Chapter 13

A Girl  -  ‘like a hurricane’

The girl from next-door-but-one had always been friendly.  Especially so with his sister and especially since his mum had died, just a couple of years earlier.  And, although the girl was a year younger, she knew some of his friends, especially those who’d found themselves back in the sixth-form for an extra year, re-sitting various A-Levels.  She was a lively, laughing addition to their social group, flitting, teasing, sometimes rewarding any of the lads prepared to take her on.  She’d even had a brief flirtation with him but it was never going to go anywhere; too much like going out with your sister and, anyway she’d already turned her eyes onto another one of his mates so things had barely got off the ground.  Feeling a little bit rejected, he headed off back to university for the summer term, turning his mind to getting through his first year exams.

The girl from next-door-but-one had a friend.  He knew her vaguely from school; she’d been part a small, eye-catching group of lower-sixth girls who mixed it with the lads in his upper-sixth year and had been on the fringes of their scene for a while.  He was aware she could act and sing; she’d starred as Golde in the school production of ‘A Fiddler on the Roof’, but that was about as much he really knew about her.

The girl from next-door-but-one had a word with him. ‘Why don’t you ask my friend out for the evening?  I’m sure you’ll have plenty in common to chat about.’  Just before his exams, he’d come home for a long weekend; his dad was now working abroad and it was a good opportunity to check on his siblings and catch up with friends.  He didn’t know (he still doesn’t) if it was the GFNDB1’s idea or whether ‘the friend’ had prompted it, but he’d nothing on the following evening and he quite liked the idea.

He took the car, picked her up from her parents’ house, and suggested a drink at a country pub half an hour away, situated alongside the River.  During the evening he noted they could talk, easily, comfortably, on those safe first-encounter subjects: friends, music, families, sport, university-hopes and so on.  He also noticed, now alone with her instead of within the group environment, that he found her quite attractive.  Raven, wavy shoulder-length hair, smiling face, green eyes that had a sparkle, definitely curvy.  Amusing.  Confident or coy?  He couldn’t be sure.  Dropping her home later it was tentatively, cautiously, suggested, they could do it again when he was home for the summer.  For the moment though, he’d exams to pass and some post-exam downtime to make the most of.  If his flat mates had been more observant, they might have noticed he appeared a little distracted.  The GFNDB1 spoke to him on the phone.  ‘You really should see my friend again.  In fact you’d be stupid not to,’ she hinted.  He caught the bus home a couple of weeks’ later accompanied by feelings of hopeful, nervous anticipation.  He needn’t have worried.  Within a few days, the ‘friend’ of the GFNDB1 had opted to become the ‘girlfriend’.

After a week or two, their friends no longer speculated, ‘Is she/he really going out with him/her?’ and his mates, recognising a changed circumstance, cut him some slack.  It was a wonderful, memorable summer.  As the days and weeks drifted by, their friendship strengthened.  She hung out at his house; he met her family; they went out on their own; they went out with the group.  There was time for beer-gardens, walks, gigs in town, holiday-jobs, cinemas.  It was an exciting time to be young. School days were behind them, career concerns several years off in an unknown future, riding the wave of a changing world of music.  They had the best of everything: the comfortable, inspiring, romantic sounds of classic rock, Motown, and soul that they’d grown up with plus the new, challenging, energetic bands and artists of punk and New Wave that were bursting onto the scene. 

They went on a holiday with their friends.  Days on the beach, in the waves, walking the cliff tops. Some evenings at the campsite, laughing, drinking, chatting, talking nonsense, putting the adult world to right, music from a tinny cassette recorder.  Other evenings at the village pub, laughing, drinking, chatting, singing along with the resident guitarist to his mix of familiar folk tunes. 

It was always a squeeze in the pub so she’d often sit on his knee in their little huddle and, buoyed by the beer and feel-good feelings, they’d walk, arms around each other, slowly back to the tent.  It was a big tent and they shared it with others including the GFNDB1, and her latest boyfriend, big Kev.  It wasn’t an arrangement conducive to late-night romance but they were at least able to snuggle up and get closer.  A few weeks later, holiday over, home again, parents away, he stayed over for the night at her place.

The summer was ending.  He’d soon be heading back, a few days early to help organise freshers’ trials for the sport team he was captaining.  A week later, she too would be leaving her hometown; the relief at passing her A-Levels replaced by a mix of excitement and anxiety about what the new chapter, studying English and Drama at a northern university, might bring.  And what about them and their relationship? Would it last?  Both knew they wanted to carry on and see where things led.  They agreed they’d make the effort to bridge the miles; she even suggested she might make a quick visit to see him before she travelled north; he smiled but didn’t think she was serious.

His flat mate shouted upstairs.  ‘There’s someone at the door for you.’ She looked hot, bothered, laden-down and just a little concerned that turning-up unannounced might not have been such a great idea.  She was wrong.  It was a lovely idea, even if it had caught him by surprise.  Heck, he’d only mentioned to the guys the previous day that he’d met someone over the summer and now here she was, sitting in the messy kitchen drinking a restorative cup of tea from a hastily washed mug.  Flat mates wandered in and out, to say hello, keen to take a look, eyebrows raised, eyes signalling approval, attempting to turn on some masculine charm. She also assessed, she relaxed, she fitted in, and later his room-mate moved into another room for the night.  His friends teased him; now they understood why he’d been behaving differently since his return.  The Dylan fan summed it up; clearly she’d swept into his life ‘like a hurricane.’

They made it work.  Long weekend train journeys, cold, lonely platforms all worth it for the chance to be together a few times each term.  He watched her on stage, he met her new friends, a diverse mix of feminists, actors, gays and ‘normal’.  She watched him race, she met his new friends, a ‘normal’ mix of sporty, music-loving, the conventionals.  She shared her broader view and tastes on literature, culture, politics, moralities; things he’d never really considered before. He balanced with his enthusiasm and interests for hills and mountains, sport, politics, space and science fiction.  They didn’t have much money but a drink or two in a pub, cheap seats at a gig or show, and early nights helped eke out their grants.  And although the economy might be crashing, the socialists on the way out, the hardline right on the way in, racism becoming overt and threatening, the police no longer to be blindly trusted, it was still a great time for them to be students.  They were in love, they had friends, they were proud of their provincial home town, its past history, its music and its recent football successes, and the exciting, memorable music of the time was the best soundtrack they could have wished for; they enjoyed and appreciated their good fortune.

In the summers they travelled, backpacking on trains around Europe with friends, camping on rock-hard, dusty sites, sleeping in train corridors, or on beaches under the stars.  His sister and the GFNDB1 accompanied them on to Egypt, where, for a fortnight, his parents were the perfect hosts and tour guides.  Another year, just by themselves, they Greek-island hopped, catching the ferries across the turquoise, sparkling Aegean.  Mostly they camped, up early as the soon as the Mediterranean sun touched the tent.  Occasionally they’d treat themselves to a cooler, simple room in one of the white-washed little cottages near the harbours.  Ancient ruins, secluded beaches, tavernas, sunsets.  Truly, madly, deeply.  The title of the film directed by her university lecturer, Anthony Minghella, seemed just right for the time.

He finished his studies and found a job with an engineering company.  For eight months he was Midlands-based and, as she advanced through her final year, things rolled along comfortably, sticking happily to their regular term-time rendezvous and holiday times together.  Comfortable and confident together they rarely argued; sometimes he’d miss a sign, fail to spot something bothering her and there’d be a short-lived tension but, whilst not always sensitive, he was tolerant and difficult to rattle and the moment passed quickly.  Eventually the easy going college days drew to a close for her too and life suddenly held some challenges.  Not least the facts that, as she collected her degree, she was theoretically both homeless and jobless.  Her dad had accepted a job at an American university and the family had sold up and emigrated to Illinois, a long trip home now for their daughter.  He didn’t see any major problem; in fact it appeared to be an inevitable next step.  Now based at a factory in the West Country, he had a new exciting, demanding, job and a few extra pounds in his pocket.  He’d acquired a car and found an adequate but down-at-the-heel bedsit; she could simply move down, move in and find a job.

And that’s what she did, straight after they’d enjoyed a fortnight’s stateside holiday.  NYC, a road trip down through the Appalachians and then north following the Missouri before a relaxing week being spoilt by her parents. 

It was a time of new experiences.  They might be living together for the first time but the formula for success was elusive, thwarted by circumstances, though they tried hard to find it.  He needed to devote time and energy to his job, suddenly finding himself sharing some responsibility for a team, costs, and profits.  During the day he had colleagues to mix with and stimulating problems to solve and in the evening he could relax with his girl.  She, however, had no job, no career goal and, as the government’s monetarist policies bit hard, no immediate prospects in that part of the country.  During the day she scoured the job ads, did a crash course in shorthand typing, wishing she had people to work with, and waiting for him to come home to their uninspiring, dingy flat.  Keen to contribute and get out a bit, she found part-time bar work.  The situation unsettled her; a long way from family, a whole weekend needed for a trip to see friends, a career not even off the ground, and a boyfriend with his own career challenges.  He tried, on those occasions he recognised the mood, to be supportive, sympathetic, positive, but her increasing disquiet with the situation started to erode her feelings about their relationship. The passion, always there, the spirit sometimes distracted and diluted.

The decision caught him by surprise.  She needed to sort her life out, find herself, go to the Capital where there might be jobs and where she could rely on the support of a few close girlfriends.  It was time to break things up.  He was shaken, knocked back, asking himself how he’d missed things, had he been unselfish.  ‘Maybe split for a while and see how we feel?’

A few months later, they seemed to have found a new balance.  She had a job in the Capital, a purpose, a flat, and friends.  Happier, she thought she wanted him back in her life and they resumed a familiar pattern of weekend travelling.  It was never quite the same; the relationship had been damaged, some of the heartstrings broken, uncertainties had replaced certainties.  They tried for a while, through a cold long winter and into a brighter spring.  One day a phone call ended it. She had found someone else.

Hurt, he licked his wounds, and told himself he’d get over it.  Maybe it was for the best?  He’d got things he wanted to do, places to see, perhaps this was his chance?  Maybe they weren’t cut out for a life together and she’d just recognised it before him?  Maybe there was someone else out there for him?  For her?

It took a while but he got there, finding that special someone else just a few years later.   And so, eventually, did she.

Sometimes years later, perhaps if he heard a song or saw a photo, he might remember that time in his life with a nostalgic smile.  He’d recall the way she sometimes tucked her hair behind an ear, the mischievous glint in her eye, her laugh, her opinionated views.  Those few short intense, emotional years that taught them so much.  Safe in a circle of friends and family, free from the pressures of social media, cushioned by parental support, student grants and a welfare state, and energised by vibrant music.  It had been the best of times to be finding a path to adulthood.

And there would always be a place in the story for the girl who was his first love.

Desert Island Discs ‘First Girl’ Medley 

Too many songs, so much new exciting original music, an overload of experiences.

How do you choose?

Here’s a very small mix of music that captures a few of the memories.

You Make Lovin’ Fun - Fleetwood Mac 

- early days, snogging on the sofa with Rumours’ on the stereo

Last Thing on my Mind - Tom Paxton  

- singing along with friends to the guitar of the pub troubadour

Like a Hurricane - Bob Dylan   

- his flat mates thought her appearance on the scene had this effect

I’m The Man - Joe Jackson

-sums up the energy of the new wave music. Used as the soundtrack to a student version of the play ‘Can’t Pay Won’t Pay’ they watched

Can’t Get Enough -Bad Company   

- classic student rock night out at the Birmingham Odeon

Suzanne - Leonard Cohen

- classic student night in #1.

Koln Concert - Keith Jarrett   

- classic student night in #2; about as close as he’s ever got to jazz or classical piano.  A  short-lived, slightly pretentious phase.

Peaceful Easy Feeling - Eagles   

 - their song.