get steadily bigger and bigger. One minute I was a cute-as-a-button skinny kid. The next I was getting a round face, chubby cheeks and thick arms and legs.
I couldn’t believe these were really pictures of me.
It made no sense. That’s not my recollection of being ten, eleven, twelve at all. I wasn’t a fat child. I wasn’t skinny like I am now, but definitely not overweight. How could I have been so large? I never even ate anything. Usually I’d just sit down and pick.
But it explains why people sometimes called out ‘Fatty’ when I walked by. I just never thought they were talking to me.
The ICL factory closed when I was twelve. All my friends’ dads worked there so a dark cloud hung over the whole area for a while as people scrabbled for new jobs. We had it worse than most because Mum worked there as well. That was two incomes lost. Luckily Mum found another factory role and then took an office position working for the government. Dad went into social services as assistant manager at a day centre for the physically handicapped. As far as I could tell, they both worked hard. I assume that was true.Theywere certainly away from home a lot.
I liked Dad’s new job. One of his duties was taking the patients out on day trips. Sometimes they went to the beach, sometimes to a zoo or just to a park. Whenever there was space he invited me to tag along. I had lovely days swimming, going on trips to Hastings or watching Crystal Palace play football. Dad had his work cut out with the rest of them so I was mostly left on my own. But that was nothing new. I enjoyed my own company, anyway.
I think my parents’ work ethic in those early years must have rubbed off on me – although I didn’t have a clue how it came about.
I often found myself in odd situations I couldn’t explain. I assumed everyone did. That’s life. You deal with it, don’t you?
So when I realised I was in a huge kitchen, surrounded by strangers, and with my elbows deep in dirty washing-up water I just thought, Okay … where am I now?
I honestly had no idea how I’d got there. Or where ‘there’ was. But my friend Clare was standing at the sink next to me. She was chatting about something. Boys, I think.
I nodded. I did a lot of nodding, I remember. Agreeing with people saves you saying anything. I learnt that at a very young age.
It didn’t take a genius to realise I was supposed to be washing the plates. That’s what Clare was doing, between telling me about this lad or that one, and I guess that’s why I had my hands in the water too. But why?
And where am I?
I pretty much followed Clare’s lead for the next few hours as I pieced my predicament together. We appeared to be in a restaurant or café kitchen because of the waiters bustling in and out, and our job consisted of nothing more complex than scrubbing every single plate and cup and knife and fork and bowl and tray and – you name it, they used it. And we washed it.
A guy who must have been in charge kept coming over to make sure we weren’t slacking. He picked up a spoon and held it to the light.
‘Very good,’ he said. ‘Now you just need to go a bit faster.’
God, it was tiring. The worst thing was not knowing when it would end. I thought it must be lunchtime judging by the food being ordered but I had no idea when I’d be allowed to leave.
And if I ask Clare she’ll think I’m thick.
So I kept quiet.
When we finally got the cue to dry our hands and pack up for the night I thought, I’m glad that’s over. Then just as we were about to step out, the boss man said, ‘Thanks, girls. Same time tomorrow.’
Oh no. What the hell have I got myself into here?
As soon as we got outside I recognised the place as being in Shirley. Not only that, but there was Dad waiting in his car.
What’s he doing here?
How he knew to pick me up when I honestly had no idea how I’d got the job or even found my way into work was beyond me. But Clare seemed to know and as we both
I couldn’t believe these were really pictures of me.
It made no sense. That’s not my recollection of being ten, eleven, twelve at all. I wasn’t a fat child. I wasn’t skinny like I am now, but definitely not overweight. How could I have been so large? I never even ate anything. Usually I’d just sit down and pick.
But it explains why people sometimes called out ‘Fatty’ when I walked by. I just never thought they were talking to me.
The ICL factory closed when I was twelve. All my friends’ dads worked there so a dark cloud hung over the whole area for a while as people scrabbled for new jobs. We had it worse than most because Mum worked there as well. That was two incomes lost. Luckily Mum found another factory role and then took an office position working for the government. Dad went into social services as assistant manager at a day centre for the physically handicapped. As far as I could tell, they both worked hard. I assume that was true.Theywere certainly away from home a lot.
I liked Dad’s new job. One of his duties was taking the patients out on day trips. Sometimes they went to the beach, sometimes to a zoo or just to a park. Whenever there was space he invited me to tag along. I had lovely days swimming, going on trips to Hastings or watching Crystal Palace play football. Dad had his work cut out with the rest of them so I was mostly left on my own. But that was nothing new. I enjoyed my own company, anyway.
I think my parents’ work ethic in those early years must have rubbed off on me – although I didn’t have a clue how it came about.
I often found myself in odd situations I couldn’t explain. I assumed everyone did. That’s life. You deal with it, don’t you?
So when I realised I was in a huge kitchen, surrounded by strangers, and with my elbows deep in dirty washing-up water I just thought, Okay … where am I now?
I honestly had no idea how I’d got there. Or where ‘there’ was. But my friend Clare was standing at the sink next to me. She was chatting about something. Boys, I think.
I nodded. I did a lot of nodding, I remember. Agreeing with people saves you saying anything. I learnt that at a very young age.
It didn’t take a genius to realise I was supposed to be washing the plates. That’s what Clare was doing, between telling me about this lad or that one, and I guess that’s why I had my hands in the water too. But why?
And where am I?
I pretty much followed Clare’s lead for the next few hours as I pieced my predicament together. We appeared to be in a restaurant or café kitchen because of the waiters bustling in and out, and our job consisted of nothing more complex than scrubbing every single plate and cup and knife and fork and bowl and tray and – you name it, they used it. And we washed it.
A guy who must have been in charge kept coming over to make sure we weren’t slacking. He picked up a spoon and held it to the light.
‘Very good,’ he said. ‘Now you just need to go a bit faster.’
God, it was tiring. The worst thing was not knowing when it would end. I thought it must be lunchtime judging by the food being ordered but I had no idea when I’d be allowed to leave.
And if I ask Clare she’ll think I’m thick.
So I kept quiet.
When we finally got the cue to dry our hands and pack up for the night I thought, I’m glad that’s over. Then just as we were about to step out, the boss man said, ‘Thanks, girls. Same time tomorrow.’
Oh no. What the hell have I got myself into here?
As soon as we got outside I recognised the place as being in Shirley. Not only that, but there was Dad waiting in his car.
What’s he doing here?
How he knew to pick me up when I honestly had no idea how I’d got the job or even found my way into work was beyond me. But Clare seemed to know and as we both
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