Moving to London

In February 1971 I once again packed my bags and moved to London. I was very excited. My boyfriend Chris had secured a flat in Fulham at his brothers house and I had found work as a residential social worker in Wandsworth South London. All seemed good.I loved London and was looking forward to exploring the sights and all that the city had to offer.
My new workplace was much more structured than previous placements and housed approximately fifteen  children from the ages of ten years to fifteen. Unlike previous placements the children called the staff by our first names and during the first week I was expected to read the children's files and make myself familiar with the reasons for their admissions to the home. Many of the children we in the care of the local authority because their parents were unable to control them whilst others had been removed because of neglect and physical abuse. We had a large staff group at the home which included cleaners and cooks. Each child was allocated a care worker whose role was to meet with the child weekly to discuss any problems and also to communicate with the child's social worker. We were required to keep records of the child's behaviour which would be discussed at child care reviews. The home welcomed visits from the children's parents and where possible each child would have some form of contact with their family. For the first time in my career I actually felt like a professional rather than a cleaner and cook. Unlike my other work placements I did not live in the home and I was expected to work a nine our day.
As mentioned previously Chris had found a flat in his brothers house, it was reasonable having a sitting room, bedroom, kitchen and bathroom. Chris worked similar hours to myself so during our time off we would often go into central London enjoying the parks, sights and night life. Everything seemed wonderful and I was pleased that I had moved to London I was in love and had a great job, what could be better.