Moving In Building work on our flat commenced in February 1969. Every Wednesday, Roland drove me past the site on the way to the hostel, and I was able to report any stages of progress to Jack. Our own flat was rising slowly out of the ground. Our confidence soared even higher! When the weather was good, Jack and I sometimes left the hostel in our powered chairs, to view the site together. We would take a camera expectantly, perhaps to find that only five more layers of bricks had been laid. One day a workman posed on his scaffolding for a photograph, when we thought that perhaps an action picture might have been more acceptable. By late summer the roof was complete, and we feasted our eyes on the building, trying to imagine ourselves living there. But it would be sometime yet. All this time meetings had continued with Miss Barnes, the architects and ourselves. At one such meeting we were told that our hoist had been installed and that a refrigerator, spin dryer, hob unit and a small toaster-oven made up the kitchen equipment. A special tough carpeting would be stuck to the floor in the sitting-room and in the bedroom, while vinyl tiles completed the floor-covering. As a rare privilege, we were being allowed to choose our own colour scheme. We learned that the basic equipment and extra costs of the conversion would amount to £800, most of which would probably be paid by a local charity. But for now, the Welfare Department had underwritten the full cost. It seemed an absolute fortune to us, and much as we would like to have paid, it was far beyond our means. We were more than happy to contribute in as many other ways as possible. Another meeting decided that we should benefit from a refresher course at the Assessment Centre, and in November 1969 we were undergoing a two-weeks "dress rehearsal", as Jack called it. This time, with no pressure, we enjoyed it more. While there, we received a letter from Miss Barnes in which she jubilantly declared: "Today, I collected the keys to the flat on your behalf, and the Department has paid some advance rent, until you are ready to move in. Meantime, we have to sort out the recruiting of your helpers…" The subject of helpers had not until this stage been confronted. Now, everything depended on finding the right people. We were given a few weeks' grace, during which the Centre decreed that I should be admitted to the hostel with Jack, in order to keep me mobile and my daily routine regular. And so it happened. We left the Centre with everybody's good wished ringing in our ears. Mum had not fully come to terms with the change yet. Although she carried on as usual, she was obviously not happy and I understood her so well that it hurt me, too. Dad had in the past made no secret of his opinion. "Of course, Margaret's always been over- ambitious, you know." His silence now was less eloquent. I wanted to convince both them and myself that since they could not look after me forever, it was better I left home now. But my reasoning was left unspoken. Unfortunately, mostly coped with unhappy situations by pretending that they didn't exist. So I left home still in a state of uneasiness. When Trevor picked me up that Friday evening, Mum had conveniently arranged to be out to avoid facing the final break. Dad seemed not to notice my departure at all. But I understood his way of coping, too. By now, Gerard had got used to the idea, and all the children shouted their cheerful goodbyes: "We'll come and see you, Margy!" Sitting in the car, I felt cold and empty. I could have been exited. I might easily have been sad. But instead, I felt nothing. Until finally alone with Jack, I could be myself and tears inevitably came. I poured out my feelings of guilt at leaving them all, and how terribly I would miss them. Jack was as understanding as ever. Holding my hand, he looked thoughtfully at me. "I ought to be truly proud that you care enough about me to relinquish so much." On Jack's advice, I wrote to my parents expressing all those unspoken thoughts and feelings about leaving home. I thanked them for showing me so much care over the years. Once the letter was posted, I did feel a good deal easier. Settling in the hostel's routine was easy enough. I knew the place, the Staff and the Residents very well, through my visits to Jack over those past nine years. A few rumours also reached our ears. "Give it a couple of months – they'll soon be back," was one. We could only shrug in resignation at such opinions, for we ourselves could hardly be expected to make predictions. I often reflected on our physical vulnerability, realising that even a common cold could become a trial, and it was now winter time. I could not help feeling scared for the future, sometimes, as I lay quietly in my alien bed. Yet that indefinable something was urging us on – and I knew we wanted to go! During my three weeks at the hostel, my most frequent visitors where Mum and Gerard, and gradually they helped to unpack our belongings and take them over the flat. Larger items had already been transported by Alec, of delivered directly from furniture stores. We spent some exiting times getting the flat ready for occupation. With the central heating already switched on, there was a warm welcome whenever we decided to travel across in our wheelchairs. Mum would dust around, put some of our clothes away and generally make the place look nice. We would eat fish and chips at our own dining table, using our own crockery, imagining that we had always been there. The inevitable question was constantly being posed: "When will you move in, then?" If only we knew! But the stock answer was simply: "As soon as we can find enough helpers." Perhaps this was the worst time. Advertisements were entered in the local Press. Miss Barnes was interviewing a few applicants herself, before arranging for them to meet us. But very few were forthcoming, and we were feeling desperate. "Having come this far, surely it isn't all going to fail now?" Miss Barnes was supposed to have said. Nevertheless, she always remained calmly confident to us! Then she asked if we minded having an article published on the Women's Page of the local newspaper. We were ready to agree to anything, and a full-length feature appeared, entitled "Just a little help needed." Several more people came forward. Soon, it was agreed that an elderly couple could help us on five mornings a week, another women settled for two mornings, whilst a friend of mine and faithful Trevor shared the nights. The Lady Warden of the nearby Sheltered Housing Scheme was to help out with the mid-day visits and fill in at odd times, at least temporarily, until her full quota of residents had been reached. It seemed a shaky beginning, but we now felt a strong urge to be in the flat by Christmas. The place still smelled of fresh paint and looked unlived –in, and we desperately wanted to rectify that as soon as possible. We wanted nothing more than to get on with this new life for which we had now waited two-and-a-half years, so the moment had come for naming the moving-in date. I felt that Jack should make the choice. After all he had just staved off a serious attack of 'flu, and still had a nasty cough. Almost in defiance of this, he nominated Thursday, December 18th, 1969. Thus after tea that day the hostel's Superintendent made a short farewell speech and we left, escorted by Alec and Trevor. We were greeted indoors by an unexpected home-coming celebration, but somehow the impact was lost in our bewilderment, and all we could do was be gracious. Freda and Trevor stayed with us for two days and nights, to help us get acclimatised. After this, it was up to us.