Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member. Mary Gay Kearns Apr A memoir of my parent's life on The Isle of Wight. My father had a propensity for a peculiar type of sparseness. Enhanced with items of furniture collected from many sources. Not a mean man but coming from a very poor family off Labrook Grove in London his few possessions were meaningful.
In the s my parents moved to Totland to take up residence in a new bungalow on The Isle Of Wight, situated overlooking rambling countryside and narrow, windy lanes.
There was a wide but shortish back garden needing to be established. The front garden a sloped bank to meet the pavement. Mother brought with her, from Streatham her London home, favourite hardy shrubs easily transplanted. My father retired early finding the strain of being a hospital administrator at St Georges Hospital, Hyde Park Corner, too taxing.
Recruitment was problematic and mainly filled with applicants from overseas. Not much has changed in fifty years. My mother wanted to spend time with Frank, her father, sharing his latter years at Totland where he and his wife, Gwen, lived overlooking the Solent on a considerable plot of land.
This included the new bungalow built about and designed by John Westbrook, Frank's son, and acres of beautifully planned flower gardens, a vegetable patch and large wooded area where the trees held tiny toys, to the magic of Tolkein. As children this place was as close as one could get to paradise. Usually we entered by the back lane entrance rather than from The Alum Bay Road. The plot stretching between the two. The rows of backgarden fences looked much the same Crumbling and split wooden planks, large tree roots Dividing up the length and making mysterious openings Where rather dilapidated gates, latched firmly So animals could not stray, Allowed for the start of magic.
