When the Clouds Arrive We'll Live On Ocean Drive

ABC Of Troon..... W is for Welbeck Crescent

Yeah, we are back.  Chrissy Decks are down, fridge is looking slightly more normal.  Booze shelf is slightly sagging under the excess weight of extra booze, and tomorrow we are back at work, and boy am I looking forward to it.  (Not the Actual work part, but the getting in to a routine again - I can't be doing with this lazing in bed til gone lunchtime, and fannying around watching black and white nonsense on the TV). 

So Welbeck Crescent;  where my Gran lived. My mam's mam.   My memories are of cold, dark stone, and green tiled close.   My white haired gran (she looked like a gran), pinny on over her clothes, hair curled and set, fag in the corner of her mouth.   Her blue burberry coat and her shopping bag.  

The back sitting room had a Scullery - a word I still struggle to say, where my gran would stand pinny on, making tea, or buttering bread, or whatever it was that grans did in the kitchen.   On a Sunday night we would be up there for a high tea of sorts.  I remember the table being laid, and there being buttered potato scones on the table, and tea cups and the tea pot.  

The TV would be on - next to the scullery door, and between that and the window. 

The window over looked the back garden.  There was a shared drying green, and a cobbled area to play on or sit, there was also a couple of the original outhouses, as well as the new neighbour's sheds. 

When I was at gran's, my favourite place to play was the rocks.  The rocks were across one road and Gran could watch me from the front window.  The front window was the spare  room, and she could sit on a chair beside the window and see the whole area I might play in.   The room next door was her bedroom and I wasn't allowed to play in there, because I had a tendency to make a mess of the bed.  (The bed was head height with me.  

The swimming pool was probably about 100 yards round the corner from the end of the street (I'm standing at the end of the street), and I remember walking round to Grans to get collected by mum and dad after an evenings swim. 

Bearing in Mind that I was 7 when my gran died, it says a lot about child safety in those days eh?  I must have been under five when I was allowed to play at the rocks, by myself, with an elderly lady watching from 50 yards away, and a floor up; especially when you consider that these days, I can barely walk the rocks unaided, despite knowing them like the back of my hand.  How I never fell and drowned is quite remarkable.