One of the reasons I came back to London after Ireland was to keep a date with my cousin Elizabeth: a Sunday morning walk in Richmond Park.
When I moved to England in May of 1978, I rented a room in a house near Richmond Park. I'd heard of the room through a colleague at McGill University's Human Resources Department, where I was working as a Senior Clerk. Montreal had become a bit difficult for me to be in owing to a twice-broken heart and a feeling I wasn't going anywhere at McGill. It seemed like an omen, then, on the plane returning from South Africa in January of 1978--I keep promising to write about that--that I came across an article in a magazine about young Canadians living in London. I'd always loved the idea of being in London what with growing up on a diet of British movies and then all of the articles about Swinging London in the 1960s/early 1970s.
By the time I arrived at Mirabel Airport, I had the perfect antidote to my wounded pride over South Africa and my Montreal disappointments. And no sooner had my father digested the news that I wasn't moving to South Africa than I sprung on him that I WAS going to move to London and I needed him to give me all of his parents' information so I could apply for British citizenship through descent. The article had said that if your grandparents were born in the UK--my paternal grandparents were born in Scotland--you could claim British citizenship by descent and be able to live and work in the UK without need for a visa.
Dad grumbled a bit but provided all the necessary documents. A few weeks later, I went to the British Embassy in Montreal and obtained the stamp in my passport that would allow me to move to the UK and work. Aiming for a May departure to the UK, I started selling everything I had, found my cat a good home, and announced at work that I would be leaving in a couple of months. And, yes, for those of you who remember our Irish adventure of four years ago AND also remember this one, well, what can I say? I'm not exactly a creature of habit but sometimes I do things more than once; in both cases, the adventures may not have turned out as I'd expected but I don't regret them. And I would remind those who would tease me about the repeat: I did NOT give my dog up when I moved to Ireland [grin]. And I didn't move to Ireland because of a broken heart. Still, this adventure probably did set up the latter.
In the course of these proceedings, the aforementioned colleague--ironically the person who was hired for the job that I had wanted--told me that her aunt and uncle lived in a large house in Richmond and would be able to put me up short term for a reasonable rent. She told me how beautiful Richmond was, home to several actors, one of whom I had a crush on from watching The Oneidin Line, and was less than an hour's train ride from London. I wrote to the aunt and uncle, the Madells, and they agreed I could rent the room.
In the middle of May, 1978, I flew off to London for my great adventure. The Madells met me at the airport, all was well. The room was comfortable enough, single bed, good chair, a couple of lamps and a wardrobe. A coin operated gas heater that didn't give out enough heat even in summer, a shared bathroom and kitchen. I shared with a very sweet woman who was like something out of an Agatha Christie novel; a spinster with very little money who had lost her true love, an airline pilot, in World War 2. She had no relatives and, truthfully, the Madells wanted her gone as they were afraid they wouldn't be able to sell their house if she didn't leave. I had already been put on notice that, when the aunt who really owned the house died, they would want to sell the house immediately. Richmond properties were VERY expensive, even in 1978. I didn't stay long in the room, the happy beginning with the Madells became increasingly uncomfortable as they gave hints of my finding other accommodation; I found a flat share in Twickenham three months later.
I don't have many photos from 1978. I sent most of my photos to my dad and I don't know what happened to them. Maybe that's why I take, and store, so many photos now. It's how I remember things, a combination of writing and photography. Thankfully there is Google though. This is a photo of Montague Road in Richmond. I don't know which house was the one I actually lived in--I think it's the one behind the tree--but yes, that's pretty much what "my" house looked like:
It was such a beautiful area, Vilma had been right about that. Sometimes in the evening I would walk a couple of blocks and look down on the Thames from Richmond Hill. The view is famous; if you Google "View from Richmond Hill," you will find loads and loads of photos. Sadly, none of them will be mine. I had intended to go back to that area after the walk with Elizabeth but she insisted that Richmond was "boring" and dropped me back at Putney Underground Station. Still, looking at the photos that other people have taken, yes, that was "my" view, "my" memory.
Fast forward to Sept 26, 2021. My cousin Elizabeth drove us to Sheen Gate and we went for a long walk in Richmond Park. Long walks are easy in Richmond Park, it covers a total of 7.25 miles. I can't say that the walk itself brought back old memories. It's really just a very, very large park and when I lived on Montague Road, I wasn't all that interested in walking in the park. My friends and I more often strolled down off the Hill to the Thames and all the wonderful pubs that clustered along its banks.
Still, just being back in Richmond after more than 40 years, alive and well, content with my life, brought me a feeling of peace. Elizabeth, who is only a few months younger than I am, shared so much of what her life and choices had been--the theme of much of my holiday--and I shared my stories too. We were on the one hand sorry that we hadn't known about each other back in 1978 as it sounded like we might have been friends and that knowing her might have helped me in my London experiences. But, the fact is, I didn't, we didn't but now here we are, enjoying a walk in the park with her dog Ludo, and marveling how far life has taken us. It was a lovely morning.
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