Vol 3. Chapter 17 - Constant Change (The Millenium)

March 2000 saw my parents back in Cornwall. Move 35 was to a modern terrace house with garden in a small place called Foxholes.

 

That Christmas, whilst we were in Devon, we went to visit them and they took us out for a meal at a prestigious hotel in Charleston. Leaving their cul-de-sac, my father went into dodgem’s mode and bashed into a neighbours’ car and then without stopping, drove off at high speed. At the hotel the waitress complained to the Maitre’d’ about my father, because he was making disparaging remarks about the food and the chef. The Maitre d’ told my father off, much to our embarrassment. Back home, the dents in the neighbours’ car were clearly visible. My parents, feeling too guilty and embarrassed, decided they needed to move.

Mevagissy

Kilwinning

In February 2001 they moved to the beautiful, picturesque Cornish harbour village of Mevagissey. But within a year they decided to move to be near my oldest sister who lived in Scotland. Move 37 was to an upstairs flat in Kilwinning. The stairs and the fact that they were out of the town and away from shops prompted another move a year later.

Chalybeate

Now aged 80, they thought it really was time to move into sheltered accommodation, so in April 2003 they moved into 8 Chalybeate Court, Kilwinning. An ideal flat on the ground floor conveniently situated by the main entrance. However, the convenience was soon outweighed by the fact that being by the main entrance and by the lift proved too noisy for mother. So, just months later they moved to No. 18, an identical flat upstairs, thereby forcing them to use the lift that had been such a distraction when they lived at No. 6.

By 2005 the long Scottish winters with short days, long dark nights and the cold wet weather was beginning to take its toll; that and the fact that the other residents had not taken kindly to my mother appointing herself as their social secretary and trying to organise their lives for them, precipitated another move - back to England.

Stalham

Having done some research, they discovered places they liked in Diss, Ely and Peterborough. All far too distant for us to be able to visit regularly and take care of them. We eventually found them suitable sheltered accommodation in Stalham, Norfolk. Not too close to be in each others’ pockets, but close enough.

Move 40 took them to Robert Smith Court and the only flat with patio doors and access onto the garden. Mother immediately set herself up as chief bird feeder of RS Court, but was greatly miffed that other people had feeders in “her” garden tempting “her” birds away from her feeders.

Whilst at Robert Smith Court my father was taken seriously ill and hospitalised for two months, during which time my mother came to stay with us. His deteriorating health meant that it would be wise for them to live nearer the hospital thereby killing two birds with one stone. Easier access for mum to visit and she would never have to live with us again.

My parents renewed contact with Doreen, the Scheme Manager, back from 1993, who, in 2006, arranged for my parents to move to a bungalow in Herrivan Gardens, Lowestoft.      

Not having a Manager on site gave my mother scope to concrete over part of the front garden. The living room was smaller than the Stalham one so they needed new furniture when they arrived. A second hand three piece suite was duly bought. Unfortunately the curtains didn’t match the new suite, so mum bought some material and made new ones. She then decided that the carpet didn’t match the curtains and so a new carpet was needed. Yes, you’ve guessed it. The three piece suite didn’t match the new carpet and so they made the man from the second hand shop take it back citing the fact that I had told them to! In the midst of the merry-go-round in the living room, they bought a new iron bedstead for the bedroom. It weighed a ton - far too heavy for my dad to put together. The task was made even more difficult by the fact that the bed was too big for the room and hardly fitted in. My wife and I spent hours manoeuvring the frame and screwing it together until my mother was satisfied with it. Then just as we were about to leave she said it was too high and we had to take it apart and start all over again!

My mother never liked coming to our church. An unfortunate design meant that if you wanted to use the toilet during the service you had to come to the front in full view of everyone to access the corridor to the rest of the facilities. However, having read in the local paper that we were having a special service she decided to come.

Kilmarnock

The church was crowded. My mother was mortally offended because a) she hadn’t been given a special welcome by name and b) I hadn’t spent enough time talking to her at the end of the service.  That was the last time my parents saw or spoke to us for 2 years.

Forgetting all the reasons why they didn’t like Scotland, in 2008 they moved back to Kilmarnock. Birthday cards and Christmas cards were returned to us torn up. Our presents to them were given away to charity shops. 

Then, out of the blue, in Sept 2009 I received a telephone call from them. It was my mother calling to say could she borrow a pair of scissors? Hers were still packed in boxes and she needed scissors to open the packing boxes. They had moved to Wensum Gardens, half a mile from our house! I duly took the scissors. I found them tired and exhausted after their drive down from Scotland. I unpacked for them and got their new flat sorted out. It was as if they previous two years had never happened. Not a word was said and no explanation of why they had returned. They simply fell asleep in the chairs.

In January 2010 we told them that we had decided to retire down to Devon to care for my wife’s parents and that we would like them to live near us when we moved in the September of that year.

Hometor

My mother went into manic mode with excitement, 9 months was far too long to wait. Unbeknown to us they found somewhere to live in Exmouth and announced they would be moving in at the end February. After just 5 months, move 44 took them to Hometor House, Exmouth, to a flat they had not been to view. Our offers to go with them and help them move in were rejected. We helped them pack and they set off on the Friday ready for when their furniture arrived on the Monday. On the Saturday evening we received a phone call from a distressed mother to say that they’d been involved in a road accident. They had driven away from the main road to stay overnight in a small place, where someone had bashed into them. Fortunately they were not injured and the car wasn’t damaged too badly so they continued their journey and arrived at Hometor House where they were using the guest room as planned. But they were in no state to move in on the Monday. We packed a suitcase ready to leave straight after I had led the Sunday morning service. We jumped in the car and dashed the 350 miles to Devon (abandoning our plans to celebrate our wedding anniversary), moved them in on the Monday morning and then drove the 350 miles back in time for work on the Tuesday.

We moved in September 2010. What happened next and what became of my parents and how the prickly cactus against all expectation finally bloomed are to be found in Volume 4 – The diaries. 

1948 - 2010. 40 Moves in 62 years