Shifting Ground – From Albion Place to Dungeness

 Balancing Acts and Hard Choices 

Owning our first home brought a wonderful sense of security, but it also brought a new reality. Every week there was a mortgage to pay, two young children to support, and household bills that seemed to arrive one after another. 

For the first time in my life, I truly understood what it meant to be responsible for a family.

Drawing on my background in catering, I began looking for part-time work in Canterbury’s hotels, focusing on restaurant shifts during evenings, weekends, and public holidays. Rejections came first, but eventually, I secured a part-time waiter’s position at the Slatters Hotel. Slatters Hotel was a busy establishment, particularly during the summer months, and before long my “part-time” role expanded to most evenings, weekends, and holidays. The extra money helped, but it came at a cost. Sheila was left managing Paul. It wasn't the life either of us had imagined, but sometimes necessity leaves little room for choice.

When the time came, it caught us completely by surprise. 

Then, one ordinary day, everything changed. 

During a routine visit from the midwife, Sheila's waters suddenly broke as she answered the front door. There was barely time for anyone to react. A few hours later, on 12 May 1962, our daughter Julia was born safely at home in Albion Place.

When I arrived home from work and learned I had a daughter, I don't think I'd ever smiled so much.

Despite the joy, our material circumstances were stark. We had no refrigerator, no washing machine, and no dryer — appliances that would have eased daily life considerably. With two young children now depending on us, the weight of responsibility pressed heavily on my shoulders. 

Even with the additional income from Slatters, saving for such necessities felt painfully slow. Around this time, Lionel — now working for West Piling Construction — began urging me to join him. How he had secured the role I never quite understood, given his background in the Navy’s catering department, but he was persistent. He claimed the wages were nearly double what I earned at the GPO. When I questioned him further, he admitted the job involved daily travel to construction sites, with his current posting at Dungeness Power Station. 

He offered to drive me there and back, covering petrol and travel costs. The offer was tempting. At the GPO I earned £12 a week, supplemented by £1.50 an hour at Slatters. West Piling promised a flat £20 weekly wage, with overtime and travel allowances. The price, of course, was walking away from the steady career I had begun building in telecommunications. I approached my superiors at the GPO, hoping for a pay rise to help meet my family’s needs. My request was dismissed outright. Instead, they suggested I study for the Elementary Telecommunications Practice examination — a process that would take over a year, with no guarantee of success. Faced with immediate financial pressures, the promise of future advancement felt hollow. Sheila and I talked it through repeatedly. She gently reminded me that one of the reasons I had left hospitality was so we could share evenings, weekends, and holidays together — and now I was back working most nights in a hotel. Her words struck home. With a heavy heart, I resigned from the GPO and joined Lionel at West Piling. Our new routine began at Dungeness Power Station. 

The landscape around Dungeness was unlike anywhere I had worked before. Wide open skies, shingle stretching towards the sea, and the enormous power station rising from the flat coastline created an almost surreal setting for our daily work.

The mornings were early, with a drive of over an hour each way. The work was physically demanding — preparing the bases for pylons that would carry electricity into the national grid — but the pay was better, and I was grateful to be home most evenings. Saturday overtime boosted our income further, while Sundays and holidays were reserved for family time. 

A few weeks later, Julia was baptized. Auntie Kitty and Uncle Bill travelled down from Blackburn to be her godparents. With little room at Albion Place, they stayed at the Slatters Hotel, although we welcomed them as warmly as we could. 

Later, Sheila mentioned that Kitty had not been particularly impressed with our little house—a remark that stayed with me longer than I cared to admit. 

Later, Sheila mentioned that Kitty had not been impressed by our house — a remark that lingered with me longer than I cared to admit. For several months, work at Dungeness continued. The scale of the project was impressive, and although the labor was tough, it helped stabilize our finances. 

Eventually, however, we were reassigned to a new site on the outskirts of London, adding another half-hour to the commute. Lionel’s reliability began to waver. He arrived late, causing us to be late for signing on, and on one occasion ran out of petrol on the motorway. Frustration grew among the team. 

Then, one morning after yet another difficult journey, Lionel announced unexpected that he had had enough and was leaving the job. 

I was stunned. Without Lionel, the arrangement that made the work possible collapsed. Worse still, I had burned my bridges with the GPO. Returning to Slatters Hotel full-time felt like a dispiriting step backwards, yet the thought of failing my family was unbearable. 

At a loss, I turned to Mum at Clare House in Dover for advice. During our conversation, she mentioned that the cross-channel ferry company — my former employer — was launching a new ship and recruiting crew. It felt like an unexpected lifeline. At the same time, she told us about a new housing development in Whitfield, just a couple of miles from her home. When Sheila and I visited, we found a row of newly built semi-detached houses — just within reach, provided we could sell Albion Place. Once again, life had brought me to another crossroads. We needed a new home, I needed secure work, and somehow I had to provide a future for Sheila, Paul and little Julia. Then, quite unexpectedly, the sea called me once more. I had thought my Merchant Navy days were behind me forever. It seemed I was about to discover how wrong I had been.