Leaving England for new pastures

Finding myself redundant at the age of 56 was a shock to the system, but also a wake-up call. I had a dream job doing something I really enjoyed, and appeared to be very good at (I was not aware of any negative reviews or feelings towards me), and had, by all accounts, made a really good contribution to the organisation I was working for – despite, in the early days, working with too few staff and limited resources. Things had improved, and just before the end I had been involved in the recruitment of some excellent new staff members, but maybe this was the problem – I was no longer as indispensable as there were others, equally capable (or maybe even better equipped) who could carry on?

Whatever the reasons behind it we had an operations review, and my role was downgraded (in status and salary) to a level I could no longer sustain, so I was offered redundancy. My original “package” had included free accommodation as well as a reasonable salary (though if you consider the unpaid additional hours I actually put in, which in the early days were absolutely essential, the pay was not quite so attractive), so at 56 I was out of work, out of somewhere to live, and, to some extent, out of hope! I was devastated, to put it mildly, as there had been no real consultation process, and I kept being presented with a fait accompli, take it or leave it scenario – the people I had devoted 10 years to were suddenly treating me like the enemy, making no attempt to discuss things with me, or negotiate a better solution. I had no-one to turn to for advice or support, and felt totally isolated and vulnerable. Accepting redundancy was the only way out for me, and though I had (and still have) tremendous support within the organisation I cannot help feeling that I was the victim of a witch hunt, with one or more people feeling that my face no longer fit the image they wanted to portray – but I am still bitter that they did not have the decency to talk to me about it first. I would have done anything for the organisation, as it was, and still is, that important to me – but none of the decision-making individuals considered approaching me to voice any concerns, or see if there was any way to resolve the (to me unknown at the time) problem.

But I digress a bit, and cannot say too much about the matter (maybe I have said too much already, but have been careful to withhold names!), as this was a wake-up call. I had assumed that I might finish my working days there, so was looking to spend 9 years finalising my retirement plans. Finding somewhere to live was always going to be a problem with house prices in the UK already at ridiculous levels, so I had actually already been considering buying a canal boat and living on  the water – having visited two boat shows (in my ’74 VW Campervan) and spoken to some dealers and owners. My “plan” was to buy soon and let it out until I was ready to retire, as there were several companies that managed this sort of deal, taking out a mortgage while I was still working. As things worked out it was fortuitous I didn't!

Suddenly my plans were in total disarray – no job, no home (part of my redundancy deal allowed me to remain in the house I was in for 6 months, so that was a huge bonus and relief), no income and 56 years of age – the omens were not good.

I decided that the first thing I needed to do was take a holiday away from it all, so visited my nephew in Brazil – partly because I hadn't seen him in years, but also to consider Brazil as a possible new home. I spoke the language (having learnt it as a child in Africa) so it held no great fears, and knew, from my nephew, that the cost of living was very reasonable, and there were opportunities for foreigners (gringos). While planning the trip, and after I got home I still registered with agencies and applied for jobs, but as I needed to find accommodation as well my options were limited, as I had to look in areas where I knew I could also afford to rent, unless I could find something that included housing (I also considered jobs with the National Trust and campsites, as these often had some kind of accommodation thrown in).

The trip to Brazil was a great success – housing was very cheap there, and the cost of living a fraction of the UK, but it was very difficult for foreign nationals to get work there! Brazil was reciprocating with the countries that made it hard for Brazilians to immigrate and permanent residence requirements very hard to fulfil. So I returned to England to consider my options and to keep looking for work.

Upon my return I threw myself into job-hunting, but it is a thankless task – many companies simply do not bother responding, or even acknowledging receipt of an application, and many more were simply looking for younger staff (age discrimination laws? Who cares about that?). I ended up taking in a couple of temporary jobs (at the same time) just to get some money coming in, but my thoughts kept wandering back to Brazil and wondering how I could live out there. I recalled that one of the guest houses I stayed in had a small charity attached and the seeds of an idea started forming. I had found out that since I was over 55 I could cash in my personal pensions and buy a small annuity, certainly not enough to live on in the UK, but enough for Brazil- so I contacted the charity and offered my services for 2 years (the longest volunteer visa the Brazilian Consulate would issue). Initially I continued looking for UK work, but as the time to leave my free housing approached I simply concentrated on getting ready for the move to Brazil.

Scenery close to where I now live

The visa paperwork was taking time so in the end I went out to Brazil as a tourist at the end of 2009, bought a house (it made more sense than renting for the duration of my voluntary stint), and started my new life. With no heating bills to pay, no mortgage (the house cost me less than a single garage would cost back “home”), ridiculously cheap council taxation, and cheap fresh produce, I am living here for around 20% of what it would cost in England. The decision to leave, in the end, was a no-brainer!