Lovers

My first sexual encounter came when I was just five years old, I was however, pushing six. Attending a kindergarten school from age three, my parents were hardly ever home and were completely foreign to me.

Maggie, my Nanny attended most of my needs whilst at home. The occasion on this particular incident was the Methodist Christmas Childrens Party, to be held at the Culver Hall mid December 1929.

I was a boy. A mud and puddle loving, swashbuckling mischievous lad who fished for tadpoles minnows and newts in the River Ver, pulled my sisters pigtails and peed in the kitchen sink for a little light relief.

Imagine my horror as my Mom produced a pretty pink blouse with shiny tortoiseshell buttons, and deep blue velvet trousers for me to wear at the party!

I was horrified, and from that day on, vowed never ever again to attend Christmas Parties.

One word from my father shut me up. Joan, my sister, who was three years my senior held my hand as we walked through the cold and misty streets to the Culver Hall.

Gas lights were burning brightly around four that afternoon, and inside the Hall was a hive of activity. Some fifty or sixty kids were playing ‘hunt the thimble` and center stage was a long trestle table sporting a white linen tablecloth, loaded with cakes, jellies, blancmange, biscuits, crackers and fancy hats.

Here, my sister left me. Wisely perhaps, she wanted nothing whatever to do with her baby brother. She, aged eight was grown up, and it was only natural that she played with children of that age group. Able to fend for myself, it didn’t bother me.

For half an hour or so, I sat by myself on a Bentwood chair and watched the idiots cavorting around the hall looking for the confounded thimble. When I saw her, my heart skipped a beat.

Like me, she sat alone, her long blonde hair worn loose adorned her shoulders and half way down her back. She had dark eyebrows, piercing blue eyes and a skin as pure and soft as silk.

Her physical attraction overshadowed what she was wearing for my eyes were for her alone.

My heart felt that it would jump clean out of my chest. Love, it seems, and I have made many enquiries, can start early for some. For myself, the feeling I had in those first moments topped anything I’ve ever had in later years.

Courage played is role too. Mustering everything I had, I got up from my Bentwood chair, walked to where she was sitting, and sat next to her.
By now, the other kids were raiding the jellies and blancmange, the cakes, the biscuits….Lovesick, I was unable to eat, nor drink the fizzy lemonade that poured by the gallon from an earthenware jar.

We sat without talking. Words I imagined might break the spell, and although there was no physical contact between us, my pinkie finger managed to lightly touch the silky material of her dress. It was sufficient to calm my desire. Indeed, it was all I wanted at that time. More would have been to much for me to handle.

An hour went by, and the party winding down. Joan my beloved sister had been playing post-mans knock all evening, her lips full and as red as cherries came to collect me and take me home. It was then the miracle happened. She turned to my silent partner and said, “Your Susan aren’t you, Susan Andrews, I know your brother David.”

Naturally I was delighted. I now had a contact with this gorgeous angel of a girl named Susan via my sister. Evil as it may sound, walking home that evening I had already thought up a plan that might bring Susan and I a little closer.

Thursday afternoons were our free days. Mom and Dad closed the shop early and played bridge with business friends after lunch. A golden opportunity to invite Susan to our house for…shall we say ‘games?`

Love, at the tender age of almost five had no boundaries. My sister Joan and I spent Wednesday afternoon with a dinner knife and my Swiss Cottage money-box (Kept locked by my Ma) and managed to slither one half crown and a shilling out of the in-slot.
A fortune in those days!

A shopping spree at Martindales at the corner of Culver Road resulted in a complete range of delicacies from Sherbet dabs to licorice all-sorts, chocolate bars to gob-stoppers. Indeed, we were in for business in a big scale.

To my delight my beloved Susan duly arrived on time on Thursday afternoon. Joan and I entertained her well. We even opened the keyboard cover of our John Broadwood grand piano and let her play to her hearts content. The delicious sweets were being devoured by the mouthful.

Then tragedy struck.

Susan my dearest angel said she wasn’t feeling well.

My sister didn’t help. “What’s up kid, got the belly ache?” She enquired.

Concerned as I was, I just couldn’t help staring at my beloved sweet-hearts azure blue eyes, her rose-bud red lips and blonde tresses.

“Come and sit down for a moment.” I said, taking her hand in mine.

Susan took two steps towards the couch in the corner, then threw up everything she had devoured during the course of the afternoon.

The Persian rug at her feet took full force of the eruption, and the sound that Susan made during her displeasure will be forever etched into my memory bank.

Sister Joan mothered Susan by getting a glass of water for the child and hurried her off home while I was left to clean up the ghastly mess.

I have thought about that afternoon long and hard. Only a fool in love could accept such an onerous task…and I was only five.

How long ago was that? Yep! Eighty-three years, which only goes to prove that true love never really dies. As I sit here writing this little episode of my life, I can feel my heart beat a little faster, and like the hopeless romantic I am…I sigh.

“Oh Susan, there is always a place in my heart for you…..”