Amazing how a
simple image from a 1950 copy of the Illustrated London News can act as a
touchstone to an event that, if not entirely forgotten, was at least tucked
away amongst the deeper recesses of my memory files. As I dust this one off,
all I ask of you is that you imagine this Wolseley Six-Eighty is painted
in glossy black.
I was between schools, aged I suppose around thirteen, and this was the geography master's car. When the summer holidays came, and before the new term started elsewhere, I joined a school camping trip to Symond's Yat in the Wye Valley for a week. A host of teachers were in attendance, all now calling us pupils by our first names. It was so surprising to be called 'Peter' by the PE master instead of 'Ashley you cretin', and having him talk to me nicely instead of blowing a whistle in my face. We gathered at the school on the Saturday, and were divided up between the cars, one of which was towing a trailer with all the tents. Including the geography master there were six of us squeezed into the big Wolseley. I was in the front on a bench seat, with a GIRL in-between me and the driver. Having two brothers I'd never been this close to one ever. So we drove off with me staring ahead, bright red and clasping my hands between my knees. After a couple of miles our driver said "Peter, wouldn't you be more comfortable if you sat with your arm around Diane? You don't mind do you Diane?". I can't remember what she said but she smiled at me and I smiled at her and thought to myself "Oh God you're so pretty". And with delicately pink cheeks and black curly hair she certainly was.
Three or four hours later we got to a muddy field near Symond's Yat and we fell out of the car. Diane ran off to join her girlfriends and I was left gazing fondly after her. For the rest of the holiday I could be seen lurking in the distance, tripping over guy ropes and behaving suspiciously in the environs of the dining tent. Quite rightly she completely ignored me, and I was grateful for an overnight canoe trip downriver with three mates, just so that I didn't have to worry about it all for a while.
I can't remember ever seeing this Wondrous Beauty again, but Wolseleys will always have a special place in my heart. Even the one my dad drove into the side of a Midland Red bus. Another awakening. But it does make me think. My Youngest Boy will be thirteen very soon. But somehow I don't think for one minute he'll have to be encouraged to put his arm round a girl.
I was between schools, aged I suppose around thirteen, and this was the geography master's car. When the summer holidays came, and before the new term started elsewhere, I joined a school camping trip to Symond's Yat in the Wye Valley for a week. A host of teachers were in attendance, all now calling us pupils by our first names. It was so surprising to be called 'Peter' by the PE master instead of 'Ashley you cretin', and having him talk to me nicely instead of blowing a whistle in my face. We gathered at the school on the Saturday, and were divided up between the cars, one of which was towing a trailer with all the tents. Including the geography master there were six of us squeezed into the big Wolseley. I was in the front on a bench seat, with a GIRL in-between me and the driver. Having two brothers I'd never been this close to one ever. So we drove off with me staring ahead, bright red and clasping my hands between my knees. After a couple of miles our driver said "Peter, wouldn't you be more comfortable if you sat with your arm around Diane? You don't mind do you Diane?". I can't remember what she said but she smiled at me and I smiled at her and thought to myself "Oh God you're so pretty". And with delicately pink cheeks and black curly hair she certainly was.
Three or four hours later we got to a muddy field near Symond's Yat and we fell out of the car. Diane ran off to join her girlfriends and I was left gazing fondly after her. For the rest of the holiday I could be seen lurking in the distance, tripping over guy ropes and behaving suspiciously in the environs of the dining tent. Quite rightly she completely ignored me, and I was grateful for an overnight canoe trip downriver with three mates, just so that I didn't have to worry about it all for a while.
I can't remember ever seeing this Wondrous Beauty again, but Wolseleys will always have a special place in my heart. Even the one my dad drove into the side of a Midland Red bus. Another awakening. But it does make me think. My Youngest Boy will be thirteen very soon. But somehow I don't think for one minute he'll have to be encouraged to put his arm round a girl.
