The Blackbird And The Rainbow: My Journey Through Grief

By Chrissie Smith

The Blackbird and the Rainbow is written from the heart and is a frank open and honest account of what it is like to lose a child from drug addiction. My experiences are directly relevant to the contents of the book. I write in detail about the dreadful day I received the phone call every parent dreads, t

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pen Culture Solutions
• Release date: May 18, 2023
• ISBN: 9781638127369

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The Blackbird and The Rainbow

Copyright © 2023 by Chrissie Smith.

PB: ISBN: 978-1-63812-735-2

Ebook ISBN: 978-1-63812-736-9

All rights reserved. No part in this book may be produced and transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Published by Pen Culture Solutions 05/08/2023

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For my beautiful son, David.

We will always be together,

I love You

Prologue

Monday 14th April 2008

Yesterday, on a perfect Spring morning, my friend Cheryl and I got in my little car and left our dreary hometown of Maidstone in Kent, to make what I consider to be the most beautiful journey in the world. This is the six hour journey travelling westwards down to Cornwall. I love Cheryl very much and anyone I love has an open invitation to come with me to my little Retreat. This is a small and unpretentious apartment in Portmellon Cove, beautifully situated down the coastal road from the fishing village of Mevagissey in South Cornwall.

Cheryl was going to drive my car and after we had packed our things into the boot and loaded four Morrissey albums into the sound system I asked her if she still had that photo on her mobile phone. Well, yes she replied with a concerned expression but it’s very dark. I am over him I cajoled but I just need to do this last thing for closure. Please may we take it up to the Nottcutts garden centre to that photography section. They’ve told me they can get it off your phone and enhance it. I just need to do this, I need this photo.

Cheryl who had spent the last year indulging my every whim agreed as I knew she would. So off we went to Nottcutts. On this short diversion Cheryl’s brand new satellite navigation system became censorial, flustered and finally hysterical simply because she had told it we were going to Cornwall. Not for the first time I wished I could be more like a computer guided by logic rather than emotions. It would be so simple if we could push the delete key sometimes. Speaking of which, I felt the old familiar stirring feeling in my stomach. This little photo that Cheryl had taken, nearly a year ago now, meant so, so much to me.

When we arrived at Nottcutts, Cheryl found it on her phone and showed it to me. I felt deflated and panicky because in all honesty, I couldn’t make out anything. It simply looked black and I was terrified she may delete it before we could give it to the man at the photo thingy. We handed this precious cargo to him and he studied it and sighed. I won’t be able to get it any better than that he said peering at the dark blur on the screen in which you could just about make out two faces.

I know but could you please have a go? I begged. He sighed and e-mailed Cheryl’s little photo to his computer. I was so expectant and excited. At first all we could see was darkness. Then we saw it slowly coming into focus. An outline of my beaming face, looking like the happiest woman alive. As we continued to stare mesmerized at the blurry image another outline appeared of a dark man cuddling me. You can see it’s him said Cheryl Can’t you? I answered doubtfully pretending to be nonplussed but actually beside myself with happiness. The man wearily printed it off for me charging me 48p and must have wondered why I was so thrilled with this grainy little picture.

We returned triumphant to the car with me holding the photo as if it was the most precious possession in the world. I felt euphoric as we set off for Cornwall. I set it up on the dashboard in front of me and watched it develop in front of my eyes. Every so often I would shout to Cheryl: He’s getting clearer, I can see it’s him now Cheryl.

As we passed beautiful and mysterious Stonehenge I looked again. My God, Cheryl it’s still developing. I can see its him, I can see it’s Russell. His handsome face was transforming before me. This darling man, this man had meant so much to me in the last year... my darling Russell Brand (even typing his name thrills me and I’m supposed to be going cold turkey). Cheryl beamed at me and I stroked her hair with affection. We continued our beautiful journey travelling westwards towards the setting sun with Morrissey’s distinctive soulful voice guiding us there. We decided his voice had improved as he grew older and physically stronger. So sexual...We laughed and joined in when Cheryl’s song came on. I’ve been dragged through...15 miles of shit... and I do not...I do not ...I do not li...ke...IT. I hugged my little secret to myself knowing that I had bought us both V.I.P. tickets to his live gig in Hyde Park. I was going to tell Cheryl during the holiday when the time was perfect.

When we arrived the little apartment welcomed us sparkling with attention and care. There were fresh flowers in a little crystal vase left thoughtfully by Loraine, my caretaker who was fast becoming a friend. It was late and after a cup of tea we went to our separate bedrooms. Before I turned off the light I sat up in my bed for ages with the photo in my hands. I kissed his face. Every second of the memory of the night I met Russell was vivid in my mind. It had been taken in the foyer of The White Rock Theatre on July 20th 2007. Cheryl and I had been to see Russell in his stand up gig Doing Life.

I looked so happy, so carefree...I touched his face. Tears poured down my face as reality hit me. Although the woman on the photo appears the picture of happiness the truth could not have been more different. I was actually a woman out of her mind with grief and loss. Russell was cuddling and comforting the wreck of a woman whose heart felt as if it had been torn from her body and was truly broken.

I knew that I had invited Cheryl here with me for a reason. All my life I had wanted to write a book but had never had a subject to write about. Now, my subject was clear although it is not one I would have chosen in a million years. With Cheryl here I would not be physically alone but she would respect my need for solitude for a few hours each day. Now I was back in Cornwall, I had no excuses. I had to write about this last year and all that led up to it, this terrible year of loss and suffering-the year in which I lost my first born son to heroin.

As I went to sleep I doubted whether I would be brave enough to do it but every cell in my body was compelling me to try. I hoped in doing so I may be able to reach out to people I care about. Menopausal women grieving for the beautiful girl who still lives within them, women who are always on a diet, lonely isolated people who don’t fit into a neat stereotype, anyone suffering from a celebrity obsession, and young people who have slipped through the safety net of society and are sinking below the waterline.

Most of all though I hoped that by writing I could make sense of the grieving process of a parent who has lost a child. I wanted it to be above all for all those poor darlings who have lost a child of any age, and for any reason. It is truly the most horrific experience a parent can have. It’s also for those who live with the constant fear of future loss as they watch with helplessness as a beloved son or daughter slips into the abyss. This is a perhaps even crueler than death itself.

I wanted to write it for my son David, as a testimony to his courage and bravery and above all to his sense of humour. As I slipped into unconsciousness that night I promised myself one thing. Although I knew the subject matter would be painful, heartbreaking and at times excruciating I would not allow it to become depressing. There would be lots of laughter amidst the tears and the human spirit would shine through the pain and ultimately triumph.

Chapter One

Saturday, 3rd February, 2007

Geoff and I felt happy for the first time since Christmas. We were driving down to Bristol to see our youngest son Steve who had decided to move there after university. It had been his birthday on the 19th January and we wanted to spend some quality time with him and treat him to some new clothes and a couple of decent meals. I felt he was a bit lonely because his flatmate had got himself a serious girlfriend and spent all his time with her so that the bachelor lifestyle Steve had been hoping for hadn’t really materialised. He was waiting to be accepted into the Avon and Somerset Police force and meanwhile was working at Asda working long hours for terrible pay. I felt he had been a bit neglected by us in the last year so I was so looking forward to focusing on him.

It was the most beautiful sunny clear day in February, one of those God given days when it felt so good to be alive. I glanced over at my darling husband of twenty seven years. He looked so handsome and I thought it still feels so good to be going anywhere with him alone.

We had a beautiful journey down to Bristol and booked into a hotel quite close to Steve’s flat. We unpacked our few things and I rang Steve who told us he’d meet us there. We went down to the reception area and looked out for him. At first I didn’t recognise my own son because he looked taller and more of a man than when we saw him at Christmas. I loved him so much. He was a dear and sensitive boy who had always been close to me. We all hugged and I gave Steve a tin with a huge chocolate cake that I had baked. Steve suggested we take it back to his flat, then we could have lunch at a pub on the river.

As I was attending Weight Watchers, for about the tenth time I chose carefully and had some kind of a salad. I knew we were going to be eating that night so I thought I’d save all my points till then. It was a noisy vibrant kind of a place alive with students and young families. I could see why Steve preferred Bristol to Maidstone. The planners had made the best use of the river filling it with an amazing choice of restaurants, pubs, cafes and nightclubs unlike our town where the river was home to warehouses and dreary outlet retailers.

We had a good old catch up with family news and Steve asked about his older brothers Dave and Mike. We told him Mike was doing well in his job as a television researcher for Nickelodeon in London. What about Dave? he asked more anxiously. I glanced at Geoff. Yes, he’s fine.

I changed the subject abruptly asking Steve what he thought of the comedian Russell Brand. He’s alright mum but why can’t you be normal? If you like him you should go to see him live. I liked the sound of this but wondered who would want to go with me.

After lunch we trawled around the shops in Bristol but they were crawling with Saturday shoppers and he said he’d rather have the money which was a relief to all of us.

As it was such a beautiful day we decided to walk up to Clifton, the posh area of Bristol. On Park St Steve pointed out Banksy’s painting on the side of a shop alongside a canal. It was fabulous. It depicted a naked man hanging out of a window. We marveled at how he had done it without anyone seeing him. We continued up Whitelady’s Road to the BBC buildings going in and out of exquisite shops. It was so hot for February, the most beautiful day; I just couldn’t believe it was winter. I felt so alive and energetic, healthy and full of life.

We had walked a long way. The area was throbbing with affluence. Steve and Geoff admired the constant stream of Porches and red Ferraris zooming down the hill. I looked into the window of The Pier I noticed a man slumped on the pavement. My heart went out to him. He was holding a sign saying ‘Please Help Me. I’m not on drugs. I am just poor. My first instinct was to give him money but Geoff and Steve were ahead of me and had totally ignored him. I felt torn because I knew that he was probably on drugs. I also knew that if I had been alone I would have given him some money. I passed him by and to this day I have never forgiven myself.

As we retraced our steps back towards central Bristol Geoff and Steve kept stopping to look some estate agents windows in Park St. I looked at my watch. It was coming up to 3.00 p.m.

The sun disappeared behind a cloud. I began to feel drained and I was looking forward to getting back to Steve’s flat. I walked a little ahead of the men but didn’t want to appear tired and spoil their time together. As we came into central Bristol we passed the Hippodrome which was showing Tracey Beaker. It was spilling out lots of mini Rachel’s onto the street giggling and chattering. This was the last happy thought I remember having.

I was beginning to feel very cold now. The winter sun had nearly disappeared and promised no further warmth. I shivered. I began to feel a little ill, faint and I was becoming colder by the minute. We approached the river and I could see Steve’s flat on the other side. Come on you two, I implored. I need a hot cup of tea. Four hours without hot tea kills.

God Mum, you’re so pathetic Steve replied.

We walked on. I was beginning to feel really unwell now. I remember thinking I hoped I wasn’t going down with flu as I was due to teach on Monday at the local school. Suddenly I felt what I can only describe as an electric shock in my hand. I didn’t say anything thinking it was the way I was holding my bag that had caused it. It was getting colder, I felt drained of energy, could barely summon the energy to put one foot in front of the other. Suddenly I felt another, stronger electric shock in my arm. I thought, Don’t make a fuss. Don’t cry out. I kept thinking they would go away. I had never felt like this in my entire life though I remember thinking they reminded me of birth contractions.

There was a short respite then I had another one. This time the pain was so excruciating I screamed out loud. Oh my God- am I dying?

The pains were indescribable. From far away, I could hear Geoff and Steve asking what was wrong and Steve reassuring me we were near his flat. They had to support me. I remember thinking I would never get there. All the time, the electric shocks were shooting up my left arm. They were so comparable to birth contractions I began to brace myself for the next one. Every time I screamed out with the pain. I was so frightened; convinced I was going to die on the streets of Bristol. Help me Geoff! Ow …Ow! For God’s sake help me. Somehow, we got to the safety of Steve’s flat. I was absolutely drained of life and felt bone cold.

I collapsed on the sofa and Steve ran off to make tea. The warmth of the hot sweet tea made me feel a bit better. Geoff and Steve started to talk about things but I felt so exhausted and weary, so tired, and strangely lonely- a horrible displaced feeling. Suddenly my mobile rang; I was quite surprised as I wasn’t expecting anyone to ring. It was my mum. She didn’t even say hello. Is Geoff there? I don’t want to speak to you. I want to speak to Geoff. I passed the phone over thinking it must be that something was wrong with his elderly mother who was in a home. After saying Hello Margy he simply listened as her sentences broke in on our happiness. He kept repeating, yes...yes...yes.. There was a long silence .Then he said, Well I’m three hours away Margy, so I don’t think I can get home just yet. She spoke some more and he looked resigned. Steve and I glanced at each other rolling our eyes. We guessed it was something to do with Dave, our eldest son. Just when we thought things were improving. Trust Dave to spoil our precious long awaited weekend with Steve. Geoff said wearily Alright then Margy, I’ll wait to hear from you. He handed my mobile back and I asked Well? So what’s happened now?

Apparently, Dave’s in hospital. He’s taken something and your mum’s going up there now. I can’t remember exactly what was said after this but we were all annoyed with Dave and Mum for spoiling our rare weekend together because we had been there, done all this before, running up to the hospital to find he had discharged himself. Don’t you dare go home Mum. This is our weekend, together. said Steve.

Your mum’s going to ring back when she knows more added Geoff. I thought about her driving up to the hospital in the dark. She wasn’t a good driver at the best of times and she was in her eighties. I estimated it would be at least half an hour before we heard from her. Turn your phone off Mum Steve ordered but I didn’t and held it tightly in my hand.

Geoff and Steve started to talk about where to eat that evening, Steve suggested Clifton. I tried to summon up interest but was thinking that something must be very bad here because mum wouldn’t have wanted to spoil our weekend with Steve for no reason. I knew whatever happened, that the joy of the evening would be spoilt for me as so many had been.

I nearly jumped out of my skin when my mobile rang again. Geoff just grabbed it out of my hand. Unusual because he hates the phone and refused to own a mobile. Steve and I stared at one another. We heard Geoff say, No, but I’m her husband. Right, right, yes, yes, yes. I see, right, right, are you telling me? Yes, yes, yes, please, can you wait? I’ll tell her. Geoff covered the phone with his hand and looked directly at me. His face was indescribably sad. It was if he was giving me as much time as he possibly could before he ruined my life forever. He said simply, Angel-that was the Sister at the hospital. Davie has died.

Mum told me later they could hear my screams at the hospital. Geoff tried to hold me but I pushed him off and ran around Steve’s flat screaming: NO! NO! NO! NO. I could hear my voice far away. Get your hands off me. I screamed, Leave me. Get away from me. Don’t touch me. I ran from room to room ending up in Steve’s bedroom. I leant against the window ledge. There was mould there and I wondered why no one had cleaned it.

I was aware of Steve talking to someone on the phone. I couldn’t bear for Geoff to touch me. I wanted to be with Dave. I couldn’t bear we were three fucking hours away. I kept shrieking in a voice I didn’t recognize. Well, what shall we do? What shall we do, what shall we do? I knew we had to get home and the thought of it taking three hours was unbearable. Steve said he’d spoken to his older brother, Mike, who by some miracle had come back home to Maidstone. He was rushing up to the hospital. I was so relieved because mum was there all alone.

Steve said he would drive us to our hotel to collect our stuff. I stood alone in his kitchen as he and Geoff made arrangements. I stared out into the black sky and dialed the number of my best friend, Val. I had to tell her. I was shaking. She answered immediately sounding most surprised because she knew I was away. Hello Val, I’d said in the strangest voice. Help me please, Davy has died. There was a silence, Help me though I know you can’t. I’m asking the impossible. She answered in an equally ridiculous voice Is your ....husband there, I mean is Geoff there? Yes I answered in the same strange voice: Geoff is here …and Steve. We’re coming home. Goodbye. It was like a conversation between two strangers.

Steve drove us back to the hotel and left us. He told us he was returning home to collect a few things then we could pick him up at his flat because he was coming home too. I hadn’t thought about him doing that but oh I was so glad we would be together. How unthinkable it would have been to have left him there.

At the hotel Geoff and I got into the lift, Please, let it be empty. I thought. It was, but as the doors closed, a crowd of giggly young girls dressed for Saturday night pushed their way in. I turned to the wall, crying and shaking with shock. Geoff tried to shield me but eventually their chattering ceased as they realized I was in considerable distress.

We packed the few things we had unpacked and got back in the lift. Geoff checked out explaining we had to leave suddenly. How can he even talk? I wondered. My son is dead, my son is dead. I kept thinking that the thing I had dreaded all my life had finally happened.

We drove back to Steve’s. Geoff went up to get him. I just sat in the car numbly. I had an overwhelming feeling of sadness for my granddaughter Rachel. My body was shaking and I could not form coherent thoughts. Steve and Geoff came back. Steve, bless him, said he had brought some food. Some pizza wrapped in foil. Geoff set off. I thought, How the hell, is he going to drive? The fucking satellite navigation started to kick in. Turn it off I demanded. I didn’t want some fucking posh woman telling us how to reach our dead son. Steve said Don’t worry, Dad, I know the way to the motorway.

When we eventually made our way through the traffic in Bristol, the motorway was blessedly clear. I felt as if we were on an airport runway pausing before that thrilling moment of acceleration and take off. There was the most beautiful clear sky and a huge full moon in front of us, guiding us home. I stared at it, fascinated by its beauty, thinking We are on a planet in a Universe. Dave has left this planet, where is he where is he? Where in the Universe is he?

We barely spoke. We were all in shock but at least we were going home back to Dave. Steve’s mobile rang. I heard him talking to Mike. He passed the phone to me. Mike said, Mum, I’m going to identify Dave, Margy can’t. No I protested NO! It’s not fair on you Mike. I want to do it. Wait for us.

Mike replied softly, The Police are here, Mum, talking to Margy. Jane is here with Rachel. Oh my God, poor little Rachel. I want to see him, I insisted. I want to identify him. We’ll be home soon. Wait for me." We drove on. I was aware I needed the toilet, how could I want to how could my body be functioning when my son was dead. Geoff drove into a motorway Services. We all went to the toilet where I wondered how my body could still function. Then I bought chocolate and stuffed myself with it. Bizarrely I remembered Weight Watchers. I wouldn’t be going there for a while.

We continued our terrible journey. It was just the three of us, in our warm safe car and the motorway. I was so thankful for our good car. I knew it wouldn’t break down. How unbearable that would be. Mike rang back, he told me I couldn’t identify Dave because the mortuary shut at 10.00p.m. and that he was definitely going to do it. The Mortuary? What was the word mortuary to do with my son? I protested more but Mike was very firm. He told us we would have to go straight home because it was too late to go to the hospital.

We drove on, that beautiful moon guiding us home. Could it be that only that morning we had been so happy, travelling the other way in the heavenly sunshine? Time seemed to have been suspended, I couldn’t take it in. My son could not be dead. I kept saying to Geoff, Tell me this is not true, this can’t be true after all we’ve been through. A year ago- perhaps- but not now. Geoff replied gently, I wish I could, angel.

In my heart, I knew it could be true. I stared at the moon. I thought of my darling Mike bravely going to identify his older brother because I could not get there in time. It was an unthinkable thing for him to have to do at the age of twenty five. Poor Mike. Poorer Dave, waiting to be identified. Only a few weeks ago they had been laughing together at Christmas. Mike rang again telling me in a soft voice he had done it and was taking my mum to our home because the Police were still searching her bungalow. Poor Mike would never be the same again. I told him to put the central heating on.

Once I knew for certain I would not be seeing Dave tonight any remaining energy left my body. Try to rest Geoff advised. At least close your eyes."

I had three hours to sit in the car with nothing to do, but live inside my head. I knew I couldn’t sleep but I closed my eyes. This was all my fault. Davie was my son and I hadn’t protected him. I had failed. I remembered the day he was born, the dear little baby he was and the sweet little boy he had become. How did it all go so wrong? I thought back through the years to before he was born, another lifetime when I was a young girl. Beautiful hot summer days. Blonde hair and tanned skin. As I slipped into a semi conscious state of suspension I could actually feel the warmth of that blessed sun upon my face…

Chapter Two

- All Things Bright and Beautiful

In the summer of 1969, when I was 17, I met and fell in love with a handsome young man called Alan Bright. I had gone to a dance above a pub in Maidstone with my best friend Val who I had known since I was 11. He was a year older having just completed his A levels at an Army Boarding school. I had just finished the first year of mine. He told me he was hoping to go to Newcastle University if his grades were good to study Economics. Amazingly we discovered we lived in the same close so we walked home together that night. Val got off with his best friend but wasn’t enamored and complained as usual she had got the worst one.

I felt ready for this new and exciting relationship having been out with many boys who I quickly became bored with. It also got me out of being manipulated into being paired up with Bill who lived next door. Bill was training to be an army officer at Sandhurst. His mum, Mrs. Gore, was a very formidable and pushy lady who was continually trying to get us together. She was a very large lady who used to bend over to do her weeding in full view of our dining room window. I can remember my Dad trying not to watch her as he ate his breakfast but it was impossible. The other thing she would do is sit in our living room with her legs wide open so you couldn’t concentrate on what she was saying. When she went home my Dad would say My God, the bloody thing was smiling at me.

Alan and I shared a wonderful summer of love, playing tennis every day for hours and walking over the fields to the North Downs with my dog, Brandy. Thank God that poor dog couldn’t talk although you could tell he was dying to when we took him home.

One day we were standing at the bottom of Mrs. Gore’s drive trying to work out how I could get out of going to a prearranged date with Bill. We walked up the drive satisfied with the elaborate pack of lies we were going to tell when we heard this Bill’s refined voice saying You needn’t bother, I heard every word. To our embarrassment Bill had been lying on a sun lounger directly above us. Mrs. Gore was not amused and tried to find him another more suitable girl who went to my school but later confided to my mum he had refused telling her Chris has got more personality in her little finger than she has got in her whole body. I thought that was one of the nicest compliments anyone could have.

When Alan took me to his home for the first time it was an eye opener for someone like me who had been brought up in an Enid Blyton environment. His mum was very welcoming and gentle. She was Italian, a very beautiful woman, from whom Alan got his looks. We chatted happily until his father came home from work. At once the atmosphere changed and it was obvious that he was feared by the entire family including his wife who became very nervous as soon as he walked in the door.

This was alien to me because my own dear dad was the opposite. I idolised him and respected him because he was a gentle and kind man who loved his family. My parents loved each other and respected each other as equals. Alan walked me home and told me his Dad was very strict and ruled the house as if it was a military institution. Anyway it didn’t stop me wanting to see Alan and we mostly met at our house or went to Alan’s when his mum was there alone. Alan got his grades and duly prepared to leave for University in September. We were both dreading it because Newcastle upon Tyne was 300 miles away from Kent.

We were both heartbroken when he went and I missed him so much. We phoned each other a lot always after Top of the Pops on a Thursday night. I was in the process of deciding where I wanted to go to Teachers Training College. You were allowed to choose about 3, and then select one after interviews. I applied to go to Bath and Watford both of which accepted me on the provision I passed A level English with a C grade. Alan had settled well in Newcastle and raved about it. He suggested I apply there so we could be together. I was thrilled because I wanted to be with him. My parents were worried because it was so far away but I told them it wasn’t just because of Alan but I just wanted to go as far away from home as I could without going to Scotland.

I went up for the interview by coach which took an unbelievable nine agonising hours. I was wearing a little mini dress covered by a maxi coat over the top. I remember getting off the coach halfway up the M1 at the services and being absolutely frozen. Alan met me in Newcastle and took me to the hotel he had booked for me near Northern Counties College. He showed me around his university and took me to the Students Union. I felt totally out of place amongst his new Uni friends and very much still the schoolgirl.

My interview was quite stressful but I felt I had handled myself reasonably well, telling them I read the Times every day, which was a complete fabrication. Judging by all the enthusiastic nodding it went down well. Almost as soon as I arrived home I received an offer accepting me on the same conditions as Watford and I wrote back to accept. Alan came home for Christmas and we had a wonderful time although I noticed he mentioned a certain girl’s name a lot who I had noted as being very friendly with him in the Students Union. All my friends and even some of their mums fancied Alan and which made me love him and want him all the more.

Alan came home again for Easter and we picked up where we left off being young, carefree and in love. One evening we were at my house just talking, after my parents had gone to bed when there was a thundering knock at the front door. It was Alan’s father who bellowed at me Tell Alan if he doesn’t come home NOW he needn’t come home at all. It was barely 11 o’clock.

I started crying and poor Alan ran home immediately. My Mum and Dad woke up and ran downstairs. Alan’s father was truly a horrible man and a bully. A father but not a dad. Not long after this at the end of a disco at my school Alan told me he was sorry but he could not go out with me any more. I was absolutely inconsolable and ran all the way home screaming and hysterical. Mum tried to comfort me saying things like I wish I could convince you that you will meet someone else but to which I kept screaming: I’ll never meet anyone like Alan I want to die.

Mum reminded that only a few months ago I had been inconsolable about a certain French boy. I had to be careful with my response to this because I had been friendly with at least three French boys. At Easter I had persuaded my parents to allow me to fly to Paris to stay with my studious pen pal Maurice; on the grounds it would be good for my ‘A’ level French. Little did they know that when I got there I persuaded him to take me on his moped to a girlfriend’s house about 50 kilometers from Paris. I told him her name was Maxina. I stayed the night with Maxina who was tall, dark and incredibly handsome for a woman. He was absolutely drop dead gorgeous and I had met him at campsite in Folkestone the previous summer. I had also previously gone out with his cousin Philippe who made the mistake of muttering the fatal words: This is my cousin Max.

The next day after Max had left for work I had to make my way back to Paris. I got lost in the French countryside and became very disorientated and frightened. When I finally made it back to Paris his seriously academic parents were distant and frosty. I felt terrible about it because Maurice had taken the trouble to show me the wondrous sights of Paris, and his parents had been kindness itself. I don’t know how they found out I had lied to them but I suppose calling someone Maxina was the equivalent of an English person claiming they knew a girl called Kevinette or Arthurbelle.

Perhaps Alan giving me up was Karma for my behavior. The awful realisation hit me that I was stuck with going to Newcastle Upon Tyne, 300 miles from home, where I knew no one and would never have considered going if Alan hadn’t persuaded me.

That experience taught me a huge lesson. NEVER do something because a man asks you to. Be your own person and do what you want to do. I still hadn’t got over Alan by June when I left school forever. I worked full time at the dry cleaners where I had a Saturday job. Life seemed very bleak. To make this situation worse Mrs. Gore who was delighted that we’d broken up asked me to go to the Sandhurst Ball with Bill who was passing out as an Officer. I had to go and still have a picture of me in a beautiful long dress scowling at the camera. There is nothing worse than being dumped by someone you adore and then having to go on a date with someone who you don’t find the least attractive. I suppose I was lucky in having the opportunity because it was an all night lavish affair with no expense spared but I hated every minute of it. They may have been officers but in no way were they gentlemen.

Alan did come along once more when I was out to ask my Dad if I could come out to play. Dad was unimpressed and being protective of me told him I was too busy. After a few weeks of utter misery his older brother asked me to the pictures and I went. He was a young soldier home on leave that was totally different to Alan in every way. We had a laugh but there was nothing romantic in it. He told me what I had suspected; their father had told Alan he wouldn’t give him his grant if he continued to go out with me.

As the long summer wore on I ventured out to a dance where a friend called Fiona introduced me to her boyfriend Dave. He was the guitarist and singer in the group who were playing. Afterwards he asked me out. I told him I couldn’t because of Fiona but he told me he was going to give her up. To my horror I found out on our first date he hadn’t but he promised to tell her the very next morning.

At lunch time the next day when the Dry Cleaners was full of customers she burst in shouting hysterically to anyone who would listen that Dave had given her up because he had met someone else.

When she eventually ran out in tears I left the shop, trailing nosy customers behind me and ran down the road after her shouting: Fiona, I’m so sorry but it’s me. There was a horrible long silence before she became hysterical shouting I knew it was you. You bitch. I didn’t stop apologising and eventually she forgave me and we stayed friends. I used to go out to all Dave’s gigs as a kind of groupie. At 24 he was quite a lot older than me. He was the first boyfriend I had who owned a car, a huge impressive Austin Cambridge. One thing that endeared me to him no end was that he used to fill up the glove box with chocolate and sweets and the first thing I would do when I clambered in was to open it up to see what he had bought me.

About this time my parents were mad enough to leave me alone in the house when they went on holiday. Dave used to park his car over the road at The Bull and stay the nights with me in my parent’s bedroom. From here we would watch Mrs. Gore in her garden peering through the fence trying to see what I was up to. I used to take great delight in going out and talking to her about how it felt to be alone in the house then rushing in to laugh about it with Dave.

Later we went away together in the summer holidays telling my parents we were staying with his parents in Dorset. In reality we went to a hotel in Swanage by ourselves. We became really close and never argued or had a bad word between us. He bought me lovely meals every evening and was so protective towards me. He also continued to endear himself to me by refilling up the glove box of his car with Mars bars and wine gums. We were both dreading the end of the summer when I would be the one leaving for pastures new leaving him to pine alone in Maidstone.

Chapter Three

Northern Lights

Just before I left for Newcastle I received a letter from Northern Counties College to say that I would be staying at a Ridley Hall. I knew I was going to be staying in a hall of residence so thought no more of it and wrote the address down for mum.

As I would be away for a year, apart from the holidays, I needed to take so much stuff with me that Mum and Dad bought me a huge trunk to pack all my stuff in. This huge monstrosity was going to be sent ahead by British Rail and would hopefully arrive shortly after myself. We had a job strapping it up. Dad had to help me and when I wondered how I would manage alone he simply commented in that dry way of his: You’re on your own now girl.

I certainly felt it when Dad dropped me off at the station in Maidstone to catch the train to Victoria, London. I had to negotiate the underground to Euston with two suitcases. The journey to Newcastle by train was long and when I arrived it was nearly dark.

I was terrified but managed to find the right bus stop to get me to Northern Counties College which was on the outskirts of town.

As I trudged along the road to the college I felt dejected, lonely, frightened and desperately homesick. I missed Dave’s protection so much and wondered what on earth I was doing 300 miles away in such a hostile environment. My arms were aching from the weight of the cases and my bra was riding up around my neck but was helpless to do anything about it. I made my way to Reception where there were loads of people just like me. A second year student showed me to my room in the one of the four Halls of Residence. This was only to be a temporary home for our Inaugural week and then I would be moving into Ridley Hall.

The room was modern and well equipped with a comfortable bed wardrobe, desk and washbasin. We were given details of our Inaugural week, the purpose of which was to introduce us to everyone and acclimatize us to the layout of the college and the local area and to sample the delights of Newcastle. I quickly made friends with a lovely girl called Jenny who was to become a lifetime friend. We found that we were both going to Ridley Hall and speculated as to where it would be. The week was fun and they showed took us all over Newcastle. We went on a boat trip down the Tyne which was quite frankly depressing. I was surprised I seemed to be the only person who had come from the South. Everyone spoke with an accent which could be hard to understand especially the Geordie one which was like a foreign language. Jenny was from Scunthorpe and most people were from the North or from Ireland.

I was amazed by two things -how much the other students drank and how much they swore. Every other word was fuck this and fuck that which I wasn’t used to but it wasn’t long before I was fucking along with the best of them, not literally of course. That was when they told me it was me who spoke with an accent because I said fuck instead of fook. I always thought we spoke the Queens English down South but I was ridiculed mercilessly for the way I said barth instead of bath and caa..ndle instead of candle.

After a week of frivolity in Newcastle the day arrived when 60 of us would be departing for Ridley Hall. We packed our cases, vacated our lovely modern rooms and herded together in the college car park. Nothing was to prepare us for what was to come. We sailed out of the city and soon left it far behind. Soon we were deep in the heart of Catherine Cookson country. We were