Things are already hazy enough. I know the year was 1972. I had a rather nasty boyfriend at the time. My first. So I didn't really know better. My parents took us on a 2 week Greek Islands tour at the end of June. I was 15 and met a 17 year old Greek, who cleaned the cabins. I fell head over heels for him and cried for days when I went home. But this isn't about him!!
Still feeling miserable, I went to spend a few days with Nan and Grandad on Hayling Island. On a red hot Sunday, I went down to the beach (it was sandy then), put down my towel and lay my miserable but tanned body on it to further roast. A few minutes later, my peace was interrupted by a very large family, who squeezed in between me and the next people along. The older boy was GORGEOUS. I mean David Cassidy gorgeous. But I was miserable! So I lay on my stomach and turned my head away.
Then, the most romantic thing ever!!! Just the touch of a finger. A little stroke. A bit more of my hand. Until we were full on holding hands. At this point, his mother noticed and made a pointed comment!!
I had to go back for lunch. I just knew he would follow. I sat on the wall outside Eastoke loos. Sat and sat there. Eventually, he strolled up and we kissed!! Swoon. He walked me nearly all the way home and we arranged to meet later.
We did meet up, held hands, walked away from his loud, noisy and inquisitive family and settled down on our towels. We did swim first, but knew it was just a prelude to kissing, kissing and more kissing. We did talk as well. I told him I was 17 as he was 18. I was still at school in Gloucester. He worked in a pub in Windsor.
After my perfect(!) afternoon, we said goodbye. He gave me a piece of paper with the name of the pub and the street.
Now, the sad bit. My Dad was a rep and had a meeting near Windsor. He suggested taking me and the horrible soon to be ex boyfriend to the castle to sightsee. Once we'd done the trip round, I insisted that we went to have a look around Windsor. I found the pub, but obviously didn't have an excuse to go in. I don't know what I did that set suspicions off, but he got into my handbag, found the piece of paper and tore it up.
Never mind. It was engraved in my memory. Two weeks later, Dad had another appointment, so I begged to go to Windsor again. I stood outside the pub for ages, but just couldn't find the courage to go in. Maybe I could have got away with looking 18, but I wasn't prepared to try!
So that was that.
I have been thinking about my lovely day for about a year now. I don't have a name. Maybe Jim. Maybe Gaz. I'm probably making that up. I think the pub had a royal name, but the ones I've looked at online don't match my memories at all. The only one that does is The Carpenter's Arms on Market Street. I am more certain of Market Street, but who knows?
I've thought about asking if anyone knows my boy on one of the Friends Reunited sites. But really, what is the point? I know too little and I've left it too late.
