They lived across the street, a family made up of parts.

He was a widower with two sons and a daughter. He was looking for a woman to be mother.

She was rumoured to have been in a bigamous marriage resulting in a daughter and a son. She was looking for a man to provide financial security.

They married. Was it an arranged marriage? Maybe. How did they meet? Unknown.

They went on to have a further family two girls and a boy.

His family had dispersed by then, a son to Canada, the daughter to Ireland and the youngest son a drifter.

The house was small with a front door opening directly on to the pavement. The tiny kitchen was a scene of chaos, every surface cluttered with pans and utensils. The sitting room was piled high with a sea of white laundry waiting to be ironed. The dining table was hidden under the waves. In order to watch TV a space had to be cleared of laundry to reveal a seat. Another room was only used occasionally for special visitors not the family. A dark dingy room with the ‘best’ furniture. It smelt fusty and damp. Three bedrooms, one for the boys, one for the girls and one for the mother and father. At the back there was a garden shared with neighbours. But it was a sad desolate unkempt place. Nothing seemed to flourish there above ground level. But their playground was the street for football, skipping, tig.

What a difference on the other side of the street. Large detached Victorian villas with large gardens large rooms and a bedroom each.

Her daughter was resentful and bitter, she kept to herself – a loner. Her son was coerced into training for the priesthood. He didn’t have the intellect. After some years, he was sent home citing ill health. He became a mechanic, always smelling of oil. He spent his evening at the Mecca with girls and women making up for his lost teenage years. Their eldest daughter was a kind gentle girl put upon by the rest of the family. She was desperate to enter a fancy dress competition but didn’t have a suitable outfit. Her mother with few resources created a costume. The girl’s straight long blonde hair hung loose. She wore a sky-blue cotton frock with a white pinny, short white socks and black patent strap shoes. She looked lovely – she was Alice in Wonderland. She didn’t win. Their son was moody, unhappy, sometimes aggressive. Understandably their youngest daughter was spoilt by her older brothers and sisters, basking in their adoration. Hardships and problems just pass her by, she didn’t worry.

When the father came home hot, sweaty, grimy after his shift at the foundry, a space was cleared at the table. He sat alone eating a generic homemade soup of beef in a watery stock with vegetables. The family knew it was best to keep out of his way when he ate.

Then they left - their eldest daughter with a large trunk a young daughter and a husband for Australia, her son with a backpack for the Army.

Another family moved in across the street.