I was pleased to read this post as I lived near the prefabs and played in one as a child, with a school friend
Above: Prefab at 238 Lordship Lane, East Dulwich.
Notice that the title is ‘Prefab (singular) in Lordship Lane’. The very reason for writing the article is because there is now only one left in Lordship Lane. The lane is quite long. As you travel northwards from the crossroads with Barry Road, the road slopes quite steeply until the junction with Townley Road. There used to be prefabs on both sides of the hill but, as time has passed, one side of the road has lost all of them and the Dulwich side of the road is now down to its last survivor.
After the Second World War there were many gaps in the houses of streets in London where German bombs had fallen and left a gap of one or more buildings. The Government of the day decided that, as a temporary measure, pre-fabricated single-storey houses (known as ‘Prefabs’) should…
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Don’t we just love to bundle people together?
Oh, he’s a typical man. Never cleans the bathroom mirror after shaving.
Typical bloody woman. Nag, nag, nag.
Yes, my brother is a typical autistic adult. Very obsessive and must stick to a routine.
Stupid old man on the bus – duddering away, holding everyone up. Typical.
The red wine I ordered in the restaurant last night, to accompany my steak, was typical of the Rhone region.
Flippin’ teenager at the bus stop this morning – mobile phone welded to her ear. Typical.
When I was younger I remember it was ok to say someone was a bit ‘dim’. Other similar phrases were used such as:
a can short of a six-pack; not the brightest light bulb in the box; simple; a bit divvy; daft.
We are forced to be politically correct now and say ‘educationally challenged’. Mmmm
The Tuesday evening church group began, as always, with a prayer for the sick – body and mind- followed by three rousing and joyful songs of the ‘happy, clappy’ variety. Jenny loved this church for its informality and because it was fun. For years, her parents forced her to attend the local Methodist church which she found stuffy and boring.
After the songs, the congregation split into small groups to air their views on same-sex marriage. Jenny’s group consisted of three men and two females, including herself.
‘It’s absolutely disgusting if you ask me. Totally unnatural and shouldn’t be allowed,’ said Jeff screwing up his nose at the thought.
Alan chimed in, ‘I quite agree. It says so in the bible. Man shall not lay with man. It is abhorrent.’
‘Yes, but we must move with the times. It’s a whole new world now and it seems that a lot of churches are coming round to the idea of same-sex partnerships and marriages and, indeed, accepting the idea,’ said Gloria as she looked towards Jenny for support.
Ted, who was by now feeling rather annoyed that the two women were taking such a sympathetic view of what he considered a filthy idea. ‘Ladies, have you not read the bible properly?
Jenny felt the need to reply for herself and Gloria. ‘Ted, I am indeed conversant with the bible. I believe it says somewhere, does it not, that God loves every one of us and when the time comes for Him to call us home, He will forgive us of all our sins whatever they may be. And, for the record, I don’t consider same-sex partnerships a sin anyway.
The three men lowered their heads and could not think of a single sensible thing to say.
Five-year-old Milly ran to her mum, in floods of tears. ‘Mummy, mummy I banged my knee again. It really hurts. It really, really hurts,’ she wailed. Only four days ago Milly had fallen off the swing in her garden and gashed her right knee on the gravel path and now, she’d done it again. The cut had become encrusted with dried blood but now the scab had fallen off, replaced with more gooey, crimson blood which was slowly dripping down her leg.
‘What have I told you about taking more care when you’re playing? You’re a proper tomboy, aren’t you? Come on inside so I can clean it up for you and put on a plaster.’
Milly exaggerated a limp and followed her mother inside the house, letting out the occasional sob just to make sure her mother knew how much it was hurting. Right from when she was tiny, Milly had craved attention. Whenever her mother was talking to someone on the phone she would always interrupt, demanding to be given a biscuit or a drink of juice. Milly loved to be the centre of attention and unfortunately, her mother did nothing to discourage this. Milly’s grandma always used to say ‘Children should be seen and not heard.’ How times have changed!
Robbie sat on the shabby sofa with one arm draped over the snoring rottweiler and the other arm wrapped around Fred, the cat. The Saturday afternoon football match was playing out on the tv but Robbie couldn’t hear it. All he could hear was the constant ringing in his ears. The doctor told him it was tinnitus and nothing could be done to alleviate it. It wasn’t exactly a ringing, more like a high pitched whine and it had become steadily worse over the past year until it reached a stage where he felt he’d rather be dead than be afflicted with this monster for the rest of his life. Since he was only 36, the rest of his life might be very long. He removed the arm that was laid across the dog and pressed it tightly against his right ear – the tormenting noise was worse in that ear. He pressed harder and harder but the din just became louder. With both hands now, he cradled his head and rocked back and forth, moaning as he did so. He turned to look at the tablets he’d arranged neatly on the small table beside the sofa and stared at them for several minutes. I can’t take this constant whining anymore, he thought. Yesterday, he’d told his drinking buddy, Wesley, that if anything happened to him then please take care of Fred and Rosco. Wes thought it a bit strange but promised him that he would since he was very fond of both animals.
Robbie put the pills in his mouth, one by one, washing them down with cold beer. He sat back and a wonderful feeling of relief swept over him. The noise in his ears became quieter and quieter…………