Near the end of that first year at Leeds University I got a wake up call/reality check from my tutor, basically telling me that unless I studied more, drank and partied less I was unlikely to get through the second year. The thought of my mum and dad's reaction and their disappointment stirred me to change. So I requested digs away from college, preferably not in a communal group. During the summer break I got notification of my new digs in Gipton where I met...
THE OLDER WOMAN (1979-81 ~ 19-21)
In early October, I arrived at the address on the Friday afternoon about 5ish, before the start of term the following Monday. I was greeted by the lady of the house, a Mrs Sharon Whelan, with some confusion. She was expecting a girl! A Miss J. Baker. I told her I was Joseph Barker and I had the letter confirming the accommodation details. She let me in while we tried to understand what had happened. Eventually we agreed that some mistake had been made at Uni, but it was too late to do anything then. I could stay the night but would have to sort it out the next day.
The evening was strained to say the least. Mrs Whelan was a woman somewhere near my mum's age, maybe in her early-mid forties. She dressed a bit younger and had auburn short hair, a reasonable looking body, maybe a bit hippy but with longish legs. She showed me to the bedroom which was next to hers. To say I felt a bit glum at the situation was an understatement. I stayed in the room until she called me for something to eat, and telling me a friend was calling later.
That evening, her friend Freda called round and I could hear them downstairs, laughing and sometimes squealing and giggling. I stayed in my room, feeling decidedly unhappy. After breakfast on Saturday morning, I went to Uni to find out that there was indeed a Jennifer Baker on the list but she had changed her requirement late on and somehow my name had been substituted, in error. However, it would take them a few days to sort something out. It was after lunchtime when I went back to Gipton to explain and ask if I could stay on until then. Mrs Whelan reluctantly said it was OK to stay for the rest of the week, until it was sorted.
For something to do that afternoon, I went for a run around the area, staying out for over an hour. I got back and had a shower, staying in my room reading. Generally not doing much. About 4:30 Mrs Whelan knocked on the bedroom door and asked if I'd like a cup of tea. Saying yes, she told me to come down. While sat in the kitchen, she told me her friend would be coming again tonight and, smiling lightly, said she could be a bit noisy so take no notice! She also said she'd make something to eat about 6:30 to 7 o'clock.
She had made a sort of stew dish, with meat, potatoes and vegetables in it. It was not dissimilar to one my mum made but had a slightly different taste. Mrs Whelan said it was the spices she added. I complimented her on it, to which she said thank you.
Her friend arrived about 9 o'clock and sure enough within 10 minutes I could hear them laughing, loudly. I was lay on my bed reading when suddenly, there was a flicker in the electricity, the lights dimmed briefly then returned. I heard a shout from the lounge downstairs and went down to see what had happened.
"Are you OK", I shouted as I came down the stairs, looking into the lounge.
I could see that the central light bulb had blown and the two women were in the dark. In fact all the downstairs lights were out. I told them to stay there a moment. I went back to my room, dug out my torch and small toolkit my dad given me.
Returning to the lounge, shining my torch up, I told them that the fuse must have blown and would need to be changed. Of course, she didn't have any spare fuses or fuse wire. I thought "what would my dad do?".
"If it's OK" I said, "I'll swap the fuse from the upstairs lights to the downstairs lights, so at least it'll be light down here. If you bear with me I'll see what fuses to swap. Where's the fuse box?
"Under the stairs, I think." Mrs Whelan replied, uncertainly.
Poking my head under the stairs I found it. Turning off the electricity, I pulled the fuses until I found the broken one and swapped it out, leaving the upstairs now dead. Before anything else, I switched the lounge light switch off, took the dead bulb out then switched the electricity back on. Light returned downstairs.
"I'll pinch a bulb from upstairs and put it in here, but you'll need some fuse wire and maybe a new bulb." I said.
After fitting the bulb in the lounge, which I'd taken from my bedroom, I switched it back on. With the downstairs lights now working, instead of returning to my room, I ended up sat with the two women.
"Thank you very much, Joe," Mrs Whelan said, "I don't know what we'd have done if you hadn't been here."
"Panic!" Freda squealed. "I don't think my Ken would have been able to fix it so quick."
When asked, I gave them a potted history of my life and what I was studying. She told me that most Fridays/Saturdays the two of them went out to a nearby pub, but hadn't done because I was there. As Freda left, I gave Mrs W my torch so she could move around upstairs.
On the Sunday morning, after breakfast, I went out and sorted out spare fuse wire and bulbs, restoring light upstairs. Mrs Whelan seemed more chatty, telling me to stay downstairs, watch TV or whatever. We chatted as she made Sunday dinner. I did stay downstairs and we watched TV together. She said that it was nice to talk to someone when something interesting was on TV.
Monday morning, I attempted to resolve the accommodation problem. Only to be told that Miss Baker was no longer interested in moving and that Uni had no alternatives immediately available to replace me. However, I could move to another place if I wanted. Returning later that afternoon, I told Mrs Whelan the situation. She told me that she worked part-time 4 days a week and wasn't particularly well off and the income from student rents obviously helped out. After a couple of moments thought, she said if I wanted to stay there, she didn't mind. I suppose the risk of losing that income contributed to her decision, so I said I would stay. Anyway, her cooking was quite good! And I did feel uncomfortable at the thought of making things difficult for her.
Over the course of that week, I fixed a dripping tap, moved some heavy stuff in the garden and became a sort of handy man, even fixing a gate hinge for old Mr Clayton next door.
Over the next few weeks our relationship became much more relaxed. I learned that Mrs W, as I called her, was pregnant at 16, shotgun wedding and a mum at 17, the dad buggered off at 20, she struggled with the son's behaviours until, after a number of police interventions he too buggered off when she was 36. That was followed by a number of short, failed relationships that ended a few years earlier. I was only her third student lodger, as she'd needed the extra money. I found I was quite saddened by her life and had an urge to "help" without knowing how.
Early one morning I arose needing to pee, so went to the loo in my PJs. As is usually the case I had that morning semi hard-on. As I walked along the landing to the bathroom, out came Mrs W, herself in a nightie, though not see-through.
"Pleased to see me?" she said, as my semi erect penis was rather obvious.
Though a little embarrassed I replied quickly, "Always Mrs W." She smiled.
Later that week, a rainy day, I came back from Uni to find Mrs W putting her damp knickers on a washing maiden, to which I said "Mrs W, flaunting your underwear in front of these innocent eyes is making me blush!"
Mrs W also did my washing and turning she said, "Well, I'd like you to explain what you're doing inside my knickers!", as she held up a pair of her knickers with a pair of my boxers inside them.
Quickly, I replied "Just being friendly Mrs W."
She hummed.
There became an increasing amount of jovial banter and innuendo, particularly if she was bending over at any time or at the mention of evocative words like "it", "tool", "poke", "screw" or "rod". Sometimes they were deliberately made. And not just by me!
On one occasion, I came home to be greeted by Mrs W saying "I need something screwing."
"If you need a good screw, I'm your man!" I replied.
It turned out that a downpipe had fallen on the side of the garden shed and was lying at an angle. It didn't take long to straighten it and put in some screws. Mrs W came out as I finished, so I said.
"I gave the hole a good rubbing and the shaft just slid all the way in. I screwed it in but I felt it needed a second screwing to be sure. Satisfied?"
