We spent the whole summer in the garden of that railway house<\/p>\n
The summer had been so hot that it had been almost impossible for us to spend our time anywhere else<\/p>\n
The house was quite non-descript constructed out of Staffordshire Blue Brick<\/p>\n
However the garden that we enjoyed was rather large for such a standard railway building but I suppopse that was the normality at the time it was built<\/p>\n
Although the garden was hidden by thick vegetation from the quiet lane that led to the original White City underground station (then derelict) we were not afforded that luxury from the railway at the end of the garden<\/p>\n
Underground trains travelling to Hammersmith would pass frequently and we often saw passengers looking into our world<\/p>\n
The track was actually raised on an embankment as it approached the huge bridge that crossed Wood Lane and afforded pleasant views in all directions<\/p>\n
But you soon became oblivious the passing trains and continued your recreation without inhibition<\/p>\n
I do not believe that anybody really cared<\/p>\n
It was just another hippy house with lightly dressed young people wasting their time in the sun<\/p>\n
Ours was one of many to be found during those casual years<\/p>\n
There were four of us and we shared the cheap rent and living expenses equally<\/p>\n
Miranda (with whom I shared a room) was the posh one<\/p>\n
Her parents lived in the South of France and she had a cut glass accent which she did her best to hide<\/p>\n
She always wore long cotton dresses<\/p>\n
It seemed that she had an endless supply of those beautiful long dresses<\/p>\n
She offered to share her clothes with me but she was quite tall and I am as I was then still rather short<\/p>\n
So I always wore cut down jeans and a vest<\/p>\n
I always felt plain against her but she insisted that I had a sunny temperament which she wished she had<\/p>\n
Miranda could be remote but I think this was due to her upbringing more than any other factor<\/p>\n
She had a flawless skin (unlike mine) which showed no blemishes and this further enhanced her casual beauty<\/p>\n
But she was a sweet person (especially to me) and was very generous with her time<\/p>\n
Edward and I were the only ones that worked<\/p>\n
I worked in a shoe shop in Hammersmith (I was training to become a teacher and was at a college in South London)<\/p>\n
But these were the high days of summer and my college was closed<\/p>\n
Edward had a mysterious job at the BBC Television Centre which he said was very important and occasionally he would let us meet him outside of the gates with a fading actor or a now long forgotten starlet in tow<\/p>\n
It seemed that he wanted to impress us all but he did have his moment later that summer and what a moment it was<\/p>\n
Miles did not work and like Miranda he came from a privileged background<\/p>\n
He said that his father owned half of Bedfordshire but we doubted him although he always seemed to have great deal of money within reach<\/p>\n
Miles said that he had ambitions to become a racing driver like James Hunt and occasionally spent a few days away from us racing cars on circuits<\/p>\n
That was all I knew about him<\/p>\n
My name is Lesley Morris and I was born in Ware<\/p>\n
My father was a Civil Servant and mother worked part time in Tomlins the Bakers<\/p>\n
I was their only child and had a happy childhood<\/p>\n
At the age of thirteen I decided to become a teacher after a careers lecture<\/p>\n
I met Miranda at college (she was of course studying art and art history) and for some reason we clicked<\/p>\n
We almost rented the small railway cottage by accident and soon Miles and Edward were on board<\/p>\n
What was odd though was that although our lives seemed free and easy we still found ourselves being quite moral in our behaviours<\/p>\n
I did not sleep with either of the boys and although Miranda had a short pash with Miles nothing materialised and they both continued as before<\/p>\n
I had boyfriends and lovers but they were all outside the confines of White City<\/p>\n
I think we all did not want to spoil what we had<\/p>\n
It was during the height of that summer that Edward surprised us all by inviting a well- known French singer back to the house<\/p>\n
I had been buying my college books that day in the Charing Cross Road and was travelling by Underground to Shepherds Bush station which was nearby<\/p>\n
As I passed the house I saw Edward and Miles in the garden but I did not recognise the woman who was with them<\/p>\n
This was not unusual as we frequently had guests<\/p>\n
It was as I was walking down Wood Lane that I bumped into Miranda who had been shopping<\/p>\n
This was unlike Miranda as she normally left the shopping to me<\/p>\n
She did not say much apart from complaining how hot it was<\/p>\n
When I arrived home I took a brief bath to cool down and wandered casually into the garden about fifteen minutes later with my hair still damp<\/p>\n
I knew something was up as both Edward and Miles were acting a little strangely<\/p>\n
They were never really attentive to Miranda and I which we both accepted but they appeared to be hanging on each word of our guest<\/p>\n
I was introduced to her and she said her name was Marie<\/p>\n
Like most French women she had an understated elegance which made me feel even scruffier as I was only a few minutes out of the bath<\/p>\n
Like Miranda she was impossibly slim and had the most beautiful olive coloured skin<\/p>\n
She was wearing a pair of old jeans and a white cotton shirt which was too large for her<\/p>\n
But it was her eyes that intrigued me<\/p>\n
They were the most beautiful eyes that I had ever seen<\/p>\n
Deep and penetrating as if she was aware of our every thought<\/p>\n
She wore a hint of mascara and this further emphasised her eyes<\/p>\n
She told us that she quite well known in France but had been invited to record in London in an attempt to break into the British market<\/p>\n
Edward had met her in the BBC canteen and on a whim had invited her to our White City house<\/p>\n
She had readily accepted and we spent the whole evening together in conversation (and sometimes singing) until she went back to her hotel in Kensington<\/p>\n
The strange thing was that I never learned Marie\u2019s full name and when I asked Edward some days later he told me that her nickname in her home country was The Girl with the Golden Eyes <\/i><\/p>\n
It was only in later years I learned who Marie actually was<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
White City 2017 \u00a0\u00a0<\/b><\/p>\n
I became a teacher and taught at a variety of schools in both the UK and China until I retired three years ago<\/p>\n
I never married although I was twice engaged in long term relationships<\/p>\n
For some reason this comforted and bothered me at the same time<\/p>\n
I had my freedom but there was no-one to comfort me or hold me when I returned home<\/p>\n
This is the reason I think I travelled<\/p>\n
I had planned to visit White City but as I had retired to my home town of Ware I did not have occasion visit the area<\/p>\n
I waited for it to happen accidently which it did just over two weeks ago when I was invited to a talk by an ex colleague which was taking place in London<\/p>\n
This was opportunity I had been waiting for and so after listening to the talk and exchanging pleasantries I jumped on a Hammersmith & City Line train bound for Hammersmith<\/p>\n
I was aware that the little railway house was no more and had been swept away in the massive Westfield development<\/p>\n
I no longer had to travel to Shepherds Bush station as a new station (called Wood Lane) had been built not far from the site of the old Wood Lane station<\/p>\n
The day was a typical March day which was warm but there was a cool wind which betrayed the previous months<\/p>\n
It took me a short while to gain my bearings as everything had changed so drastically<\/p>\n
The only thing that was remotely similar was the bridge carrying the underground trains to and from Hammersmith<\/p>\n
The other underground station (White City on the Central Line) was still there and had not changed much as had the BBC Television Centre<\/p>\n
But it was no longer used by the BBC and was being converted into luxury apartments<\/p>\n
I wandered around for a while and occasionally closed my eyes to see if I could remember the area as it was during the hot summer of 1976<\/p>\n
Surprisingly it came to me without searching<\/p>\n
I thought of Miranda sleeping soundly (she always slept soundly) as the first trains of the day cut through the calm summer air<\/p>\n
I thought of Miles and Edward stumbling into out bedroom looking for carelessly sorted clothes oblivious to our protests<\/p>\n
I thought of the quiet hours when I sat in the garden reading the paper whilst the others slept<\/p>\n
I was always awake by six as I was a light sleeper<\/p>\n
I thought of the lazy days spent in that garden sunbathing (even I had a tan to boast about that summer)<\/p>\n
I remember the drunken evenings and the hose pipe fights which soaked us all<\/p>\n
They had all been swept away<\/p>\n
All my memories were contained in a small area of road which broadened out onto the now much busier Wood Lane<\/p>\n
I expected to feel sadness but I did not which puzzled me a little as I knew that my past was indeed another country<\/p>\n
I was still in contact with Miranda who now lived in the South of France with her widowed mother<\/p>\n
She had been married twice and had done well out of her ex-husbands<\/p>\n
It seemed that this had been her only career that and her small gallery<\/p>\n
We were good friends and I was due to visit her later in the year<\/p>\n
Like a good wine she has aged well whereas I am thicker and possibly dowdier<\/p>\n
But our friendship transcends this and I feel that she needs me as much as I need her<\/p>\n
I lost contact with both Edward and Miles in the late 1970s<\/p>\n
Edward I believe moved to the USA but I do not know much more<\/p>\n
Miles has vanished off of the face of the earth even Miranda does not know what happened to him<\/p>\n
I wonder where he is<\/p>\n
I just hope that both the boys are happy<\/p>\n
We only spent one summer at the railway house before we went our separate ways and I am told that the house remained empty for a considerable time thereafter<\/p>\n
It was eventually sold and I believe was demolished in about 2008 (I may be wrong)<\/p>\n
In my bag I have a small blue book that dates from those far off days<\/p>\n
It was presented to me on my twenty-second birthday which fell in the middle of that memorable summer<\/p>\n
It is called Rulers of India<\/i> and was an account of the life and work of Warren Hastings (a good man who did much for India)<\/p>\n
I remember it being presented to me on a balmy July evening by Miles who had found it in a market<\/p>\n
Its cover is now tired (as I am) but it still feels as new as the day as it was presented to me<\/p>\n
I have always carried this book with me even when I have been travelling around the world<\/p>\n
As I stand here at the age of sixty-two with the noisy traffic thundering by<\/p>\n
I am reminded of the famous Housman poem A Shropshire Lad<\/i> and one particular passage which is now very well known<\/p>\n
I think you know which one it is<\/p>\n
To me it says everything about life and the loss of innocence<\/p>\n
Into my heart on air that kills That is the land of lost content, <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" We spent the whole summer in the garden of that railway house The summer had been so hot that it had been almost impossible for us to spend our time anywhere else The house was quite non-descript constructed out of Staffordshire Blue Brick However the garden that we enjoyed was rather large for such a […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":[],"categories":[],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/stuartmillerosborne.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3189"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/stuartmillerosborne.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/stuartmillerosborne.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/stuartmillerosborne.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/3"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/stuartmillerosborne.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=3189"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/stuartmillerosborne.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3189\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/stuartmillerosborne.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=3189"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/stuartmillerosborne.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=3189"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/stuartmillerosborne.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=3189"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nFrom yon far country blows: \u00a0<\/em>
\nWhat are those blue remembered hills,
\nWhat spires, what farms are those?<\/em><\/p>\n
\n<\/em>I see it shining plain,
\n<\/em>The happy highways where I went
\n<\/em>And cannot come again.\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n