Farewell Heston Grange
One morning, a huge lorry arrived and spilled out a gang of removal men who took all of our packed tea chests and furniture away to our new house in Farnborough. We loaded up Stepdad’s little red Austin 1100 with what was left of our belongings, squeezing ourselves into the little car. I sat in the back with fishbowl on my lap complete with two goldfish, my baby brother Ian, and Tiger the ginger cat. We hesitated outside for a moment waving goodbye to the neighbours. My friend Geoffrey who lived next door gave me a Mars Bar to eat for the journey, while my other playmates John Holly and Robbie Barber stood next to the car as though on guard. Waving to us from the doorway to his bachelor flat was our old friend Uncle Roy, wearing his usual green cardigan and beige slacks. It seemed to me a miniature version of a ship leaving for a far-a-way place, rather than a family moving to Hampshire. Then Stepdad revved up the engine of the car; and we were off towards a new life just down the M3, but a million miles from this one on Heston Grange.