Housing

The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons.

Part One is 'Brigit'; Part Two is 'Brigit Too'; Part Three is 'Brigit's Babies'; Part Four is 'Christmas Debt'; Part Five is 'Women's Refuge'.

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Introduction to Part Six.

I had met Brigit the Irish earth goddess. She had used me subtly first to change the lives of many oppressed and neglected women (part one) in our community and then with Deirdre to stop a refuse tip despoiling the countryside (part two). She had rewarded me both times and had brought Deirdre to me. Now we both worshipped Brigit frequently. 'Worshipping Brigit' can best be done with a man's tongue between a woman's legs. Brigit and Deirdre had made me suffer by teasing me about my inability to satisfy either of them. I had no hope of ever satisfying Brigit: no man could however fit and strong. When Brigit introduced me to Deirdre I was far from fit. A year later, after intensive training from both of them, I had become a new man sometimes capable of satisfying Deirdre - for a few hours.

Then I married Deirdre, with Brigit as bridesmaid or incognito goddess of honour, and we had a baby Brigit. The goddess Brigit, Deirdre and I helped the local midwives to save the maternity unit and encourage home births (part three). We had a baby Brigit, named after the goddess. We with Bronwen, previously nicknamed Brigit had started to solve the problem of debt for poorer women (part four) and had acquired Anna as a helper for our daughter Brigit usually called Biddie. We had converted an old fort into a protected refuge for abused women (part five).

HOUSING

The four of us, Deirdre, me, Bronwen and Anna were sitting around with a coffee discussing our failures with the Debt scheme (part four). Our daughter Biddie was upstairs, asleep. There were still some people using the loan sharks who might threaten violence if the people went to a more reasonable cash supplier. I promised to pay for some more leaflets to distribute, but word of mouth was the most effective way to convince people there were better ways.

We were feeling discouraged because we just didn't know how any people had debt problems. They tended to be secretive about it. We thought we might have helped about forty per cent but we had no real means of finding out just what proportion we had helped. It would take longer than we had expected -- two years? Three? Five?

Just then the Goddess Brigit walked into the room carrying a tray with four mugs of coffee. My heart sank. Brigit's appearance usually means more work for me and I was feeling my age.

"What do you want now, Brigit?" I growled.

Brigit put the tray down, walked over to me and kissed me on the forehead. Deirdre grabbed my hand. She knows that Brigit's appearance in the form of the sister my first wife never had affects me. I am instantly erect but also sad because I am reminded of the love I had lost. But Deirdre's hand was reminding me, that although my first wife is dead, I have a wife who loves me and will ensure that I am well fucked tonight.

"First, Raymond, I want you all to drink my special coffee. I think you need it."

We did. It was made with Brigit's breast milk and revives us as nothing else can. But even after the coffee I was still worried. I'm not getting younger and doing things for Brigit is often hard and has few rewards.

"Deirdre," Brigit said, "Raymond needs a hug."

Deirdre straddled me and briefly pulled my head into her cleavage. I was surprised that Bronwen and Anna moved beside me and hugged me too, Brigit's hand stroked my head.

"See, Raymond? Four women love you."

"Maybe, Brigit. But I am feeling old and tired, even after your coffee, and worried that you want something from me. Whether I can? I'm no longer sure. Each project for you is a real strain and..."

I might have continued but Deirdre's lips silenced me.

"You're not alone, Raymond." Bronwen said. "You have the three of us and many more who will help."

"But Brigit needs me too. Otherwise she would ask you, not me."

Brigit looked sad. It doesn't suit her.

"I'm sorry, Raymond, but you are right. There are some things only you can do and I think this will be one of them. Yes, you will have help, but without you? They'd fail."

"OK, Brigit. I''ll listen. But whether I can? I'm not sure. What is it this time?

"You know the government is suggesting that community groups can force councils to sell them unused land?"

"Yes, but our local council hasn't got any, Brigit."

"Yes, they have. There's Churchill Gardens and the slag heap behind."

"Churchill Gardens? Where they put prefabs after the war but the river flooded them eight feet deep in 1953 so they were evacuated and demolished? That land flooded again in 2000 and 2010."

"It might not flood again. The Environment Agency has installed a flood prevention scheme up river but..."

"But?"

"There is a way to stop that land from ever flooding."

"How, Brigit?"

If the slag head was moved to Churchill gardens and spread over it about ten feet deep..."

"But the river would wash that away..."

"You didn't let me finish. About five miles away they are going to build a high speed rail line., They need a tunnel, and they have to get rid of the rock. The tunnel will be close to the canal that runs into the river, so..."

"We could move rock to the edge of Churchill Gardens to stop the slag heap spoil eroding?"

"Yes."

"But you are asking me to move thousands of tons from the slag heap and thousands of tons from the tunnel?"

"Yes, Raymond."

"OK, assuming that is possible and feasible? Why?"

"Bronwen will tell you there is a severe shortage of social housing. Many of the houses on the council estates have adult children who can't move out because they can't afford to rent privately and the council house waiting list is decades long. But if...?

"You want housing on Churchill Gardens? But If all the slag heap and tunnel rock is moved, it will take decades to settle before houses could be put on it. I'm too old, Brigit. I don't have decades..."

"Neither can the people on the housing list wait that long, Raymond. But there is a way."

"There is?"

"Yes. There is a company that makes unit housing out of old shipping containers., Their basic one for a single person or a couple is one container and costs twenty thousand pounds on site connected to services. They can have two or three containers side by side on the old concrete slabs for the prefabs, and could go upwards to a maximum of six containers."

"But..."

"If each container sits on an empty scrap one, and they are designed to stack, the house would have a firm foundation that would be unaffected by any sinking of the slag. If the driveway was above another old container? The gardens might sink but could be topped up with soil..."

As improved Churchill Gardens could have fifty houses that could be easily expanded from one -bedroom to four or five bedroom houses, or even more if staked. Three containers could sit side by side on each prefab slab.,

Of course it took far longer than that to discuss the details. We had more of Brigit's special coffee before the meeting broke up late that evening.

But in bed Deirdre rode me for what seemed like a very long time. When I finally went to sleep I knew Deirdre had shown her love for me as best she could. I felt better in the morning but still daunted by the scale of the task Brigit wanted done. I arranged to meet several council officers and councillors during the week. They were startled at first but by the weekend I had outline agreement, not as a community project, but as a council housing department project supported by community effort.

On Saturday morning after breakfast, Deirdre insisted I worshipped Brigit, on my knees with my head between her legs and covered by her skirt. Anna had taken Biddie to a play park so she wasn't disturbed by Deirdre's loud squeals of enjoyment I was resting my head on Deirdre's skirted lap when Brigit appeared. Within second we three were naked in bed. My lips were under Brigit's sex as Deirdre engulfed my erection. I am sure Brigit used some of her magic because it was at least half an hour before I came into Deirdre and went back to sleep with my head cradled against Brigit's breasts.

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Six months later progress was being made. I had an old residential caravan as a site office. I spent more time in there than at my own work. Sometimes I had to run my company on-line but my secretary Alice was a great help. She only referred important decisions to me, taking the simple ones by herself. Anna was looking after Biddie more than she had so that Deirdre could spend more time helping me. Bronwen also spent many hours a week in my site office. Both of them acted as my junior managers, leaving me free to deal with the really awkward decisions. But what possibly helped me most was that Deirdre and Bronwen kept me supplied with coffee and frequent hugs. Bronwen was no longer scared of me, and she showed her love by hugging me often.

As I had expected, I found Brigit's latest project for me very tiring. Often I felt old, worn out and discouraged. Whenever I felt like that, Deirdre dragged ne into one of the residential home's bedrooms and insisted I worship Brigit. Sometimes I was so tired that all I could do was get on my knees, put my head under Deirdre's skirt and extend my tongue before just resting with my face against Deirdre's panties or bare sex. But that was enough. Brigit would appear with a mug of her special coffee, or perhaps even a breast to suckle. Both revived me enough for yet another day. At night Deirdre cradled me against her breast as I went to sleep. I knew I was loved and what I was doing was appreciated even if it was a considerable strain.

The rock from the tunnel was being moved by horse-drawn canal barges and six were working at any time. When they reached the edge of Churchill Gardens they were unloaded by JCB. I had to arrange for a water supply, sewage to take toilet waste, hay and loose boxes for the horses. There were twenty narrow boats or towed buttys each moving between thirty and forty tons of rock on each trip.

The narrow boats caused me more problems, Next door to Churchill Gardens and the other side of the river were water meadows owned by the farmer whose grandfather had sold the land for Churchill Gardens to the Council in 1945. He decided that it would be a good idea to create a Marina for the narrow boats. I had to help him get planning permission and the spoil was added to Churchill Gardens. When finished, about the time the first houses were occupied, the Marina could hold fifty narrowboats and it was a short walk along the towpath to the town centre.

JCBs were also hard at work on the slag heap, filling narrow gauge trucks that were taken down to Churchill Gardens by a cable and then distributed via a network of narrow gauge tracks. At first we had people doing community support as part of their sentences but we had also involved the Boy Scouts, the Girl Guides, the gardening clubs etc. Those doing court ordered community support were actually enjoying themselves, learning how to operate JCBs and play with trains. Very few of them were missing or even late for work. They could see they were doing something worthwhile and learning new skills. Working alongside other community volunteers they also felt part of the community, not outcasts.

But I was feeling the strain, as I thought I would. Deirdre made sure that I knew I was loved, making love to me most nights and at the weekends, worshipping Brigit usually summoned her who would make me a mug of her special coffee. I might spend hours sucking her milk straight from her breast. After each session of that, I felt that what I was doing was worthwhile, even if the project seemed endless and problem solving took too much of the time when I should be running my own business.

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A year after Brigit first asked me, a quarter of the site was filled to the level of the top of the scrap shipping containers and the first houses could be put on site and connected to the services. All the services -- water; sewage; electricity; gas; and fibre broadband were installed with flexible pipework so they wouldn't be affected by the settlement of the fill. Around each house we put at least a foot deep of top soil for the gardens, higher at first than the level should be to allow for settlement.

The roads on the estate were made of rammed and rolled rock from the tunnel excavation before a road surface was added. We hoped they wouldn't settle and crack.

The council officers and councillors had been worried that because the houses were so cheap they could easily be lost to the council through Buy out scheme. I had got around that by leasing the houses from the builders so that the council didn't own them and therefore couldn't sell them.

Fifteen months from Brigit's request, the first couple moved in. In one sense it seemed a very long time of hard work for me; in other respects it was incredibly short. Before the end of two years, every plot had a house on it and a family living there.

The company who converted the shipping containers had been using Churchill Gardens as a marketing opportunity and many councils from all over the UK had visited to see the possibilities. They company built six more similar sized estates over the next two years but none were built on land previously liable to be flooded. The project they were proudest of was a former airfield. Six months after getting planning permission, two hundred houses were occupied.

Now that the slag heap had been removed, once the ground settled, fifty more container houses could be sited there, but that would not need my involvement. The house supplier and the council could do that by themselves.

I organised an event to celebrate the last house on Churchill Gardens being occupied. A local public house produced a barbecue in their gardens for me. The council officer, the councillors, the barge owners; the community volunteers, those who had been ordered to do community service -- all were there and relieved that the project had been completed successfully. So was I but I was shattered, I went to sleep that night in Deirdre's arms but woke up with a mouth full of Brigit's breast.

"Thank you, Raymond," Brigit said. "I knew you could do it when no one else could. Now go back to sleep..." I did. I woke to the smell of a Deirdre-cooked full English breakfast.

I felt that I had actually done something for our town but there is always the nagging doubt that Brigit will be back with another impossible task...