This series of stories will be titled 'I'm surprised I turned out as well as I did, given my childhood ...' 32

My grandparents’ house (father’s parents) was extended. A garage to the side of the three-bedroom semi had a living area and kitchen built above it. I remember the work being prepared for. My grandmother enlarged the hole at the top of the stairs that used to be the narrow door out onto the garage. I remember her laying bricks at the top of the stairs – probably to save money on builders-work.

This is the actual house. He had a lovely little front garden, but it’s been concreted over.

I’m not sure if she did any of the building work on the extension, but to hear her speak of it, she must have.

I remember standing on the top of the garage, only a low wall all the way around it. The view was not much to speak of at the front, but my Grandad’s garden looked spectacular from that height.

Not any more… his rose bushes are all gone now, too.

Once built, the new room was smart and well finished. A large picture window to the front and a good-sized window to the rear, overlooking the back garden. The kitchen sink under the window, with the oven to the right of that, the fridge to the left and behind that work space, a large island of cupboards, giving a lot more work-top space and separating the kitchen from the living area.

There was a round table, large enough for four settings set to the side and a pull-down light above it. Very Seventies Chic.

The living area part of that room was up a half-step. The television and large curved sofa were there.

The reason for the extension was so the downstairs could be used as a hairdresser’s salon for her elder daughter, Madelaine.

Just before we go any further… my aunt’s name should have been ‘Madeleine’ but my grandad was sent to the registrar to register her birth. He had strict instructions for her name.

He knew what her name was… he just had no idea how to spell it. He knew how to spell ‘Elaine’ so he just tagged ‘Mad’ on the front of ‘Elaine’ and Bob’s your uncle, Madelaine’s my aunt.

Back to the salon…

The front door led onto a hallway and the stairs. Directly to the left as you walked through the front was the door to the salon. To the right, behind the door and at the bottom of the stairs, stood a tall coat stand.

In through the door, to the right, in the bay of what used to be the front window, was a quarter-round desk. It fitted just right in the bay and I used to like sitting on the high stool behind the desk, spinning around – until my aunt told me to stop spinning.

The front of the desk was green leather with buttons dotted all over it. The top, I think, was white with marble effect Formica.

Standing at the side of the desk, looking into the salon, there was a bank of hairdryers. The cushions were covered in the same green leather as the desk and I have to say, it looked pretty classy. The hairdryers were the old-fashioned type. And there was one single, mobile hairdryer on a stand with castors.

On the wall directly opposite the bay window, two huge mirrors with counter-tops under them for the clients (not customers) to watch their ‘hair-do’ getting done. Next to the mirrors was a door leading to the back room (remember the room where my Grandad shut in the sparrow that flew down the chimney? Yeah, that room.)

Still in the salon, on the other side of that door, a cupboard was tucked into the corner and a pair of hairdresser’s sinks, kidney-shaped and each with its own mirror, were placed on the side wall.

When I was deemed old enough and responsible enough, I was set on to clean those mirrors.

We visited our grandparents every Sunday for most of the day and I went downstairs to clean those mirrors for the grand sum of fifty pence (half a quid).

To start with, I had to get the methylated spirits from the cupboard next to the sinks (to the side of the door leading to the back room). The spirit was used to take the hairspray off the surface of the mirrors.

Long, round strips of cotton wool had to be used for the next task, (if ever you’ve seen someone having their hair dyed, the plastic hat goes onto the dye and cotton wool is put around the edge of the hat to stop dye leaking onto the client’s face).

I got told-off if I used too much cotton wool for this and frequently, my grandmother would stick around on some pretext or another, just while I used the cotton wool to make sure I didn’t go mad and too extravagant with it.

I had to clean those mirrors until every spot and smear was removed. I had to wipe around the covers of the hairdryers too…

I had to sweep the floor to make certain all the stray hair was cleaned up and then the counter-tops were wiped down.

The absolute WORST job was the ashtrays. Remember back then, everyone smoked. There were ashtrays on the counters in front of the mirrors, one in each arm of the bank of hairdryers and one on the desk. I had to clean them ALL.

I loathed cleaning them out. Stale ash and cigarettes smell bad enough, but when you have to fill one of the kidney-shaped sinks and wash them too – UGH! The smell of wet cigarettes and ash turns my stomach and no wonder.

I didn’t have any gloves to use – that would have been a waste and the minimalist cotton wool use was still in force.

I think my aunt had designs on me learning the hairdresser’s trade too, but I was never interested in that. After a while, as I got a little older, I think she realised that I was way too tomboy and nowhere near interested in fashion and hair styles and she gave it up as a bad job – thankfully.

Plus the fact that I was offered a job on a Sunday at a local restaurant, washing up, for a lot more than I was getting cleaning mirrors and ashtrays gave her the excuse to move on to a new victim – I mean trainee-apprentice – my sister.

Images from my iPhone and Google Maps
Not the salon