A sentence in Exposure, the latest Helen Dunmore novel, struck a chord. "Open what looks like a cupboard door, and there's a narrow flight of stairs which twists round on itself as it rises steeply to a landing". And again later "The stairs are steep and narrow. Servant's stairs".
When I was in my late teens, access to my bedroom at 49 London Road in Braintree was by such a "cupboard" door, this time from the dining room. The house was long and narrow. A front room then a hall then the living room leading onto our dining room and then the kitchen. There were three bedrooms upstairs and a box room. I could have shared a room with John but coveted my own space and ended up in this tiny box room at the back.
Yes, the stairs to my room were extremely steep, narrow and dark, but nobody but me used them, I guess in years gone by it could have been a maid's room? There was just room for a bed and a small wardrobe. I think my record player went on the floor. I was sixteen before I had this, my own private space. The front room was big and hardly ever used. But before I left home, I think I remember taking my record player in there, especially that last summer holiday.
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