Authour's note: This story is based on truth. All this happened, more or less. Not at the same time, not all to me. I nearly put it in Romance, but eventually put it in First Times. Helen used the word 'first' a lot, and that made my mind up, when I remembered. Names have been changed, or re used. The city is real, a lot cleaner now, it's in a very wide valley, you can actually see from one side to the other now. I returned recently, and realised that I can see for miles from the university, looking south. I didn't realise then, how dirty and polluted it was. Places are real, Helen's place was still there a few years ago, when we drove by, it's an architect's office now, brass plate on the door.
This was the sixties, and music was important to me then, still is. So, there are references to songs, some obvious, some hidden. See if you can find them all, and which English city is it? If you want to have a theme song for this first part, try 'Dirty Old Town' -- google it, wrong city though... Dubliners is the best version, sung in a cynical tone. Other songs, watch for the clues.
Take it away Bob:
'If you're travelin' in the north country fair
Where the winds hit heavy on the borderline
Remember me to one who lives there
For she once was a true love of mine'
Bob Dylan -- 'Girl from the north country' - thanks for helping get me laid!
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Last night I dreamt I was in Springfield House again.
That night... Helen standing there naked, in the firelight, me looking at her, naked with me for the first time, she watching me, watching her. Sorry Helen, the word should be 'admiring'!
I was just sat in my study at home the next morning, re-living that in my mind, when our son James came in to ask me a question. I was holding the small clear plastic box, with the cocktail umbrella in, smiling to myself. "Dad?" he said, breaking the spell, "Can I ask you a question about physics, please, I'm just stuck on my homework?"
"Fine," I said, and went through Planck's constant again. I laughed, "I didn't do this until I was at college, nearly twenty, and you are doing it at sixteen."
"Dad," he said slowly, "why have you got a cocktail umbrella in a plastic box? You have it on the shelf in the study, and it always seems to have been there. I asked mum, the other day and she laughed and said it was a man thing and I should ask you."
'Sixteen, sixteen' I thought, 'old enough to ask, old enough to know.' "It's a long story," I said to him, "but time you heard it, it's the reason you're here, so you should know the story."
He looked puzzled, "Pass me the guitar, please. I'll start with a song,"
"You're not going to sing folk songs again, are you?" he asked.
I sighed, my musical prowess was not popular with our children. 'First' I thought, 'first'.
"First, I've a question for you, man to man, as it were." I replied.
James looked shifty, obviously wondering what was coming, the can of beer we'd found in his room? His friends smoking?
"That girl, from your class, "I asked, "who was round here the other night, when you were working on your science project?"
"Katie," he replied, "yes, what about her?"
"Is she your girlfriend?" I asked, quietly. His mum had noticed the way she looked at him, as he practiced his presentation on me, the presentation they had to give to the class together, that proud sort of look that I knew so well.
"No, no," he protested, "she's just a friend."
"Ah!" I replied, "this non-girlfriend, I saw you with in the shopping centre the other day, walking hand in hand?"
"Just a friend," he said, defensively.
"Fine," I said, "I'm going to be open with you, as we always have, but please think about your side of the bargain."
I strummed the guitar and sang a few verses. "Bob Dylan -- 'Girl from the north country', "Still got the LP." I said, afterwards as I put the guitar down. Then spoke to James. Over an hour. At the end he said to me, "Why not write it down, it's a good story," Good idea, I thought, I hadn't given him all the details, as you can imagine! This is what I wrote over the next few weeks, it's in an envelope in the safe, next to the wills. The children will get the full version one day.
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This is a story of my leaving home and getting an education, not all of it at college, thanks to Helen and her friends! This took place a long time ago, well the late 1960's. I was an ordinary working-class boy, well my parents were working class, anyway. I read a lot at home, well not much else to do, radio and television were nowhere near as good as they are now. Computers, that's almost another story.
Despite it being called the swinging sixties, it didn't swing for me, not at first, anyway!
I did quite well at school, but like a few others like me, found it difficult to fit in with most of the other boys, who were articulate, richer and just different. This was a boys' only school. Girls were educated separately, and to me were a foreign species. I met one or two at a youth club, but we always drifted apart.
To my surprise I passed enough exams to get to a Polytechnic when I was eighteen. This, at the time, was a grade below university, which seemed a little too daunting to me. This was to be in a city about fifty miles away from where I lived, so I had to go and live in the city. My parents lived in a small rural town in northern England and daily travel to the city was impractical and expensive. My ancient motor bike would never make it!
I was the only person in my family to go to college or university, or leave home except to get married or go to war, so there was a little pressure from parents to stop me going away to college, even though I got a grant to live on, and it cost my parents nothing.
Anyway, I put my foot down, and they couldn't really stop me.
Fortunately, the Poly had an accommodation office who would find students like me somewhere to live. Only universities and teacher training colleges had their own accommodation then. I was 'in digs' for part of the first term, living with a family, paying rent and getting fed. They were nice people, and did this regularly, so they were used to boys coming to college being away from home for the first time and having to deal with loneliness and the strangeness of it all. They 'didn't do girls' as they were too much trouble, sneaking boys into their rooms and staying away overnight, apparently. 'Chance would be a fine thing.' I thought. Then I found a cheap bed sit, just a bedroom with a shared bathroom and a communal kitchen. There were four other boys in the bed sit house, but the others were older, and had their own social life.
I hadn't actually been away much from my home town before, my parents didn't have a car, and just could not afford holidays, so the first time I left town except for a day trip was when I went for my interview at college, a few months before I went.
I knew nothing about living alone; washing clothes and cooking food were not skills my mother taught me. I did not realise until later how unworldly and naïve I was!
I settled into college quite well, enjoyed the new subjects, and got on well with my fellow students, many of whom were older than me, some married, as the course had no age limits. I didn't realise this and expected all the students to be the same age as me.
Mature students were quite common, then, boys would do a trade apprenticeship, then after a few years, return to college to get a higher education. There were a few of us of a similar age and circumstances and we formed a loose group going out for a beer mid-week, and occasionally going to college discos at the weekend. Going to night club discos was out of the question, too expensive.
So, there I was, after a few months, settled, happy, new life, different people, new friends, and no baggage from school. No girls in my life, though, I met a few at discos, but nothing permanent.
Then others decided that my life was to change, everyone needs a kick to get into life at some time.
Mid-morning and mid-afternoon, we had a break from lectures, and went down to the canteen for a coffee. This was a multi-purpose college, we were doing engineering, but there were departments for everything from accountancy to zoology! Two days a week, we were there at the same time as a specific bunch of girls, who were doing clothing design, or something. The city was then a centre of the clothing and cloth industries. They were a similar match to us, some older and some the same age. They were mostly what I would call tarty, rough and bawdy, well we weren't much better, and there was occasional banter between the two groups.
One I quite liked the look of, but I didn't know her name. Shorter than me, shortish brown hair, not quite touching her shoulders, with a fringe just above her eyes.
Occasionally wore her hair in a pony tail. Thin, but not skinny, nice pair of breasts as well, seemed to live in floppy jumpers and jeans. Occasionally came in what I called her hippy outfits, flouncy translucent blouses and T shirts, tie dyed as I later found out. Quieter than the other girls, but with a ready smile.
I was in the queue waiting for coffee one morning, the girl was sat nearby, I kept glancing at her, turning my head to see her, a female voice behind me said "Her name's Helen."
"What?" I said, "Who?" trying to act innocent, realising I'd been caught out. I turned, there was one of the girls from her group behind me, tall, not slim, not overweight, but a little chunky, long blond hair.
"We've noticed that you've been checking her out," she said triumphantly, with a smile. She pulled me to one side, to allow the queue to pass us, "but we don't know your name."
"Paul." I said.
"Paul," she said, "nice name. Helen hasn't got a boyfriend, not really had one, and I guess you are much the same?"
"I've had some girlfriends," I said, proudly.
She laughed, "If you'd had a girlfriend, you'd have had the confidence to speak to Helen, rather than just ogling her from afar." She said. The truth hit home, and I twisted my mouth in wry acceptance.
