Weve sold you the house. We have the right to stay a week longer, said the owners.
Back in 1975, we left the countryside for the city. My family bought a house on the edge of town and found ourselves quite unprepared for what came next
In those days, country folk always looked after one another, and my parents were no different.
So when the previous owners asked if they might stay on for a couple of weeks while sorting out last bits, my parents, true to their rural nature, kindly agreed.
These people, however, had a remarkably great, ill-tempered dog. We certainly hadnt wanted him to stay, as the beast would never listen to any of us. Even now I remember that brute of a dog.
A week drifted by, then two, then three, yet the previous owners still lingered about in our home, lazing in until supper, seldom venturing out, and showing no sign at all that they intended to leave. What was worse, they carried on as if they still owned the placemost of all, the old matron of the family.
My parents reminded them again and again of the arrangement, but somehow their moving out was endlessly postponed.
They would let their dog roam free without a care. Not only did the creature soil our garden, but we were genuinely afraid to set foot outside, for the dog was liable to attack anyone. My parents repeatedly asked them to keep it restrained. Yet every morning, the instant my father had left for work, and my brother and sister had set off for school, the beast was loose and prowling the garden.
In the end, it was the very dog that helped my father rid us of these shameless people.
One afternoon my sisterher name was Daisycame home from school. She opened the garden gate without thinking, and the great black brute bowled her straight over. By some stroke of luck, she escaped with nothing worse than a torn coat. The dog was soon caught and chained up, but instead of apologising, they blamed Daisy for coming home too early.
That evening, it all came to a head. My fatherMr. Henry Carterarrived home, and before hed even removed his coat, dragged the old woman, still in her day dress, straight out onto the street. The daughter and her husband soon followed, dashing out behind her. Their meagre belongings were launched over the fence, landing in the mud and puddles outside.
In their fury, they tried to set their dog on my father, but seeing this chaos, the dog simply tucked its tail between its legs and cowered in its kennel, refusing to stir or leave. Within an hour, all their possessions littered the pathway, the gate was firmly locked, and their fearsome dog now sat outside the fence, resigned to leave with its true owners.
