The Welcome Women of Wirral
As seen through the eyes of Oavo — local window cleaner, biscuit taster, and proud Wirral people-watcher.

You can tell a lot about a town from its windows — and believe me, I’ve cleaned most of ’em. But nothing — I mean nothing — sparkles quite like the ones at the old Welcome House.

That’s where you’ll find them: LadyG, Salabim, and Sparky.
Three ladies. Three wonders.
No capes — just cardigans, wellies, and unshakable spirit.

Salabim’s the boss of begonias, queen of compost — the wisest of the trio. A trowel in one hand, a to-do list in the other. She doesn’t ask — she politely commands. Her voice could shift clouds, and her gardens bring whole streets back to life. That’s hands-on love — and it builds the Wirral belonging.

LadyG’s the calm in the chaos. Second in command, with honeyed words and soul-soothing wisdom. She remembers your story before you even tell it. Her hugs are famous, her advice golden, and the way she makes you feel seen — that’s the Wirral belonging in action.

And then there’s Sparky — the cheekiest and wildest. A walking toolkit, a dancing jukebox, and the best storyteller this side of the River Mersey. When Sparky’s around, everything feels possible… and a bit daft. And laughter, let me tell you, is part of the Wirral belonging.

Together, they run the Welcome House —
Not a charity. Not a club.
Just a miracle in a mug.

You come in with your shoulders up round your ears —
You leave with soup, a smile, and someone who genuinely cares if you’ve had your tea.

They help at schools, grow beauty in forgotten places, feed the hungry, and welcome everyone.
Young or old, local or new — it makes no difference. That’s the heart they carry.
No one’s a stranger for long.

Some say they’re modern suffragettes.
I say they’re better.
They don’t shout with banners — they speak with biscuits, boots, and boundless heart.

And here’s the truth:
This isn’t just a lovely tale.
This is real.

There are ladies like this in the Wirral — and what they’ve created is bigger than them.
It’s the Wirral belonging.
And you could find it.

Maybe it’s waiting for you —
At a welcome group near your street.

All it takes is a knock.
A brew.
A bit of courage.

And suddenly, you’re part of something that never lets go.

— Oavo