Confessions logo

Coddiwomple

Travelling purposely toward a vague destination

By Cheryl SlackPublished 3 years ago 6 min read
2

When I was nineteen, I decided to move to England. I had been there the previous year for my high school senior trip and met Colin Smith, a British name if ever I heard one, on the last night before my return home. Colin and I corresponded for the year in between, while I attended Michigan State University as a freshman. This was before cell phones and email, so we wrote letters and postcards. I naïvely thought I knew him.

I worked all summer in a small factory making auto parts and saving money for my move. I managed to buy a round-trip ticket with an open return date and packed my bags. My parents were stunned. I hadn’t mentioned my plans until I was two days away from my flight.

When we arrived at the airport, the reservationist weighed my bags and informed me my bag was over the limit ... a lot. The flight would be leaving shortly, so I opened my suitcase on the floor and randomly grabbed out enough items to reduce the weight to an acceptable level, tossing the things on the floor or into my parents’ arms. Then I ran for the plane, almost forgetting to say goodbye.

Thankfully, Colin was waiting for me when the plane landed at Heathrow. His car was in the shop, and we had to take the Underground, or Tube, to get to his sister’s flat, where we would be staying for a few days. Cora, his sister, lived on the outskirts of London. Exhausted after an eight-hour flight and the time zone changes, I had expected a vehicle to load all my stuff in and was not pleased about having to haul my luggage on foot.

The closest Tube stop to the flat required climbing a steep hill of stairs, traversing some small woods, and finding her unit on the second floor of the building. The steep slope would be my nemesis later.

Having only spent time in hotels on my previous visit, the first night at his sister’s place was an eye-opener. I wondered if I had crossed a time barrier and stepped into a 1940’s film. She didn’t have central heat. Each room had its own door to separate it from the others and a draft blocker at the bottom, to be moved in place when you closed the door. A space heater served to warm the room, a device I was not familiar with in 1975. I had never seen one before. Taking a shower required a fifteen-minute headstart. The water in the tank above the stall needed to heat up. I had to turn it on, wait, and then release it. Showers were short. Same thing in the kitchen. The water tank over the sink would be turned on when we sat down to eat, so by the time we finished, the water was hot enough to wash the dishes.

The biggest surprise was when I said I was tired and ready for bed. Cora handed me two hot water bottles, something I had only read about in novels. She said she was giving me two because I was a guest. Lucky me, but I had no earthly idea what to do with them. I figured out they took the place of the space heater at night and placed one at my feet and one I hugged to my stomach. By the middle of the night, both were ice cold, and I kicked them off the bed.

We stayed at Cora’s for three days, then visited his other brothers and their families before returning to his mother’s home in Darlington in the north of England.

After two weeks, looking for work and finding nothing, I told Colin I needed to go to London if I wanted to find employment. I don’t think he cared. My imagined romance never blossomed, anyway. I got the feeling that although on the night we met, he was very ‘friendly,’ after I’d returned, he seemed more interested in his mates than me. Such is life.

****

I called my friend, Nick, who I’d met in Austria, while I was an exchange student two years before. He, his mum, and little brother lived in Eastcote, on the outskirts of London, near a U.S. Air Force base. Perfect.

Their flat was a small two-bedroom, one bath, and the only place they could find for me to sleep was behind the sofa on a mattress. I didn’t care. I needed a job, and then I’d find my own place. That was the plan, at least. The only place that would hire me, since I had no work permit, was too far away and would have cost me all the money I made each day just traveling back and forth. In my defense, I didn’t know I needed a work permit. Another thing I conveniently didn't find out about before launching my “Grand Plan.”

After a week with Nick’s family, I received an invitation from Colin’s sister, Cora, the one in London who I’d stayed with on my arrival. She gave me directions to her flat, told me where the key was, and to let myself in. She asked me to set a pot of tea to steep if I got there before she returned from work. No problem.

I took the appropriate tube lines, got off at the correct stop, and proceeded to climb the dreaded steep stairs to the small woods I would need to traverse to get to her flat. I realized early on how out of shape I was, and by the time I got to the top of the stairs, I was huffing and puffing like an old steam engine. Ah, a bench for weary travelers, such as myself. I plopped…right in a puddle of water. I was so distracted, I didn’t see it.

Great! Now I have a soaking wet bottom and still have to walk through the woods, find her place, and then what? I managed to arrive, get the key, let myself in and had a brilliant thought. She had a space heater. I took off my jeans, turned on the heater in the living room, threw my jeans over the top, and went to the kitchen to prepare the tea. I’d barely filled the pot with water when I smelled smoke.

Black smoke billowed throughout the living room, and I saw my pants were ablaze. I snatched the jeans, still in flames, ran them into the kitchen, threw them in the sink, and turned on the water. Once I was convinced the fire was extinguished, I returned to the living room where I flung open the front windows to air it out.

I looked down, and there was Cora’s car in the driveway, her face gawking at me through the windshield, as she took in the clouds of smoke escaping her flat. I spent the rest of the evening apologizing and sewing a patch on the bottom of my jeans. I still had to go back to Nick’s house and didn’t want to take one of her pairs of pants, only to have to return them later. Although she didn’t say it, I’m sure she agreed. The patch worked fine, and I covered it with my jacket tied around my waist. Needless to say, Cora never invited me back.

After three fruitless months of job hunting, I returned to the states, tail between my legs but my head full of memories and people. It was worth every dime and every moment.

Embarrassment
2

About the Creator

Cheryl Slack

I have been seriously writing for the past 3 years. I currently live in Michigan near my family. I have a BA in Spanish and English and have 2 published novels, pen name Avery Stark, in a crime thriller series, after eight and Solace,

Reader insights

Be the first to share your insights about this piece.

How does it work?

Add your insights

Comments

There are no comments for this story

Be the first to respond and start the conversation.

Sign in to comment

    Find us on social media

    Miscellaneous links

    • Explore
    • Contact
    • Privacy Policy
    • Terms of Use
    • Support

    © 2024 Creatd, Inc. All Rights Reserved.