Just as I was about to leave school at 14 years of age, Mummy re-appeared on the scene after about 3 years.
And Dad once more relented and took her back in, a move he much regretted later. (So did I)
Dad got me job as goffer and van lad at Whiteheads Robin Hood Confectionery, Imperial Street, Bulwell. (the building is still standing today. (January 2011)
The wage was £3.3.0 a week (£3.15), for a 50 hour week.
Of course mother got most of it out of me by guile or stealth, to help her with her addiction to the weed, bingo, and betting.
I enjoyed the job, when I was out on the delivery run, a great adventure to me - but the few times when I had to help in the factory - I really liked!
Apart from helping yourself to any toffees in the production lines, it was the women and girls there that made my day, they would help themselves to me whenever they liked!
They would play with me in the dinner hour and a half.
It reminded me of 'Auntie Mabel' (see A True Diary of Woe - Part Three), but with a little more input from me!
Boy did I get further educated!
I was their toy, and did they enjoy their toy.
If only I could go back to that time.... Ah well, on with the disastrous dilemma of the diary.
Later, I cannot recall why, most likely they were going to pull the house down before it fell down, but we moved into 52 Ipswich Circus, Sneinton Dale, into a council house.
I swapped jobs and went to work for Tesco, working my way up to assistant manager eventually.
And I met Sue, the love of my life, and started 'Courting'.
But I later lost her. Best perhaps, because she always deserved better than me.
So, the house was gigantic to me, and the garden enormous!
So big, I built a little shed for my motorbike to go in. (Fair enough it fell down within two weeks, but I did make the effort)
Then after about 10 months or so, I returned home from Tesco one Friday night, pushed my motorbike round the back where the shed used to stand, and went into the house - only to find the lights not working - so I stumbled my way through to the front door lobby where the electricity metre was, digging out a shilling to put in it from my pocket on the way.
As I entered the front room, the light from the street lighting, offered enough illumination for me to see that there was no furniture in the room - nothing but the television set! (that was on tick from Wigfall's Pay-Slot Rentals.
Had we been robbed?
Surely not, they'd be hard pushed to get a tenner for everything in the room.
I made my way to the bottom of the stairs, all the clothes pegs were bare, I went upstairs, everything had gone, curtains, everything, I went back down stairs, thinking I was going mad, was I in the right house?
I opened the front door, looked around, confirmed I was in the right house, turned around to go back in, and then saw the 'Eviction Notice' on the door. Mummy had been at it again!
A neighbour, rushed up to me, apologising for missing my arrival, she'd hoped to catch me and break the news to me.
Dad had been given a railway house, and had taken all the stuff with him.
Mummy had done another bunk, and I could stay at her (the neighbours) house until I found somewhere to live!
This seemed to please her Security Guard husband's Alsatian no end, as I able to supply the snarling, vicious, yet pampered beast with a choice of bone selections for him to chew on overnight, as I slept on the settee.