A few minutes ago I was talking with my sister, Sophie, on the telephone. She brought my attention to something she’d seen on the Internet: the old home that my paternal grandparents lived in in London, England was up for sale. They’d lived in it way back in the 1920s through to the 1950s…and maybe before that.
The place is in West Ealing and, as I recall, it was close to being a slum area in those days; poky little attached houses all along each street, no front gardens, and tiny little yards at the back which were good for nothing but drying out the washing – if it didn’t get blackened with London’s perpetual sooty atmosphere.
That old place was narrow, cramped and had little by way of comforts. The tiny kitchen was lighted by a hand-lit gas lamp and the stove was fueld by coal. All cooking was done atop cast-iron stove which also served to heat the house.
I guest the place would have been build sometime in the mid Victorian era. Certainly it was an decrepit old house by the 1940s and 1950 when I had occassion to visit. Now I see it being advertised for sale at 370,000 Pounds Stirling (That’s a million dollars plus Australian) My old grandparents, who were always poor, would be turning in their graves if they knew what the place is fetching now.
All goes to show that God isn’t making any more land.