During my first year at Drama School - still excited at the novelty of living away from home – I realised that my original digs, which I shared at the time with my sister, were too far away from the school itself. Each morning I had to rise early to take a train and then two tubes before reaching my destination. Breakfast was invariably chocolate and crisps from a garage by the tube station. Following a day of Strindberg, singing and silliness, and possibly a post-performing-pint, I would have to reverse the journey. I’d arrive back late at night and, if my sister had taken pity on me, reheat some dinner or else revert to my staple of the time – toast and mayonnaise! Finally I’d fall into bed only to be up six hours later to do it all again.
Therefore, myself and three fellow students, also on the look out for better accommodation, searched around for a house to share. Almost the first place we saw was a small, three bedroom, 1930's semi. She was old and quaint, but solid and homely; hence her name. My house-mates took the bedrooms while I had the front ground floor reception room - complete with sideboard, tiled fireplace and electric fire. The mattress on the bed just had one big dip in the middle and stood on three legs and a biscuit tin, but I never slept better. I can remember cosily sitting in that room of a wet afternoon reading ‘The Wasp Factory’ and listening to ‘Sinead O’Connor’ explain that nothing compared to you. Best of all I could get up at a normal time, return home easily and consume real meals (although the toast and mayo was still a must!).
Although Maude was still a distance from the school she was at least closer to the nearest town where the majority of the student body lived. Almost as soon as we moved in we inevitably had a party. Whether it was a birthday or just a bash I can't remember, but everyone was invited. A good time was had by all and for such a small space the back sitting room and small kitchen managed to fit in an extraordinary amount of people. For all it’s TARDIS like qualities, however, it was Maude's homely nature that everyone liked and without even trying to she quickly became the hub for our world.
Not a day seemed to pass without someone dropping by and we soon became the place to visit for parties, movie nights, play rehearsals and script writing sessions (for projects that never quite took off). With a full house of friends the cry of “Bundle!!” would often be heard. This signal would bring ever person in Maude running to the living room, there to pile as many as possible onto the sofa. It did occasionally result in injury (and once even merited a trip to casualty for a neck brace) but never ceased to entertain. My own twentieth birthday was observed at Maude with a toga party where we were attired in costumes made from Maude’s own curtains (‘Sound of Music’ meets ‘Animal House’!).
As well as parties the other major get-together were Sunday lunches. The four Maudelins (as we house-mates called ourselves) along with some of our friends would gather on a Sunday morning (possibly recovering from the night before) and start to prepare the feast. Whilst everyone else ploughed in with meat and two veg I would cook up a pan of something for myself, being the only vegetarian in the mix. My signature dishes at the time being either a 'vat-o-chilli' or a 'vat-o-curry' (the main difference being that one had chilli power and kidney beans and the other curry powder and chickpeas). A large pan of either could see me through several days, sitting on the hob awaiting a reheatin’ n’ eatin’! Lunch consumed we would retire to the living room to blissfully slob out with the TV.
These were probably the halcyon days, but sadly such times cannot go on forever. During my second year I was moved to the school’s sister location in Yorkshire, so others moved in to Maude for a while (one of them My Wife (Then Girlfriend (prior to being My Girlfriend)). Then, on my return from ‘Up North’, I discovered to my dismay that Maude was no longer being rented out. It was the end of a short but idyllic era.
During the remaining time at the school I lived in several other properties with my friends. There were still parties, meals and the rest but it was never the same again. Some houses came close (Albert and Torwood for example) but none quite matched the magic that’d been Maude.
A few years ago my wife and I were reminiscing about the good old, Maude old days - the parties, the people, but the mention of food, and in particular my chilli, brought a guilty expression to her face. Eventually she confessed. Once she and one of my house-mates had accidently spilt the contents of my pan onto the kitchen floor. However, obviously not wanting me to miss out on a meal, they had scooped the lot back up and left it for me to consume later in blissful ignorance! Bless them!
So I can truly say that not only does a little piece of Maude live on in my heart but quite possibly my stomach as well...
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