Another Gas Escape

The nose is as good as ever, and we were right. The leak I reported this morning was traced to the property next door to that of the elderly couple we know and is in the throes of being rectified. The first thing will be to dig up the pavement and let any accumulation of gas disperse, then the pipe will be repaired.

This leads me into a little bit of my working history:

My first job after leaving school in 1972 was working for the gas board. My job was to raise paperwork for trade-ins or scrapped appliances, and general filing.
Mum, Dad and I were living with my grandfather at the time, and what was intended to be a short stay stretched to almost a year. In the Summer I was wearing size 18 clothes, but come January they hung on me so Mum and I went shopping, spending £20 and coming back with a variety of mix and match outfits for the office, shoes, and either shoes or a handbag for Mum, I can’t remember now. I do remember my aunt (grandfather’s wife) was angry and accused me of being selfish as I hadn’t thought to buy her a box of chocolates. I was gutted, but Mum took her to task and asked her why she had expected some. That was also the day she realised I had lost weight, and was now a size 10, weighing in at less than nine stone instead of the eleven or so I had been at school.

Dad managed to buy an old house that had been empty for years with a council mortgage. It needed some work as it had no electricity and gas lighting, which incidentally still worked. In the evenings and at weekends Dad would be working on doing it up, sometimes by torchlight, so that we could move in as soon as possible. It was a stressful time for all of us, and one of only two occasions I’d seen my dad lose it and cry.
The problems arose with the new gas meter.
It was February and in typical farce form, a guy came to take away the meter that hadn’t been disconnected, and another came to fit the new meter that hadn’t been delivered. Despite phone calls to the gas board, nothing was forthcoming, and we were due to move in that day.
Dad rang me, and I ended up getting it done on a gas escape. One fitter (who later became a boyfriend for about four months) turned up with all the gear and did the complete job.

We moved in that night, and slept on camp beds. There were only two doors, front and back, everything else was open and had bare floorboards.
Gradually, after work every day and all weekend, we mucked in to get rooms ready one at a time. My sister moved in later in the year, and within twelve months, we had doors where they should be, a bathroom, upstairs toilet where a closet used to be, central heating, and a basic kitchen with a drop down worktop behind which were some narrow shelves for condiments and spices.  No cupboards on the walls, just a shelf over the hinged worktop and a bookcase on top of the fridge which housed crockery.
It was home, and I know my Mum loved that house. I have happy memories of Dad in his garden and Mum baking in the kitchen. Our friends were always made welcome, and my sister and I both got married from it.
It was a heavy blow when they had to sell in 1995 and moved in with my sister for what should have been a temporary arrangement. Sadly my Dad died the following year, and so Mum stayed.
My sister was widowed in 2010, and Mum developed dementia over subsequent years. She passed away in January 2018.


About pensitivity101

I am a retired number cruncher with a vivid imagination and wacky sense of humour which extends to short stories and poetry. I love to cook and am a bit of a dog whisperer as I get on better with them than people sometimes! In November 2020, we lost our beloved Maggie who adopted us as a 7 week old pup in March 2005. We decided to have a photo put on canvas as we had for her predecessor Barney. We now have three pictures of our fur babies on the wall as we found a snapshot of Kizzy, my GSD when Hubby and I first met so had hers done too. On February 24th 2022 we were blessed to find Maya, a 13 week old GSD pup who has made her own place in our hearts. You can follow our training methods, photos and her growth in my blog posts. From 2014 to 2017 'Home' was a 41 foot narrow boat where we made strong friendships both on and off the water. We were close to nature enjoying swan and duck families for neighbours, and it was a fascinating chapter in our lives. We now reside in a small bungalow on the Lincolnshire coast where we have forged new friendships and interests.
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12 Responses to Another Gas Escape

  1. What a lovely poignant memory. Thanks for sharing. 🙂

  2. A lovely story down memory lane – thanks for sharing. 🙂

  3. But what lovely memories you have of the time. I happen to think a little bit of adversity makes the reward all that much sweeter! It sounds like a lovely HOME (not just a house). Imagine a bad smell bringing back that wonderful time for you! I’m glad you were vigilant. Older folks might not have noticed or taken action as quickly as they should and tragedy struck. Thank goodness they have great neighbors!

    • No-one in either of the houses concerned smelt it, and both households have a smoker! The pavement has all been marked out now and a few holes have been drilled where they did their tracer testing. I’m glad we were not ‘smelling things’ and it can be sorted out. Last thing we want is the neighbourhood being blown sky high!

  4. murisopsis says:

    A keen nose is important! I swore there was the smell of gas in my basement. Sparky claimed I was imagining it. I had his mother come over to confirm – yep, a leak and we were able to get the gas company in to fix it quickly. Good thing you were able to call it in as it could have been deadly! The houses we really live in make the best memories – some sad but most are happy… Glad you have good memories of your parents in that house!

  5. TanGental says:

    ah the gas board; my father had a series of ‘interactions’ with them that rarely ended well. The best though was my mother, deciding my father’s approach merely alienated them (we lived miles from anywhere in the New Forest so were far from a priority) and wrote to them. Her initials were BG and she had a flowery signature so I suppose we shouldn’t have been surprised when the board replied to her letter, instead of Dear Mrs BG Le pard with Dear Mrs Blytepad. Mum remained Mrs Blytepad for years. And all that was before we converted to natural gas and the numpty engineer did something stupid leading to all the gas rings blowing off the stove. Fortunately the only damage was the the ceiling and the dog’s nerves.

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