I remember Concorde used to fly over London, and I would gaze up in awe as I trudged the streets, marvelling at the beauty, temporarily forgetting the briefcase under my arm and my bizarre job, working as a visiting officer for DHSS, interviewing people in their own homes, who were making a claim for benefits. I was in the wrong job completely, always drawn to beauty and nature, instead of officialdom, and would spend most of my time in the office, gazing at the trees and sky outside. My life revolved around my free time, and those I spent time with, but in those days I could go to bed at 2 and still get up for work. Work was just a minor inconvenience.

I don't know how or why we all left the flat. One girl, Lynn, newly married, went to Australia with her husband, it was all the rage at that time, and Dor married an older man who was wealthy and took her to New Orleans for the jazz every year. She seemed happy. What happened to Jill or Welsh Christine I don't know, but I do remember Jill was hopelessly and fruitlessly in love with her married boss, who strung her along for several years.

Looking back, I can't believe how easygoing my life was, in spite of emotional ups and downs, and whether that was the spirit of the time or just because I was young. Probably a bit of both. We didn't have facebook or mobile phones, and only took photos on holidays or days out. But to me that was a very rich time, when I was still innocent and the world was yet to be discovered.