HEART BEAT:Finding the right place to stay wasn't as easy as it sounds
"Il n'y a guere moins de tourment au gouverment d'une famille que d'un état entier"– Montaigne, Essais
THIS IS roughly translated as "It's just as hard to run a family, as an entire state". As a new p ater familias, I was about to find this out, the hard way. I don't know what the domestic arrangements were in the Montaigne family, but I suspect that for most poor males, the idea that we run the household is a delusion.
For me that notion disappeared quickly after our little family relocated to England. Last week I mentioned that I had gone to prepare the way and find suitable accommodation for the HA and newborn son. Prior to the new arrival we had occupied very adequate married quarters in the Mater. More significantly, we had two salaries. Our families and friends were close to hand and if it wasn’t exactly the pig’s back, it certainly came close.
All of this was now changed utterly. I had to do things for myself and in certain areas I began to suspect that I was worse than useless. The HA had suspected this from the beginning and sadly her opinion has not appreciably altered over the years. Seriously though, if cigarette packets carry a health warning, so also should marriage certificates. But who reads the small print?
The first instance of my inadequacy for the lead role came in the matter of finding suitable accommodation. I knew that such should be near the hospital and of reasonable standard. I knew that we should be able to afford it. Beyond those salient points I was entering a new world.
My predecessor in the post offered the apartment he was leaving. It was on the 11th floor of a tower block and near the hospital. It seemed suitable to me. The HA decreed from afar that as we were now a one-income family it was beyond our means. Unexpectedly, the top floor of a large Victorian house on Portland Road, about a mile from the hospital, became available. It was affordable and on cursory inspection seemed suitable. For a small additional sum there was off-street parking available two doors down. In between there was a very large detached house standing back from the road. I discussed all with the HA and entered a tenancy agreement. I spent my spare time making it comfortable pending the arrival of mother and child.
I don’t think my efforts were entirely successful because the summary judgment of the HA on arrival was that we were now living in “possibly the worst kip in Birmingham”. I felt this to be a hasty and irrational judgment, but I held my peace. She completely transformed the apartment and it became our home for nearly the next four years.
Life wasn’t easy. I had to be dropped at the hospital at 7am each morning and collected whenever finished. When the HA went back to work our financial situation improved but travel arrangements became more complicated. Both of us were naturally gregarious and we quickly settled and formed new friendships and grew into our new environment.
One evening the HA was approached by a man who lived across the road. He had discovered that I was working in the QE and he knew some of the staff. It transpired that he owned the large house next door. He told us that any visitors of ours were welcome to park there. Over the years many of our friends availed of his kindness, particularly two Irish priests who came to dinner regularly.
One bitterly cold February night, we were awakened by what appeared to be gunshots. I went out to see a car skidding away on the icy surface, while a man below me fired at it with a handgun. When the police arrived they asked us had we noticed a lot of people going in and out of the big house next door. We said it was always busy, and we had assumed that there were small flats or bedsits there. The policeman then told us that it was one of the more notorious brothels in Birmingham and that they kept a tight eye on its occupants and visitors.
We didn’t see much point in mentioning that latter point to our clerical and other friends who regularly parked there. It certainly heightened the HA’s appreciation of the salubrious neighbourhood I had chosen for home. Funny thing though; every house we have since lived in has been selected by herself.
mneligan@irishtimes.com