6. From Hut to Hostel

by Margaret Yip

We arrived at the hostel early Monday morning in 1977. I think it was late August or September. We were met by Mr. Parker, the warden. He lived on the premises with his wife. We all gathered in his office, surrounded by black bin bags containing our belongings. He ran through the rules: the rent was £11 per week, and the door was locked at 10:30 pm every evening. The lounge, kitchen, and dining rooms were communal. He asked me if I would like a rubber sheet for Diane’s bed. “No,” I replied, “she is 3 years old.” He looked surprised but said, “OK, we will show you your room now.”

We all trooped upstairs with our bin bags. Our room was large, and the children had a bed each with plenty of storage. Fresh bed linen and towels would be given out once a week. Showers and bathrooms were just across the hall. “Right,” said Mr. Parker, “plenty of time to unpack. Let’s go down and have a cup of tea, chocolate biscuits for these well-behaved children.” Martin turned up in the mid-afternoon after work. After unpacking and putting everything away, we went food shopping for tea and breakfast. I tended to shop every day. I cooked fresh every day, or Martin did, always fresh veg, meat, or fish.

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That evening, after tea, we decided to be brave and go to the lounge. This room was very large, full of easy chairs forming cozy groups, each with a coffee table. I was surprised to see it almost empty. There was an elderly lady, a young lady with a small boy, and two other couples. They all said hello as we settled down to read or play card games with the children. The young lady came over with her small son. We introduced ourselves, and her little boy, John, settled down to play with my five children. His mum, Viv, sat with us. I was now 28. Viv was 18 or 19. We became firm friends from day one and still are. We went shopping together, took the children out on long walks either to the park or much further to the coast road. We played rounders, cricket, ran races, then trailed home to the hostel for tea. We shared a table together in the dining room and had our meals together. When the children were all bathed and in bed, Viv and I sat in the lounge chatting, sewing, or trying to knit.

After a few weeks of being there, Mr. Parker left, and a new warden arrived. A lady—Viv and I called her Plummy. She was from the North East. Very friendly, she would invite Viv and me to her house next door to the hostel for coffee. We met her husband and children. I can’t remember how many families were in the hostel at this time, but they were all friendly. Most were one-parent families. We all got along together. Martin was working back in a Chinese restaurant, so he was rarely in, especially on weekends. He was rarely home before 12:30 – 1 am. Viv and I would sit up late to open the sash window in the dining room to let him in, as the front door was locked at 10:30 pm with no exceptions.

Plummy called a meeting in the dining room. There was another hostel on the other side of town which was in poor repair. This would close, she informed us, and the residents would move into our hostel. Things were about to change! Amongst the new arrivals were a couple who had borrowed a little girl from their friends. She had a mop of curly red hair, about two years old. She didn’t seem bothered she was not with her mum—she played with the other children and was very well-behaved. Someone in the hostel recognized her, but no one reported she was borrowed. Lots of people struggled to find good affordable accommodation in the 1970s in Barrow. Nearly 50 years later, nothing has changed. If you Google Barrow-in-Furness today, it comes up as the drug capital of the north, with a high rate of families living in poverty and lots of slum housing. The people, however, are amongst the friendliest, kindest I have met. Salt of the earth, as my late dad would say.

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With the hostel now full, tensions could run high if alcohol was involved. There were a couple of fights amongst the men. On one occasion, the housing officer was present in the corridor when one kicked off. He sprinted down the hall and locked himself in the office. Some had a drug problem. There was one young mother, called Helen, and her partner. They had a small boy and girl. They were lovely, quiet, with blonde hair. One day, the parents overdosed and were taken away in an ambulance. Plummy said the children would be fostered, so could anyone take them in the meantime. I took the little boy, someone else the little girl. I think the little boy was about six. He was so well-behaved, had a good appetite, and played with the children. But every night, he soaked the mattress through. Martin wanted to keep him, but after a couple of weeks, a foster home was found for them both to be together. It was such a long time ago, I can’t remember their names. I often think about them and how they fared. They will be in their 50s now.

My children were back in school, which was only two streets away from the hostel. One day, due to the kitchen and dining room being full, they were five minutes late into school. I ushered them quietly into the hall where assembly was being held. I watched them all sit down on the floor cross-legged. I closed the door quietly and was returning down the corridor when I heard Ms. Marshall, the headmistress, shout, “Yip, children stand up and explain why you are coming into my assembly late.” I returned back up the corridor and opened the hall door. All my children were standing with heads bowed, all the other children watching with interest. I spoke across their heads, “Suzanne, Linda, Martin, David, OUT.” They looked from me to Ms. Marshall, not knowing what to do. I advanced into the hall, pointed my finger towards them, and said, “OUT NOW.” They filed out slowly, avoiding the many crossed legs on their row. I closed the door quietly, and we walked out onto the playground.

The next afternoon, the attendance officer arrived at the hostel and asked what was the matter. She said Ms. Marshall was so surprised as she had never seen me other than complacent. I explained about the situation in the hostel—having to wait your turn for showers, kitchen cookers, etc. I said my children were stressed enough having to move from pillar to post without being chastised in school because of things beyond their control. The children returned to school the next day, and Ms. Marshall apologized, saying she wasn’t fully aware of the situation. My children now refer to this episode as the Dolly Parton Harper Valley PTA day. Ms. Marshall was such an excellent headmistress, as were all the teachers. I too apologised for disturbing assembly.

Time went by, and Viv and I decided to celebrate bonfire night. There was a large enclosed cobbled courtyard at the back of the hostel. We asked permission to have fireworks, just sparklers, roman candles, etc. We formed a committee. I was voted Secretary. A young man named Tony was voted to be treasurer. After the fireworks, everyone would go to the dining room for a Chinese banquet that Martin would cook with Viv and me helping. Every family joined in and contributed an amount every week to Tony to purchase what was needed. I would say there was a minimum of 20 families in the hostel. A couple of days before bonfire night, we asked Tony for the money to go shopping for the food and fireworks. He told us without even a blush he didn’t have it. He had lost it all in the bookies! People were disappointed but made no fuss.

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Tony and his wife had the next room to us. They put their son to bed every night about 6:30. Every night he cried and gurned until about 10 pm. “Weetabix, Weetabix, Weetabix,” he cried for hours until someone on the corridor knocked on Tony’s door and said, “FFS Tony, give him some Weetabix.” I asked Carol, his mother, why he cried so much. She said, “He has nappy rash.” Christopher was about three years old. She asked me to go in and have a look. I had never seen nappy rash like it. Huge raw purple-red, open blisters covered his front and rear parts. It must have been agony for him. I bought her a huge tub of Sudocrem and told her to apply it thickly and change his nappy more often. Christopher too will be 50 years old now.

Martin asked for a loan off his boss, and others put in what they could afford for bonfire night to go ahead. It was a great success. Seeing the children’s faces light up with sparklers, everyone enjoyed the feast afterwards, and the children received a toffee apple. The following week, we were all surprised when Plummy and her family left without notice. The housing manager, Miss Crawford, who was lovely, asked if Viv and I would take over until a new warden could be found. We didn’t deal with any office work, just the cleaning, maintenance, laundry days, etc. It was voluntary.

A couple of weeks later, Martin said he had found a job in Bristol

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Margaret Yip is a mother of five, grandmother of seven and great grandmother of two. She lives in a small village in Cumbria. She is for social and economic justice, social housing and the NHS and she opposes all forms of prejudice and hatred.