JOANNA 1973
It's 1973, I am 24. I was back at Manchester in my 5th year, having already got a BA(Hons) 2.1. I lived with Pete and Gillian in a little terraced house directly opposite the University Halls of Residence I had spent two years in when I first came to Manchester. There was a Saturday night dance, which I haunted looking for a girlfriend – I was of course now two years older than most of the students, but 'town' girls also came, in the hope of picking up a potentially high earning boyfriend. Generally I hung around disconsolately against the wall or on the balcony, but as I got more desperate I got bolder.
She was in a calf length full red skirt and red tights with a loose blouse, dancing with someone else, but I wanted her badly. The dance finished and I cut in and took her off him. We spent the rest of the evening together; she was 18, worked in a Theatrical Costumer's in central Manchester, had had one previous boyfriend (pity that) and lived with her parents two bus rides away. The dance ended and we kissed. I took her over the road back to the house and into my bedroom . . . .
One weekend she took me to meet her parents for roast Sunday lunch – the full works. Her father said “Well Roger, you can carve the joint” (clearly the task of the master of the house – a test?). I had never carved a joint in my life – we couldn't afford real meat in the caravan, and I had no idea what to do. I sort of fudged my way through it, perhaps I should have just come clean.
About two months later -
Sorry Joanna, but yes your mother was right, and I have felt vaguely guilty for hurting you for the rest of my life; forgive me, we were both very young – but you were great and it was wonderful.