Vera

My first blog was about me as a ten year old in Porthcawl, and this picks up on that short story.

We arrived in Porthcawl, and mum and dad found us a rented house in (I think) South Shore Street. Gerald and I started at different schools. Not sure why. I do know that Gerald got into one or two scrapes, one of which involved a visit from the police, but I don't know why. My other memory of Gerald was when he was dressed in a miniature airman's uniform, stood in a model airplane, and pushed forward, ceremoniously at the stroke of midnight on New Year's Eve. I guess that was 1941. In general, Gerald and I did not do a great deal together.

As already mentioned, I went to Station Road School. It had two playgrounds, one for boys and one for girls. There was a small opening between the two. At age eleven we took our exam - school certificate I think - and in due course I passed with a place at Cowbridge Grammar School. We left Porthcawl before I could take up my place.

There was a girl at Station Road School called Vera, who was undoubtedly the prettiest girl there. How these things happen, I do not know, but by common consent, we quickly became established as boyfriend and girlfriend. This involved me spending a great deal of my spare time, waiting outside her house (which was just down the road from the school) for her to appear. We went to the Saturday morning pictures, and whenever the sun shone, a few of us would head for one of the many nearby fields, and play 'Truth or Dare'. These were exciting times, and usually involved having to say who you loved, or having to kiss your chosen one for a particular period of time. Such innocent times, but always remembered.

As I have said, we had to leave before I went to Grammar school, so it would have been in 1942 that I had to say goodbye to my friends, particularly Malcolm Hopkins, and of course, Vera.

We now move forward to around 1944/5. My grandparents had a flat in Monarch Court, Hampstead Garden Suburb. We used to visit them from time to time, and one day I learned that their Maid/cleaner, was shortly going to visit her family who lived in a small town in the Rhondda Valley. For some reason I was aked if would like to go with her. And so it was that I took the trip. It was a typical mining town, and the maid - let's call her Mary - stayed with her family in a small terraced house that fronted the pavement. I remember a hill with a cobbled street down to the colliery. Being unused to the noise, I recall being woken at an unearthly hour by the sound of the miners' boots as they set off for their shift.
There was not enough room for me to sleep in the same house as Mary, so I stayed with a lad across the road. The only memory I have of him, was of one night we were in our shared bed, when he announced that he could break wind without creating a smell. And so saying, he set about proving it.

By making enquiries, I found that I could take a bus into Porthcawl, so with memories of Vera and Malcolm, I set forth. I wandered about aimlessly for a while, and then, by chance saw Vera with another girl, pushing a pram. The pram has no relevance to this tale. I didn't speak to her, but knocked on Malcolm's door. We were reunited, and made arrangements for me to stay with him in the next school holidays. My parents agreed to this, and before too long, I was on the train heading for Wales.

My memory of this time is a bit of a blur, as is most of my past life. I know I linked up with Vera and spent a fair bit of time with her. I also spent time time with Malcolm and his friends. One day we were in the house of a girlfriend of on of the lads. We each had a girl on our laps (mine wasn't Vera!), when suddenly the mother who's house it was, returned unexpectedly. The thing that stands out is the sound of a girls blouser button, pinging across the floor, as a hand was hastily withdrawn. These lads were well ahead of me in social communications. Anyway, after an enjoyable visit, I returned home to our rented property on the Hendon Way.

I had been back a few weeks, and on returnig home from school, was met by my mother who rather seriously informed me that my father would like a word. I went into the room to find him sitting at the piano, which was unusual as dad was not exactly musical. He was one-fingering the keys, and then he stopped and asked me if I had ever had anything to do with a girl. I had a fair idea what he meant, and I also knew that the answer was 'no'. He then handed me a postcard, and the narrative told me, among other things, what a wonderful time she had had with me that night. Of course, it was signed 'Vera'. My embarrassment was completed by the picture on the front. This comprised a shy looking hen, looking up to an imposing cockerel and saying 'Oh Henry, I think I'm going to have an egg' My father very solemnly told me that a short time of pleasure, can bring a long time of hardsip, or words to that effect. No more was said, but I was convinced that the postcard had been sent as a joke by Malcolm. Or was it?

We now fast forward to 1971. Meg, Simon, Sara and I are on holiday caravanning in the Brecon Beacons, (not too far from Porthcawl!). I say how nice it would be to go down memory lane after 25 years or so, and therefore, we give it a go. They all leave me to go walkabout. I go to my old school and look through the railings, and then I call in at the little sweet shop/general store, and have a chat with the lady in charge. I relate my story of having been to the school some thirty years ago, and about having had this 10 year old girlfriend. When I said her name, she exclaimed that until recenly, she had worked in her shop. She told me how pretty she was, and how lovely and brown from the sun. She also told me where she lved! Wow!

A little later, I parked the car in the high street, and Meg and the kids went to buy fish and chips. I had noted an infomation centre, and quickly nipped in and found the whereabouts of the required address. Having had our lunch, I drove round to the flats, and then explained to Meg the reason for the back street drive. She said that I had better go and see if she was in, so off I went. Climbing some stairs, there was a woman cleaning her front door. I asked if she knew of an attractive girl called Vera. She knew, and gave me the number. I must say that this little strory is much more in the anticipation, than it is in the execution. I reached the front door, the top half of which was frosted glass. With a definite increase in heartbeat rate, I rang the bell. A shape approached, and the door opened. There stood an undoubtedly pretty woman wearing a pinny. She looked at me enquiringly. 'Is it Vera' I said, She answered with a questioning frown, 'Yes' . 'Hutchinson that was' I asked. 'Oh goodness, I know who you are. You're Reg aren't you?' She was flustered, her hands went to her hair, and the pinny was quickly removed. As I have said, the main part of this tale is the build up to the meeting. I was invited in, and met her daughter and friend, and then her six foot two son. We talked about old times. Malcolm had divorced, and was living out of town. It was as simple as that. Meanwhile, Simon was getting agitated in the car, concerned for my safety, should the husband return. But I came to no harm



And that is the end of my story about Vera. I forgot to ask her if she sent that postcard.