Property Ladder

Today

The value of properties in our area seems to follow mysterious rules which we are finding hard to grasp. A near derelict bungalow a couple of miles away is priced at £70K more than an immaculate bungalow in another village, merely, it would seem because the second bungalow has less land and is on a busy road. It's also clear that some places are priced the way they are because the owner has to realise a certain amount to clear debts or be able to buy a new place, with scant attention to reality.

In My Day

The difference in property prices from one place to another was starkly obvious to us back in 1980. The house at Rowan Avenue was so tiny and all we could afford. We couldn't see any way of climbing the property ladder given the crazy house prices in the south-east.

The best place to live, from the point of view of cost, (according to the Sunday supplements)was in Humberside; Scunthorpe to be exact. Simple! We gathered details of properties in and around the area and set off to view, taking Lizzie with us.

Aside from the fact that we had to spend one night in the car when we discovered that some friends with whom we hoped to stay had moved, we had a very interesting time.

We looked at properties being redeveloped from derelict cottages in New Holland which were already showing damp, despite the newness of the conversion. We looked at several houses in Scunthorpe, from the impossible to the scrubbed up and new.

One house we liked very much was a Victorian house in the village of Winterton, about twenty miles from Scunthorpe. It was a very good size, rather shabby and well within our budget. Winterton has a rather old-fashioned high street with signs of elegance and departed grandeur. The house had a delightful walled garden and our fantasies began to run riot. We left, full of plans and hope.

It was early February and we ignored the dreariness of the landscape, flat and featureless. We ignored the grey, murky damp weather. We ignored the clear evidence that the whole area was on the downward slide. The new Humber bridge had taken away New Holland's only reason for existence and there was dereliction, enlivened with distant views of cooling towers, visible on every side. We didn't know a soul and would have had to create an entire new social structure for ourselves and the girls. And did we want them growing up with Hull accents?

The real reason for the cheapness of property was staring at us in our faces and eventually we had to look fully back at it. Jobs. Where there's no work the property ladder goes in one direction only - down. The ambulance service didn't operate a transfer system and when Paul popped into Scunthorpe Ambulance Station they told him that they were up to full strength. Any hope I had of a transfer would depend on Paul working there.

So it was back to Sunny Eastbourne (it really is sunny and the brightness of the skies told their own story) and the much slower ascent up the stairway.

At least we don't have to worry about mortgages or jobs now and can please ourselves. Although I have vetoed the bungalow with the gorgeous acre of garden on the premise that Paul is unlikely ever to mow the grass or wield a pair of secateurs.