More Maisie Pops: 1965-1990 Happiness, Heartaches, Health & Histrionics

By Lewis Adler

THE true story continues! “More Maisie Pops” picks-up where “Maisie Pops” left off, thanks to the unexpected discovery of May Faulkner-Lowe’s later diaries. “More Maisie Pops 1965-1990” faithfully follows the highs and heartaches of a single-minded, 20th Century, Cockney Londoner, from Christmas 1964 up to her passing in March 1990. May’s diary notes have, once again, been transcribed and elaborated upon from memory by her son David (a.k.a. Lewis Adler) and, as before, out of courtesy to some families and individuals encountered by May during her life, a small number of names and locations have been changed. Nevertheless, “More Maisie Pops” still outclasses any soap opera because every event actually occurred. Indeed, May Faulkner-Lowe was a very real woman who had a compelling, and occasionally deeply moving story to tell.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Apr 4, 2016
• ISBN: 9781483565774

Book preview

1965-1990

CHAPTER 1

OUR channel crossing was smooth and uneventful, and we divided our time between the on-board duty free shop and the a la carte restaurant. It was there, over a lazy, tasty three course lunch, that Les took time-out to study, once again, the Europe road atlas and AA route map through France he’d been sent a few weeks earlier.

It recommends we drive straight from Dieppe to Paris, Maise, but I think I’d prefer to aim for Rouen for our first overnight stop. Rouen is nowhere near as far from Dieppe as Paris is, so that’ll not only give me a chance to get used to driving on the wrong side of the road, but it will also give us more time to find a decent hotel, and then have a good night’s rest.

Who was I to argue? I knew I was in good hands. Les was a safe and steady driver, and most important of all, he was fluent in French. By the time we arrived in Rouen, it was already dark, so Les stopped to ask a gendarme where the city’s better hotels were located. I watched while he and the police officer engaged in friendly, animated banter on the pavement nearby, and when they finished, the gendarme walked to my side of the car with a big smile on his face and saluted me, before turning away and striding off.

He says there’s a free parking lot about half a kilometre this way, said Les pointing out of the windscreen while, at the same time, settling back into the driver’s seat. Apparently, it’s well-lit and quite secure, and it’s very close to a number of hotels in one of Rouen’s nicest districts. So, what we’ll do Maise is this: I’ll leave you locked in the car, looking after the gifts and the luggage, while I go searching for a hotel. I’m sure you’ll be perfectly safe, and I’ll be as quick as I can.

Little more than five minutes later, we’d found the parking lot and, as Les locked the driver’s door and trudged-off, I noticed a sprinkling of rain drops on the windscreen. In a funny sort of way, they made me feel just a little safer, and so I snuggled down into my seat to await Les’s return. Much to my delight and relief, he reappeared not long afterwards.

I’ve found the perfect place, and the big bonus is, it’s got free underground car parking for hotel guests only, he announced excitedly, as he climbed back into the car. A hotel porter awaited our arrival, and pointed the way down a ramp and into the car park. By the time Les had found a spare bay, parked and turned-off our car’s engine, the porter had joined us, and he opened my door with a cheery bon soir madame, let me ‘elp you. Those few words made me feel so welcome. Here was I on my very first trip abroad, and I was being treated like royalty. I took the porter’s hand, thanked him in English and climbed from my car seat as elegantly as I could.

All we need is our overnight case, announced Les, before adding, The porter assures me the presents and the rest of our luggage will be completely safe inside the car, so we don’t have any lugging to do now, or in the morning, thank goodness.

My first day in a foreign land ended with a nice meal and a restful night’s sleep in a quiet and comfortable room. Soon after breakfast the following morning, we were on the road again in our little grey Ford Anglia. I’ll never forget its BLU 253B number plates. Over the following three days, the rest of our journey south through France and into north eastern Spain went similarly smoothly and, as we entered the outskirts of Barcelona, Les and I kept watchful eyes open for our roadside rendezvous point with Barry.

Sure enough, we both spotted the distinctive church Barry had described to us in a recent letter and, there, just beyond the church entrance, he stood waving frantically as we approached. Drawing-up to him, Les wound down his window, stopped, and shook hands with Barry, who pointed to his car parked nearby and told Les to follow him. Our little convoy seemed to take forever, weaving its way through Barcelona’s busy streets but, eventually, we turned into a car parking area next to a huge apartment block. We’d arrived at last.

After kissing me hello, Barry insisted I make my way towards the apartment block’s entrance while he and Les grabbed some of our car’s more visible contents. Little did I realise Barry had set me up because, as I approached the lobby door, it swung open and through it rushed our little princess. Marisa ran towards me with her arms spread wide, squealing Nana, Nana! I bent low and, as she reached me, I gathered her up and planted a big kiss on her cheek. A smiling Carmelita soon joined us, and we stood in a three-way hug, laughing and chattering excitedly.

Barry and Carmelita’s apartment was, in fact, a penthouse suite on the fifteenth floor. Being claustrophobic, I was a little apprehensive about the lift, but Carmelita talked to me throughout our ride, and it helped that the lift door was one of those old-fashioned, metal, concertina-type contraptions. Being able to see beyond the door all the way up to the fifteenth floor eased my nervousness.

Within the hour, we’d enjoyed a guided tour of the cosy apartment, and we were all enjoying relaxing mugs of coffee in the lounge, while Marisa ran back and forth introducing us to her collection of dolls and teddy bears.

The next few days were full of laughter and the occasional trip out to places like the amusement park on top of Tibidabo with its spectacular views over Barcelona, and the nearby seaside resort of Sitges, not to mention the unusual architectural works of Antonio Gaudi. The highlights of our Christmas in Barcelona, though, included a happy and often hilarious Christmas morning watching Marisa’s excitement opening, and then playing with, her presents all the way from England. Much later in the day, we all sat down to one of the most delicious Festive meals I have ever had. Carmelita is such a good cook, and she treated us to a multi-course Christmas Day dinner to remember. The sumptuous food, fine wines and liqueurs just kept coming, right into the late evening, and I think we were all glad to fall into our beds at the end of, what had been, a memorable day.

Late the following day, I decided to telephone my sister Ivy: knowing that most of the family would have gathered at Bedivere Road in Downham for a traditional Christmas Night knees-up. One member of the family I didn’t expect to speak to, though, was David. What are you doing at Auntie Ivy’s David, I thought you were spending your Christmas in Cambridge with Louise and her family?

I was, Mum, but I decided to come back to London last night.

Last night? How on earth did you manage that on a Christmas Night for goodness sake?

I’ll tell you all about it when you and Dad get home. The important thing is I got here safely, Mum, so you’re not to worry.

That was easier said than done, and when I told Les what David had said to me, at first, he was as baffled as I’d been, as were Barry and Carmelita. However, after a short while we all agreed that, as David had obviously arrived safely at his Auntie Ivy’s house, we should stop worrying and wondering, and wait for a full report from him on our return home.

And the start of our journey home came all too quickly. We’d had a wonderful time, but the tearful farewells between us and our little princess Marisa were difficult to bear. However, once we were on the road and back across the Spanish border and into France, our sights were firmly set on our first stop-over. After a peaceful overnight stay at a hotel near Carcasonne, we continued our journey north and, two days later, we arrived in good time and, thankfully, in settled weather conditions, to enjoy a smooth crossing on our ferry from Dieppe to Newhaven.

Les and I were both very weary when we arrived home, and David called-out over the first floor balcony wall, telling us to leave our cases and bags in the car: he insisted on fetching them up to the flat for us. While he was collecting the last, and biggest, case I sorted-out an advanced engagement gift Barry and Carmelita had given us to present to David and Louise. It was a small but very stylish, stainless steel sauce warmer and ladle: obviously chosen by Carmelita. They both thought the world of Louise, as did Les and I: such a lovely, attractive, happy-go-lucky girl.

Several weeks before Christmas, she and David had asked Louise’s parents if they could get engaged at Easter 1965. David later informed Les and me that Louise’s father had apparently been quite receptive to the idea, but her mother had put her foot down, saying they were both too young to be thinking of getting engaged. However, she’d agreed in principle, although a little reluctantly, to Louise’s suggestion of waiting until 1966, when Louise would be nineteen and David would be approaching his twentieth birthday.

Unfortunately, David didn’t enjoy the best of relationships with Louise’s mother. He found her snobbish in the extreme and, to make matters worse, David knew that, in her eyes, he was viewed as being common: coming, as he did, from a council flat background. Nevertheless, he and Louise were very much in love with each other and he was determined to treat her parents - Mr and Mrs Collins - with courtesy and respect. Les and I wouldn’t have expected anything less from him.

As I handed David the gift from Barry and Carmelita, I asked him what had happened on Christmas Day, and why he’d been at Ivy’s on Boxing Day. At first he looked a little sheepish, but he went-on to tell Les and me that they’d all arrived safely in Mr Collins’ Ford Consul in Cambridge on Christmas Eve, and he’d been given a camp bed to sleep on in the dining room.

That camp bed was rather uncomfortable, and it seemed every time I was dropping-off to sleep, the central heating boiler fired-up and I was wide awake again, he explained.

David then went-on to tell us he’d had very little sleep all that night and, by 5 am, he ended-up sitting at the French balcony windows watching a heavy snowfall turn December 25, 1964 into a genuine white Christmas. By Christmas Day lunchtime, he was feeling extremely tired. All he wanted to do was sleep, but he felt he had to put on a brave face and join-in the festivities as best he could. After lunch, and despite the previous night’s snowfall, he and Louise went for a short walk in the hope of reinvigorating him. However, soon after they returned to the warmth of her grandmother’s maisonette, David began to tire again. In the end, it was agreed he could grab a few hours’ sleep in one of the upstairs bedrooms. However, less than two hours later, he heard Louise whispering his name and stroking his forehead. Apparently, Mrs Collins had insisted on him re-joining the party downstairs.

By his own admission, he’d been in such a deep, peaceful sleep, being woken-up after less than two hours was simply not enough to re-charge his batteries. Nevertheless, David being David, to show willing, he returned downstairs and joined in a game of Monopoly on the living room floor. Apparently, about half an hour later, Mrs Collins asked him to pass her schooner of sherry over and, as he reached for it, he knocked it off the sideboard.

With that, Mrs Collins had started to call him a clumsy and stupid oaf, among other things. He apologised to Louise’s grandmother for spilling the sherry on her carpet, and she told him not to worry. But Mrs Collins wouldn’t accept his apologies and, instead, kept badgering him with a barrage of name-calling. In the end, David retaliated.

I said to her, for goodness sake shut-up Mrs Collins, you’ve had too much to drink. With that, Mum, one of Louise’s uncles stood-up, walked towards me and started to take his jacket off, challenging me to a fight. I got to my feet and stood my ground, laughed in his face and told him how ridiculous he looked and sounded. I then added, ‘I think you need to grow-up a bit’. At that point, he backed-off, and I’d had enough too. As tired as I was, I wanted out of that place, so I went upstairs, grabbed my case, packed my things and walked-out.

I asked David if anybody had tried to stop him leaving and he confirmed Louise and her father had urged him not to walk out on such a cold night, but his mind was made-up. Yes, that’s David alright. When he decides to do something, he does it, and to hell with the consequences. I’ve never known him to change his mind on points of principle.

Now let me get this straight, I enquired. You walked-out into a snow-covered town you’ve never visited before, but you still managed to find your way to your Auntie Ivy’s house. How on earth did you do that? To both Les and me, David’s answer was as riveting as it was astonishing.

Well, Mum, luckily the moon was still fairly low in the sky, so I knew I needed to aim towards it and slightly to my right to set me on a path that would eventually intersect with the A 10 London road. As I walked, I strained my ears to hear the distant swishing of car tyres on a salt-sprayed, slushy road surface and, sure enough, after about half an hour trudging snow covered side streets, I heard the faint hiss of the occasional vehicle. I headed for the sound and, not long afterwards, I came to a T-junction with a signpost on the far side of the road that read A10 Royston.

David then went-on to explain how he began to walk south towards Royston, attempting to thumb a lift. After about ten minutes, only three or four cars had passed him, but then he heard another vehicle approaching. He stuck out his right arm and, as the car passed him, the driver tooted and slowed to a stop.

"I stepped off the icy pavement into the gutter and ran the thirty yards or so to where the car had parked and, as I got closer to it, I realised it was a rather posh, black Rover 90. I could see it had two people on board, and the lady sitting in the passenger seat wound down her window as I reached the nearside of the car. The man in the driver’s seat leaned towards me and asked where I was heading. I told him I was aiming for south east London but quickly added that anywhere towards North London would be good. Reaching to his left behind the passenger seat, the driver unlocked the rear nearside door and, as he did so, he said, ‘Okay, hop-in young man. We can take you to just short of the Blackwall Tunnel if that’s any use to you.’ I was so happy, all I could blurt out was, ‘Thank you sir that would be perfect’.

Moments later, I was settled on the comfy back seat with my case on my lap, as the Rover pulled away smoothly and quietly. I was so relieved to be in the warmth of the car because, a few minutes earlier, I’d just started to feel the bitter cold outside. We’d only travelled a hundred yards or so when the lady passenger asked me if I was going home on-leave. For a moment I thought that was a funny thing for her to say, but I replied that I’d had a disagreement with my girlfriend’s mother and uncle, and that it had all started to get out of hand when the uncle took his jacket off and threatened me. The lady sounded very sympathetic, and the driver – her husband – agreed it was not the kind of thing anyone wanted to experience on Christmas Night. He then went-on to explain if it hadn’t been for the fact I was carrying a suitcase, they wouldn’t have stopped. ‘We thought you were a young soldier or airman making his way home for Christmas’ he said.

I interrupted with, That was a lucky break, and David agreed. He then told us he was, as promised, dropped-off by the couple in the Rover 90, not far from the northern end of the Blackwall Tunnel. Apparently, they had been very friendly and talkative all the way to London, and before they waved goodbye, they’d wished him a happier end to his Christmas and a safe arrival at his destination. Soon afterwards, David spotted a black London cab so he flagged it down. Making sure he was left with sufficient change in his pocket for a telephone call on the south side of Blackwall Tunnel, he asked the cab driver if his remaining three shillings and sixpence would be sufficient to take him through the tunnel and on to the nearest phone box south of the river. The cabbie said his Christmas rates would normally be a lot higher, but he told David to hop in.

"The cabbie also thought I was a young military man on his way home for Christmas, but when I told him what had happened, he was as understanding and supportive as the couple in the Rover 90 had been. He dropped me at a phone box right next to the main road out of the southern end of the tunnel, and I telephoned Auntie Ivy who immediately put Uncle Harry on the line. I explained where I was, and why I was there instead of in Cambridge, and Uncle Harry replied, ‘Stay exactly where you are, David, I’ll be with you as quick as I can.’

After I replaced the handset at the end of the call, I remained in the telephone box for a while longer, but then a man wandered into view and he wanted to use the phone, so I had to stand outside. By the time he finished his call, I was feeling very cold indeed, but I thought it best to stay in the open air, because Uncle Harry would stand a better chance of seeing me under the light of the street lamps, than inside a phone box. When Uncle Harry arrived, I was shivering uncontrollably, but I was soon warmed-up by the heater in his little Austin. Then, when we got to Bedivere Road, I was welcomed by a sea of happy, familiar faces and, soon afterwards, Aunties Ivy and Vera sat me down and served-up two plates full of warm sausage rolls, two pork pies, some turkey sandwiches, a big bag of crisps and mince pies with cream to follow. Needless to say, I slept like a baby after that little lot.

Les told David he was lucky to have survived such a bitterly cold night, but we both agreed he’d done the right thing in the circumstances. We were also quietly impressed by the initiative he’d shown in getting home safely, but we didn’t tell him so.

After that, I was keen to know whether David had heard anything from Louise or her parents, and he revealed that Mr Collins had telephoned Ivy about an hour after my call on Boxing Day. Apparently Ivy denied knowing where David was, even though he was sitting safely in the same room. She then gave Mr Collins a roasting, saying that if David wasn’t at home at Tyrrell House, she would hold Mr Collins and his wife personally responsible for any injuries he had suffered. David wasn’t happy with what Ivy had said to Mr Collins, but he told us he’d kept quiet because he knew how angry Ivy was over the way he’d been treated.

David then explained he’d returned home to Tyrrell House on Boxing Night, and at about eleven the following morning, he’d been woken by frantic knocking on our front door, and his name being called through the letter box.

I jumped out of bed, quickly put my dressing gown on, and rushed down the hall. Before I got to the door I realised it was Louise. When I opened the door, she burst into tears, flung herself at me and told me how relieved she was to know I was safe and well. She then asked me to accompany her back to her parent’s home, because they were worried too. I wasn’t keen, but I could sense Louise wanted to pour oil on troubled waters, so I washed and dressed, after which we walked to Lower Sydenham station and boarded the next train for Hayes. It wasn’t an enjoyable experience. Mrs Collins remained her unsmiling self all afternoon and evening, but Mr Collins was pleased to see me, and pleased, I think, to know that, despite the events of Christmas Day, all was well between Louise and me.

I was somewhat surprised, but thankful, to hear that Louise’s father had been so accommodating, and so supportive of his daughter’s position, but I suspected that Mrs Collins was hatching plans of her own. Call it a woman’s intuition if you like, but my suspicions were soon to be proved correct in the most upsetting of ways.

CHAPTER 2

FOLLOWING David’s revelations to Les and I about his unhappy Christmas in Cambridge, we were glad to know his relationship with Louise hadn’t suffered. They continued to see each other once or twice through the working weeks of mid-January and each Saturday too. But Saturday January 23, 1965 was different: in fact, it turned-out to be the opening chapter in what was to become an emotional few days, not only for the Lowe family, but for the rest of Britain too.

As usual, David had gone to spend the afternoon and evening with Louise, while Les and I settled down to a quiet few hours of reading, followed by our usual Saturday night diet of television entertainment. I’d just made a pot of tea, and was pouring a mug full for Les when I heard footsteps approaching along our balcony. Much to my surprise, as I looked-up, David walked past the kitchen window.

A few moments later, he was standing in the kitchen doorway looking rather serious. Hello, son, what brings you home so early? I enquired.

I’ve had it with that woman, he replied. Mrs Collins insulted me to my face, so I told her, once and for all, exactly what I thought of her. She burst into tears and left the room, then Louise burst into tears and stormed-out, leaving me in their flat on my own. After about half an hour, I was still sitting there twiddling my thumbs, so I decided to come home. And to think it was all over the length of my hair. How ridiculous!

I bristled. What about the length of your hair David? It’s not that long. In fact it’s very fashionable, what with the popularity of The Beatles and all. Besides, I like it the length you’re wearing your hair these days, it suits you. So what’s the problem with Louise and her mother?

David asked me if I could pour him a mug of tea as well, and he would then explain all to his mum and dad in the living room. Apparently, it had all begun the previous evening when Louise had asked David to get his hair cut in time for the Saturday night dance they were attending at Beckenham Rugby Club. Typical of David: anything for a quiet life, he agreed to get his hair trimmed but, when he turned-up at Louise’s front door that afternoon, not having done so, she threw a tantrum.

Then Louise made a big mistake, he continued. She looked to her mother for support, and that’s when Mrs Collins insulted me.

What on earth did she say? I probed.

Well, first Mrs Collins looked at me, then she looked at Louise, then she looked back at me again with a sneer on her face and said to Louise, without looking away from me, ‘perhaps you ought to give your clothes to David, and then get him to give you his clothes, and you’ll probably make a better man than he is’.

Les nearly choked on his tea. She said what? he spluttered angrily. For two pins I’d jump in the car, drive over to Hayes and give Mrs Collins a piece of my mind. The cheek of the…

I intervened. There’s no point Les, something like this has been brewing-up between David and Louise’s mother for quite a long time. So, David, what do you plan to do now?

As far as I’m concerned, Mum, it’s over between Louise and me.

Les and I chorused our sadness with a heartfelt, Oh dear, but David continued.

As much as I still love Louise, the planned engagement’s off. I’ve had enough. If Louise and I married, I would forever be buttoning my lip for fear of offending Mrs Collins. In reality I’d be walking a verbal tightrope every time I was in her company. I can’t bear the prospect of living like that. No, it’s over…finished.

So what did you say to Mrs Collins to upset her so much? I asked.

When she insulted me, I was sitting in an armchair on the far side of the lounge. She was standing behind the sofa on which Louise was sitting at the other end of the room. I just stood-up slowly and replied, ‘Okay, now you’ve gone too far Mrs Collins. I’ve put-up with your snide remarks and snooty opinions for far too long, so now it’s my turn. As far as I’m concerned you’re an insufferable snob, yet you have no right to be. You come from the same background as my parents, yet you think I’m common because I live in a council flat. What a hypocrite you are. Mark my words Mrs Collins: one of these days your snobbery and hypocrisy will be your downfall. All I hope is I’m around to see that happen’. That was when she burst into tears and left the room.

Good for you, David, well said son, laughed Les.

I also offered my support to David and then asked, How did Louise react?

At first she appeared to be stunned by what I’d said, then she burst into tears and shouted, ‘I’m not going with you to the Rugby Club dance tonight with your hair like that’. I replied, ‘Fair enough,’ upon which she stamped her foot and cried, ‘I’m going out,’ to which I replied, ‘Cheerio,’ and that was it. She stormed out of the room, down the hallway and slammed the front door.

David fell silent as Les and I looked at each other for a few moments. In the end Les shrugged his shoulders and said, Oh well, son, you’re the best judge. You defended yourself well, but what are you going to do now?

Right now, I’m going to sit in my bedroom and play my guitar for a while. I need to be doing a bit more practising anyway. Mind you, I’m still determined to go out later, but I’m going out on my own. In fact, I’ve already decided I’m going to the Beckenham Court Ballroom as usual. It’ll make a nice change to dance with some different girls.

Later that day, after David had washed, dressed and left the flat to catch a 54 bus into Beckenham, Les and I discussed the events of the afternoon. We were agreed that, despite our sadness, David’s mind appeared to be made-up, but we decided to wait until the end of the following day, in case he had a change of heart. However, other events determined that Sunday January 24, 1965 was to be overshadowed by something that affected, not only us, but most of the other households in Britain, if not the western world.

While David practised his guitar playing in his bedroom, a news bulletin announced the death of Sir Winston Churchill. The great man who had lifted our spirits throughout World War Two, and contributed so much to the eventual defeat of Adolf Hitler and his Nazis was gone. Those of us who’d lived through those times deeply felt the loss of a true leader. Even David: a post-World War Two Baby Boomer, broke away from his guitar playing for several hours to share in our sadness. In fact, he reminded us he’d had a colour portrait of Winnie, taken from an edition of his Eagle comic, pinned to his bedroom wall in our Mottingham prefab from the mid-1950s to the day we moved in 1960. Winston Churchill was his hero too, as well as ours.

In contrast, the morning of Monday January 25, 1965 was the start of a typical working week for Les and David. They had both set-off early by rail for Post Office Headquarters in the City of London: David from Beckenham Hill station and Les from Lower Sydenham. Meanwhile, I’d spent the couple of hours after their departures pottering around the flat, making beds and generally tidying-up after the weekend. Thankfully, I didn’t have any shopping to do that day, so I decided to treat myself to a lazy mug of coffee and a biscuit or two at 10.30.

Just a second or two after I’d settled into my armchair, there was a slightly tentative knock at the front door. Heaving a sigh, I placed my mug on the coffee table, and made my way into the hall. Before I reached the door, I could tell from the shape of the human figure on the other side of the glass that the visitor was female. However, I didn’t expect that visitor to be Louise.

As always, her hair, make-up, shoes and choice of clothing was perfect in every way: such an attractive young lady. However, through her lovely, brave smile, I could tell she’d been crying and, as soon as I my warm welcome of, Why hello Louise, what a surprise… left my lips, she fell into my arms sobbing her poor heart out.

Oh, Mrs Lowe, she cried, I had hoped David would be here. We had such a silly argument on Saturday, and I spent most of yesterday hoping he would show-up, but when he didn’t I cried myself to sleep. With neither of us being on the phone at home, I just wanted to hear his voice and tell him I’m so sorry for what happened. Where is he? Is he alright?

By then, I was leading Louise into the living room and sitting her down in Les’s armchair. David’s gone to work as usual Louise, I replied, not daring to tell her what David had said to us on Saturday afternoon.

All of a sudden, my mind was racing. What could I possibly do to help this distraught young woman? What could I say to bring some comfort and reassurance to her? Then I remembered how desperately unhappy I’d been, way back in the mid-1930s, when my boyfriend of the time – his name was Vic – had taken me for a walk around the back doubles in Bellingham. It struck me that Bellingham was less than one mile from where I was sitting at that very moment, and Vic had taken me there with the sole purpose of telling me he was giving me up. I cried my eyes out; I was so terribly upset. Now, there I was, all those years later, as the memory washed over me, wanting to cry again, but something told me to be strong for Louise. Then the words came.

First, I think you need a nice cup of coffee and a biscuit with me, Louise. After that, we’ll take a walk just up the road to the phone box, and we’ll call David.

Louise smiled through her tears and thanked me. At last she began to look more like the pretty, vivacious girl Les and I had come to know and love over the previous two years. We’d both taken to Louise as soon as David brought her home to meet us for the first time in October 1963, and we