Getting there - 1

“Sod it - let’s just go!”

And with those words from Eve, uttered with a quiet determination on a sunny day in July, our fate was sealed.

We’d first had the idea of moving to the Isle of Wight in 2014. A cheery, optimistic estate agent had valued the house and made positive cooing noises about the likelihood of a sale. But after that, we sat down and waited for things to happen, which they didn’t. 

Relocating is hard; lots of things have to fall into place, and without those things, you’re stuck where you are. To make things fall into place you need good fortune, initiative and a little pluck; the truth was, we didn’t have the last two qualities. In retrospect we were half-hearted about the whole thing. We’d apply for the odd job on the Island, but nothing had come of it, or we’d be unable to attend the interview. We’d make excuses: the kids are the wrong age, it’d be too hard to get a job, we couldn’t afford to make the move. Those and other excuses betrayed a lack of scope, a lack of ambition, and an utter lack of, well, ‘balls’ really.

We’d talk about moving to Ventnor in retirement. Then we’d talk about moving to the Island pre-retirement, because those might be ‘our best years’. I’ve no idea what constitutes a person’s ‘best years’, but I suspect it’s always the years just ahead of you and never the years you're currently experiencing. We always think something is better around the corner - that the grass is always greener. 

We’d no idea about such concepts and cliches as ‘grabbing the bull by the horns’. We were so far from that that our bull didn’t even have horns. In fact we didn’t even have a bull.  In our Kentish village we were more likely to find a nettle to grasp than a bull to grab, but walked past all nettles without so much as a look in their direction. So if you want something to happen, you have to make it happen, and for 8 and a half years, we didn’t.

“What do you mean, let’s just go?” I asked. Eve had made this remark as though we were in the middle of a conversation on the subject. This is something I also do; you’re having an internal conversation with yourself and suddenly pick up the thread out loud..

“Let’s just go! Let’s not worry about jobs. Let’s not worry about anything.” Let’s be there by Christmas.”

“There are  alot of ‘let’s’ in that sentence.” I observed. “What about jobs?”

I’ve just said, let’s not worry about jobs.”

“But you worry about everything! You get anxious if the chairs aren’t in alphabetical order.”

“We’ve been fannying around for ages. I’m just saying we should stop fannying, give our notice to school and start making plans.”

Eve never uses the word ‘fanying’ so I knew she was serious. But we still had to make it happen. Really, it was just a change of mindset. Now the real work began. 

And so we started to believe in the White Queen’s ‘impossible things’. Many of the items on the ‘to do’ list are too mundane to mention; I might lose my already diminishing readership if I give you details of my phone call to our energy supplier regarding maintaining the Feed-in-Tarrif on our solar panels after moving. Essentially, there were four things that needed to be in place if we were to move which I started referring to as the four corner pieces of the jigsaw. I also started alluding to the move as a ‘project’, proudly showing Eve various spreadsheets on the feasibility of the thing and how much we’d have to earn. She’d feign interest as only a wife can when the husband gets all obsessed and ‘husbandy’ about something.

“That looks lovely, babe. Why are some things a different colour?”

“That’s conditional formatting - the cells turn red when you…….”

But she’d already, rightly, mentally moved on. And whenever I used the word ‘Project’ she’d sigh or roll her eyes.

The four pieces of the jigsaw were Eve and me getting some sort of employment, letting our house in Hadlow, out and renting a house in Ventnor; we’d made the decision that initially we wouldn’t sell our house in Kent. It seemed sensible to keep ownership of a house in the South East of England and would allow us more time to ‘suck it and see’. But finding somewhere to rent would prove to be the hardest of the four corner pieces; supply and demand renders it especially difficult to be at the front of the queue when something pops up on Rightmove, as we were to find. 

Another important jigsaw piece was finding a college for Freya to continue her studies. My 16-year old daughter had always wanted to move to Ventnor, telling anyone who would listen that she wanted to get married on Ventnor Beach and have the reception at the Met restaurant opposite. She’s a singer songwriter with a good number of tracks on Spotify and a growing local reputation, and we’d had great fun recording them in a local studio. The songs tended initially to be about former loves and upset that accrued from them. How many former loves can a 16-year old have! Judging by her songs, quite a lot. I’m delighted as her musical mentor, but in my traditional Dad role perhaps not quite as enthusiastic.  

The Isle of Wight college in Newport has a Music Department called Platform One; it’s half a mile from the college and although affiliated to it, seen as a college in its own right. As a priority we needed to ensure her education continued apace at Platform One.

In the same month that we made the absolute decision to move, July 2023,  we’d also booked a holiday in Ventnor, as we tended to do each summer. The predictability of this tended to cause internal eye rolling from Ewan and excitement from Freya:

“Again!”, he questioned us with tetchiness, looking up from the Marxist tome he was probably reading. “We went there last year! And the year before. And the year before that.”

“Yes but we do always go somewhere else as well,” we’d defend ourselves.

Ewan is incredibly logical and hard to argue with. And he’s right more often than not. But he dutifully packed his suitcase - the contents of which were seven books on politics, a large grey dressing gown that he enjoyed patrolling around the house in looking like Dracula, various technological devices and a few clothes as an afterthought.

The holiday turned into visits to schools and possible accommodation, and was the first vacation on which my suit accompanied me. In that week, we also arranged for Freya to have an audition with Dave Pontin, the legendary boss of Platform One. King Dave is known to every musician on the Island; he is entirely responsible for setting up the music provision there, and was incredibly helpful and positive about our situation. He was avuncular, but you knew he was the boss, having enough time to talk to you, but also leaving you in no doubt when the conversation was over.

“It’s quite wrong to think there are fewer opportunities here,” he informed us, his grey locks framing his head like a monarch in a picture. “We contribute to the Isle of Wight Festival and have students performing at venues all around the Island.

Platform One is situated unpromisingly down an industrial road, off the Medina Way - the only dual carriageway on the Island. We escorted Freya in and they took her away to listen to her perform. We could hear some of her song ‘Prince Charming’ filter through one of the practice rooms……

“You ain’t no Prince Charming, and I’m not talking ‘bout a diamond ring,

No white horse, no gentleman………”

We think this is her best song to date, and Dave and another lecturer seemed impressed murmuring words of approval and encouragement. The song is about unfulfilled expectations - hopefully not a metaphor for our move. 

This was a really positive step forward. There was no way we could or would have moved anywhere if the educational side of it for our darling daughter hadn’t worked out. In fact had the children been younger - say, 8 and 10, arguably we wouldn’t have moved at all. Rightly or wrongly, the schools on the Island don’t have an amazing reputation - something else for me to unpick.

So Freya was sorted. We’ve established that DT would continue his lifestyle much as before, which left Ewan, Eve and myself to go. Eve and I would continue to apply for jobs, whilst we’d try to find volunteering opportunities for Ewan. At present he was helping in his former primary school, and we began trying to find similar opportunities in Ventnor. This was less pressing and we started focusing on ourselves.

The real ‘game changer’ was registering with an agency on the Island - or should I say ‘the’ agency. Run by the wonderfully patient Nigel, Academics is a teaching agency, and joining it gave us the confidence to make the move without the security of jobs to go to. 

But the paperwork! If you’re seeking employment in any aspect of the Education sector, be prepared to have to submit just about every piece of paper or document you’re ever owned. Proof of this, proof of that, a sample of your ear wax, what your blood group is, why there’s a gap of three seconds on your CV, your Blue Peter badge, an empty tomato ketchup bottle you threw away in 1994 which you have to write to Heinz to try and retrieve. And so on! Nigel was patient with our continued errors, leaving us emails or voicemails detailing things we’d failed to do.

“Sorry Francis - it’s Nigel again. Unfortunately your Heterosexual Certificate is out of date. Could you send me a fresh one?”

He reminded me of my friend Ethan, who is so English he finds it irksome to ask anything of anyone, being worried it might be inconvenient to them.  He once left a message on my answer machine demonstrating this perfectly.

“Hi Francis, Ethan here. I just wondered if you’d be able to come to a rehearsal tomorrow morning - it’s a bit short notice and you’re probably busy, so don’t worry if you can’t. In fact don’t worry - forget it - I  shouldn’t have asked. Sorry! Ok see you soon. Bye!”

Eventually we got things right with Nigel and Academics, and during our holiday had invitations to visit a couple of schools where we potentially had some supply teaching lined up.

In addition, we made an appointment with the Head of the Island Free School. This is at the top of Ventnor in Lowtherville, and at least would be convenient. 

On the appointed day, I got up and popped my suit on. I then realised my belt was still residing on a hook in my wardrobe in Hadlow, enjoying a well deserved break from its owner’s waist. This particular pair of trousers were a tad too wide for me, and without a belt were in danger of - well, not staying around my person. In terms of first impressions, it’s generally a good thing if your trousers don’t fall down when you’re meeting someone for the first time. In fact in an ideal world they shouldn’t fall down at any time. I was keen that the normal protocol of not showing your boxer shorts should be adhered to, and went into solution mode.

“Eve - there’s a charity shop along from Boots. I’m going to drop you there. Run in and buy a belt. Any kind.”

She exited the shop with something that was a little ornate for my taste. Thinking my troubles were over, I put the belt on. 

“Ah!”

“What?”

“There aren’t enough holes. My trousers will still fall down.”

At this point, things weren’t helped by my wife getting the giggles.

“Stay there and move the car if a traffic warden comes,” I ordered, frowning at her mirth.

Clutching my trousers in one hand to stop them falling down, and the belt in the other, I ran along the street in search of a shop that might have a knife or a screwdriver. A launderette came into view. Nope! Then an Ice Cream Parlour. Yes! I ran in.

“Excuse me - can I borrow a knife to make a hole in my belt?”

“Er, yes - in a tub or a cone?”

She didn’t really say that, but the problem was resolved, and we were able to attend our appointment without my trousers falling down. We didn’t end up working there, but it was interesting to see another Island school, and I got a new belt out of it.

With the promise of supply work for Eve and myself, a guarantee of a place for Freya at Platform One, and one or two things we’d put in place for Ewan, we were getting there.

Now for the vexing question of accommodation.