(Illustration: Bunty, my rabbit; our new aunties and uncles)

I’ve lived in seven houses in all, that I’ve called home, and all of them have been in Wallsend, a town on the eastern part of the Roman Wall! (Roman name; Segedunum: meaning Strong Fort) It is said that those who are brought up in this neck of the woods never stray far from home base. 

In 1961, those responsible for the new Tyne Tunnel needed the space that our house and the adjoining shops occupied, and in due course, we received a letter, (just like nana and granda did in chapter eight) inviting us to view alternative accommodation: - a council house, in Melrose Gardens, High Howdon. This was to become home number two.

We were all so excited, especially my mam. We discovered that this house had a real bathroom upstairs, with a plumbed in bath, toilet and wash basin! Luxury!

It also had a huge through lounge/dining room, and a large kitchen. It even had two gardens, one at the front, and one at the back. There was a massive field in the front of the house where we would be able to play safely. This was well before a new road ran right across it towards the Tyne Tunnel.

Of course, we wanted the house!

On our first viewing, my mother peeped through the letter box, even before the new key was placed in the lock, proclaiming, “Well that gaudy yellow paint is coming off the staircase, for a start!”

It was a good home. We soon discovered we had very friendly neighbours, who soon became our new ‘aunties and uncles’, and they had children my age and younger!

Here in the illustration, you can see ‘Uncles Tommy, George, and John, and on the right Aunties Joan, Evelyn, and Alma.

All of a sudden I had a whole new set of friends to play with:- Lynne, Pam, Robert, another Lynn, Anita and Carole.; further down the road were Brenda and another Carole. Joan didn't play out as much as I did, she was probably doing homework, but I was in my element! 

We had wonderful parties at New Year, going from one house to the next, during the course of the evening.

I never forgot our old home though, in Willington Quay, which was being demolished. I had a vivid dream about it one night, where I knocked at its green door, and no-one answered, so I pushed it and it creaked open slowly. I went along into the hallway, but no-one lived there anymore; it was dark inside, the floors were rotten, and my foot went through one of the boards. I was moving in a weird slow motion, desperately searching for some sign of life, but there was no-one there. I had no home to go to, and I was all alone!

And so I woke up from my first ever nightmare!

I bought my first pet rabbit, which I kept in a hutch that my dad had made for it, but I was responsible for cleaning feeding it, and cleaning its hutch out.

No prizes for guessing its name.

I called him Bunty, the name of my favourite comic. ‘He’, didn’t seem to mind having a girly name.

I house trained him using my ‘stern voice’, and also treats, and I put down a large plastic sheet over the carpet, when I brought him into the house. After a couple of days, he left no droppings inside our home; and I eventually taught him to respond to me, just like a puppy would.

My new friends would hide him on the field outside, in grass that was fairly long, and he never attempted to run away; and I would shout ‘Bunty’ and he would rear up on his back legs and look around for me. No kidding, I’m serious!

I was asked to look after the rabbit of the girl next door once, while she and her family went away on holiday. Her rabbit was a female, a doe, and she didn’t like Bunty at all, she ran away from his advances, when I allowed them to get to know each other on our back lawn!

Oh dear, did I really sanction that?

One day when I went to put food in her hutch, she must have smelled Bunty’s scent on me, and she leapt at my hand and plunged her teeth into it. I pulled my hand away quickly, but she clung on tightly, with her teeth and thus, was dragged out of her hutch. I still have the scar on my hand to prove it. My mam had to come out and catch her before she ran off.

Another doe lived in a hutch, on the other side of our house. Turns out she was something of a monster too. Robert, the boy who owned her said that she had eaten all of her babies recently! Yuk!

It’s only now that I’m wondering who the father of those babies was? Had we allowed Bunty to play games with her too?

Some years later Bunty died, and I was heart-broken, and my dad buried him on the field outside.

Not long afterwards, two weeks to be precise., I was half-way through our evening meal, when I asked the question, “What kind of meat is this mam, we haven’t had this before?”

She replied, “It’s rabbit.”

I spat out the meat I was chewing, and refused to eat anymore!

How insensitive was that, to buy pet meat for us to eat so soon after my bereavement?

Here’s a light hearted poem that I wrote many years later:

An Ode to Bunty (in traditional ‘Geordie’ dialect)

THIS POEM MAY CAUSE SOME DISTRESS TO SOME READERS!

A’ve nee pet te look afta noo that poor Bunty’s dead,

But me ma ses “Nivvor mind wor kid, we’ll buy ye a hamsta instead!”

But aa divvent want nee hamster! Nee other pet’ll dee,

An’ aa divvent want nee other rabbit, either

To dandle on me knee.

Aa kept ‘im in the outhouse, and aa fed with warm bran,

And leaves from the pittleebed, from the garden at me gran’s

Whenever aa browt ‘im in the house,‘ed nivvor mek a mess

What that blowd bunny meant to me,

You’ll nivvor ever guess

A’d tek ‘im out with the others kids, and they’d hide’m on the field,

An cover ‘m up with grass, an me own eyes aa would shield,

“An then they’d yell, “Reet find’m,” and a’d shoot “Bunty!” right out loud,

An up e’d rise with ears up high,

It made me very proud!

An’ now a’am broken-hearted; two weeks ago ‘ee died,

We aal buried’m with ceremony in a deep dark hole outside.

And later for me tea, me ma said “Eat this up and dry yer eyes!

An aa still remember ter this day,

That the meal was rabbit pie!

Well aa just cudn’t earrit, and aa thowt as aa raised me cup,

“She’s pur’m in some pastry! She’s gone and dug’m up!”

“Divvent be daft man, that’s not Bunty, aa bowt rabbit at the shops,

An it cost a pretty penny,

So get it across ya chops!”

An aa’ still remember even now, I nivvor et the pie,

AA’ divvent na’ where aa’ purrit, aa may’ve towld some lies,

But there was nee way she could make us, and nothing passed me lips,

An’ later on aa sneaked to the shops,

and got meself some chips.

A’av ne pet te look after noo that poor Bunty’s dead,

Me mother is a cannibal, she’s not reet in the head,

An aa divvent want nee hamsta, te dandle on me knee,

An aa’ll nivvor train another............

Nee other pet’ll dee!

RIP Bunty Appleby.