to the tree avoiding the garden below. I climbed out of the window and down the sloping slate roof as usual, lowered myself to the garden wall and walked along to the railway embankment. From there I walked along to the next garden wall and climbed from the wall into the mulberry tree. I had no basket or bag to collect the fruit. It had never occurred to me to pick the fruit to give to the ladies or my mother. Perhaps that part of the message had not penetrated. I simply ate the fruit and when I was satiated, came away. Weeks later I wondered if I should have harvested the fruit, instead of just eating it and resolved to do this the following year, but before the fruit ripened again, we had moved. The mulberry tree was another reason why I did not want to move to Muswell Hill, but I was overruled.

For days my mother had been packing, clearing cupboards and wrapping crockery. We were left with hardly enough plates to eat off and nothing could be found until one morning we deserted it all and went by bus to the edge of Muswell Hill, where my life was to change completely. By the time the pantechnicon carrying our furniture arrived, the whole family was standing at the door of the new house. Within two hours it was all roughly in place and the removal men had gone, to move yet another customer.


Coppetts Road, Muswell Hill in 1925

A composite map made by imposing part of the 1935 Ordnance Survey
map on the 1913 one. It shows the position in 1925,
when only one row of houses had beef built.

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