When the sun goes down
Gerry Haddrell, 74, Fife
Hopping on the bus on my way to college, I kept my eye out for the conductor.
‘Good morning,’ Irene, then 31, smiled.
Counting my change, I realised she’d given me back my fare, and laughed.
We’d been flirting for weeks, chatting whenever we got the chance.
‘Fancy going out this weekend?’ I asked Irene.
That Friday, in 1974, we went out to our local social club in South Shields.
Five years older than me, Irene told me she was a single mum to three
