He Loves Me He Loves Me Not

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

With Sarah’s words still weighing heavily on my mind, I reflected on my teenage years. Growing up here in Frankley, a small town on the Welsh Borders, I began to imagine that I would never escape. I would live here for the rest of my life, just as my family had done and their families before. I was born shortly after the war ended, the country was trying to rebuild a better future. It was at the time when cattle were still being herded through the streets. One of the town’s doctors rode in a horse-drawn carriage to get to his patients. Communication was mainly by letter and I remember having to use a telephone box at the end of the road to make a phone call. Transport was very different in those days. There were few cars on the roads and most people travelled on the bus or trains (and those were smelly steam trains, not electric). I rode a bicycle or walked everywhere. Very few people in our street owned a television and I remember sitting with my father, of an evening, listening to a radio programme called ‘Journey into Space’. Little did we know then, that in years to come, Americans would, indeed, land on the moon! The highlight of my otherwise drab life was reading comics called ‘The Beano and The Dandy’, but soon that would all change. Our town would become a brighter place.

Rumours had been circulating around town that the nearby RAF station was to become the training establishment for boy-entrants. The rumour soon became a reality. “As many as fifteen hundred,” I heard somebody say. How would our small-town cope with so many boys? Adults spoke over garden fences, often in whispers, with their hands over their mouths. This made it all the more intriguing. “They can only bring trouble,” I’d overheard one neighbour comment. Fights had apparently broken out between the RAF boys and local ones. They were upsetting everyone it seemed. Thinking back, my parents must have been terrified. It was one thing to talk to local boys, but RAF boys – that was quite a different matter! I was the youngest of three children and the only daughter. My father, in particular, was fiercely protective. With all the testosterone flying around in the town, what were my parents to do?

Our school days had ended and Sarah and I had both been accepted as apprentices in Julio’s; the new ladies’ hairdressers. With four weeks before we were due to begin, however, we decided to make the most of our freedom. It was a Saturday and we could hardly wait to make the twenty-minute walk into town. Both she and I had been banned from speaking to the RAF boys and given lectures before we left home. This wasn’t going to stop us from looking though! We were both fifteen and thought we knew everything there was to know about the opposite s*x.

We had set off, at a pace, wearing identical clothes. If Sarah had something new, I would copy it. Even though my parents had little money to spare, they generally gave in to my pleas. We looked and felt like twins, striding through the streets with our fair hair, white blouses, and newly-acquired, colourful, pink, polka-dot skirts. With my new skirt swishing from side to side as I walked, I remember the excitement when we reached the town centre. We headed for the record shop and each bought the same record – ‘Runaway’ by Del Shannon. Clutching our paper bags, containing the small vinyl discs, we made our way to one of the many coffee bars that were springing up in the town. These had become popular haunts for the ever-growing number of newcomers. As we approached our favourite coffee bar, the sound of ‘Walking Back To Happiness’ by Helen Shapiro was playing on the jukebox, inside. The local boys started taunting us. We had ceased being interested in them, as they seemed so immature and we knew the majority of them from school, anyway. They tried to prevent us from entering, but we pushed our way past and then sat, sipping our coffee, thinking we were very grown up. Afterwards, we made our way into the centre of the town. Sarah was the first to spot the ‘boys in blue’.

“Gillian, look over there,” she told me. “Can you see them? Those two boys. Don’t they look amazing?”

“Yes but we have been forbidden from speaking with them,” I reminded her. Would we ever dare to go out with one of those boys in uniform? Would we dare to go against our parents’ wishes? The weekly pattern continued. First the walk into town and heading straight for our favourite coffee bar, anticipating that someone would eventually put coins into the jukebox so we could hear the latest hit songs. Then, we would make our way to the local cinema where the afternoon matinee showed the film of the week. I remember we were never in a rush to get home afterwards. Then, one Saturday, as we came out of the cinema, we passed several of the uniformed boys.

“Do you think we will ever be asked out by…” but before I could finish the sentence, as I looked across the square, there he stood, outside the black and white market hall. A young boy, wearing an RAF uniform. The first thing I noticed about him was those dark curls trickling down his forehead. From the moment I set eyes on him, I knew he was the one meant for me. The attraction was instant and I needed to get a closer look. Although I was painfully shy, Sarah didn’t lack courage. We edged nearer to where he was standing, and with a little persuasion she approached him, on my behalf and asked him if he would like to go out with me. When he said, “yes,” I knew I was the luckiest girl in Frankley. All I discovered that day was that his name was Rob. I was so excited when we made arrangements to meet the following weekend. I didn’t dare tell my parents. They always believed I was with Sarah. So, each weekend, Rob and I would meet in secret.

He was extremely good looking. Those eyes! Yes, those unbelievable eyes, pale green in colour, with a blue streak running through them, making them sparkle like gems. Yes, he had those kind of ‘come to bed eyes’ I’d heard friends talk about. Surely no female could resist? Yes, I would describe him as irresistible. I was completely and utterly besotted with him. His youthful looks, along with the uniform, made him so attractive. There’s certainly something about a man in uniform! He wasn’t wearing a hat, so those curls, which trickled down his forehead, were unforgettable. Boyish and sexy would be a good description of him and he had the cheekiest of smiles. Everything about him was perfect. Well, I thought so. I was completely smitten by him. The overall image he portrayed was enough to turn me to jelly the first time I saw him and every time we met after that. He was not very tall; about five-foot-five, I guess. This, along with his cheeky smile, made him appear younger than his seventeen years. Being only five-foot-tall myself, I would wear my new, red shoes, with three-inch heels and at fifteen, your first pair of shoes with heels, are very special! I have never forgotten those shoes. I can see them now. Each time I walked past the shop window, I would gaze at them, hoping that soon I would be able to afford them. Working at Julio’s, as an apprentice, most of the small wage I received was given to my mother for my keep, but one day I had earned enough money from tips and I owned those shoes. When I wore them for the first time, I realised, as I stood side-by-side with Rob, that we appeared to be the same height. I found this most endearing. I used to lean my head against his chest and feel warm and loved. I had noticed some of my friends having to reach up to kiss their boyfriends, whereas I didn’t have to strain my neck. To me, Rob was simply perfect.

We continued to meet in secret, but it wasn’t long before my parents discovered I had a boyfriend and that it was Rob who went with me to the cinema each Saturday, not Sarah. How worried they must have been. I was pleased when Sarah found herself a boyfriend and sometimes we would go out in a foursome. Rob and I were so much in love. It was a beautiful summer’s day almost twelve months after we first met when I lost my virginity to him. He proposed to me that same day and one week later he put a ring on my finger and we were engaged to be married. I was the happiest girl in the whole wide world.

Shortly after, he was posted to Magor, a two-hour train journey away. Although we would still be able to see each other at weekends, I wasn’t prepared for the loneliness I felt, whilst he was away. I clung to the knowledge that everything was worth waiting for and, in the end, we would be together forever. Refusing offers to go out with friends during the week, I would stay at home with my parents, eagerly waiting for the weekend to come. Without fail, each weekend, Rob would step off the train. Amidst the steam billowing from the train’s funnel, my eyes would follow his every stride as he bounded up the steps two at a time, crossing the footbridge and once with me, we would lock into an embrace, oblivious of others standing on the platform. As we wrapped our arms around each other, the hugs and kisses followed – normally followed by the promise of a weekend filled with . . . always making love, on the rug in my parents’ home. We fell madly in love with each other. I gave myself to him, body and soul. We wanted to get married, but he explained he couldn’t get married quarters until his twenty-first birthday, so we were just going to have to wait. Although it seemed a lifetime away, I knew the wait would be worth it. We would eventually get married and I would become Rob’s wife.

We had been going out together for nearly three years when Rob dumped me. I can’t think of any other way to put it. I remember crying for three whole days. My parents were unable to do a thing with me. I was completely inconsolable. When Rob ended our relationship, I was heartbroken. He hurt me so badly and at seventeen, I thought my life had ended. I had given myself to him, thinking that we would be together for the rest of our lives. I shed buckets of tears. The awful feelings of betrayal were unbearable. I was devastated. Everything was jumbled up; the happy memories of our time together; the first time we had made love; the great sadness, when I looked at everything we had gathered together for our ‘bottom drawer’. The many firsts we had shared, like our first holiday and the first photograph taken of the two of us, when I looked so happy. I considered what to do with it. Should I keep it, or should I tear it into pieces? There was also the embarrassment. What would everyone think?

After three days had passed and the tears had begun to subside, I realised I was now a single girl again. I looked at my hands. The diamonds on my engagement ring still sparkled brightly. Placing it back in its little velvet box, I realised that with no more marriage plans to think about, I needed to pull myself together. It was then I made a promise to myself;

“No-one is ever going to hurt me again!” After all our time together, I wondered why Rob had decided he didn’t want to marry me. Then I thought about the real, deep love, we had shared. I was sure he had loved me. I suffered from awful feelings of guilt. Was it my fault? What had gone so badly wrong? What might it have been like if…? There were so many questions without answers. Then, reality struck. I was not getting married and he no longer wanted to marry me.