A New Beginning: Herne Bay and Home ownership

 Life has a habit of changing direction when we least expect it.

Our time at Red Lion Cottage had come to an unhappy end. The peaceful home we had enjoyed with Henry was no longer the place it once had been, and both Sheila and I knew it was time to begin again.

Finding somewhere we could afford was far from easy.

Property around Slough was expensive, and with a young family to support we simply couldn't stretch our finances that far.

Eventually, our search led us back to the Kent coast.

Herne Bay offered something we desperately needed.

A fresh start.

The next hurdle was arranging a transfer at the Post Office. I had to meet with my superiors and request a move to the depot nearest to Herne Bay. Their initial response was far from enthusiastic. They reminded me of the time and money invested in my training and questioned whether approving the transfer would be worthwhile. About ten days later, I was summoned to the GPO offices. Reluctantly, they agreed to transfer me to the Canterbury depot, which meant starting over with an entirely new gang of men. I admitted my hesitation but explained that our living situation had become untenable for Sheila and Paul. In the end, they understood. 

As winter closed in, we moved. With the help of a removal man, we transported our modest belongings to a second-floor flat right on the seafront. The view was magnificent, though the relentless wind and cold meant we spent most of our time in the kitchen and bedroom. 

The lounge became an improvised food store; without a refrigerator, it was simply too cold to use for much else. My daily routine now began early. I caught the 5:45 a.m. bus to ensure I reached the Canterbury depot by 7:30. Once again, I had to prove myself to a new team. Starting over had become something of a pattern in my life, although I didn't think of it that way at the time. It took time, but I eventually earned their acceptance — although my pay rate suffered a small reduction. 

Despite the challenges, there were comforts. We attended Mass at the local Catholic Church and often took Paul out in his pram along the promenade on clear days. 

Having Lionel and June living nearby was a great comfort. Family had once again become part of our everyday lives. 

Not long after we had settled in, one evening Sheila quietly told me she had some wonderful news. We were going to have another baby.

 

With our lease due to expire and the likelihood of a rent increase looming in the summer, we began thinking seriously about something more permanent. While browsing rental advertisements, I came across a scheme designed to help people buy their own homes. Canterbury City Council was offering approved loans to eligible applicants. For the first time, homeownership felt possible. We finally had somewhere that truly was ours.

 

After carefully working out what we could realistically afford, we found a terraced house at 2 Albion Place,  just two streets from Canterbury Cathedral, with an asking price of £1,800. 

Acting on the advice of the council's representative, I offered £1,700. To our delight, the offer was accepted. With our modest savings and a low-interest council mortgage, we became the proud owners of our very first home.

Number 2 Albion Place sat quietly in a small cul-de-sac near the heart of the city. 

Built in the 1890s, it had three bedrooms and a recently added bathroom. Downstairs there was a generous front room, a large kitchen with an adjoining scullery, and a small back garden with the customary outside toilet. 

It wasn’t perfect: the front bedroom needed work, and reaching the bathroom meant passing through the third bedroom. But these were small compromises. At last, we had something we hadn’t known for a long time — stability. A place that was truly ours, and the sense that after years of reacting to circumstances, we were finally beginning to shape our own future.

It wasn't the grandest house in Canterbury. It wasn't perfect. But when we closed the front door each evening, it was home.