First Love

You may be surprised how often love comes into my tale. I love to give love, only rarely have I felt loved, and perhaps deep down inside there is a reason for the inner turmoil that has periodically descended upon my mind. The black dog still comes visiting but he can be handled easily enough these days.

Love is an overwhelming passion, and time has tempered my reaction to its demands, but it is so marvellous to be able to dream, and love allows that indulgence.

I was four years old when I first met Jennie. We were in the same tap-dance class. I wasn’t any good, she was. Childhood passed without too much contact, except for one memorable afternoon in my neighbour’s garage. Jennie’s dance teacher, Elsie Hatfield, lived next door, and one day she came with her mother to see Elsie. As my parents knew hers my mother joined the group, and Jennie and me played in the garden. We kissed gently in that garage, and I was smitten. As we moved into our teens she became even more noticeable. She was beautiful (and still is) and her dancing lessons began to pay dividends as she was often to be seen in local shows and pantomimes.

I was entranced by her. Silly spotty youth! I remember feeling really proud running out to buy her fish and chips during the interval when she was appearing in a pantomime at the Playhouse Theatre, Colchester (now a pub). That I was collecting everyone’s meals was irrelevant, those chips were for Jennie. Bewitched, red-faced and confused, in the soppy way of callow youth. I watched transfixed as Jennie danced and sang ‘You Are My Sunshine’ at the Corn Exchange in Colchester.

This simple song was one that my sister, Janet, could play on the piano, and was often heard at home, so it had special significance when sung by Jennie, who would have known nothing about Janet’s playing. Later I was able to invite her out, on those rare occasions she was back in Colchester. She was then touring in variety, in the summer there were seaside shows, and the winter saw pantomime. Our relationship never really blossomed but luckily enough we have remained in contact for these many years, and still meet for a quiet dinner every year. It’s been a rare friendship, one that I cherish.

I hasten to add that the following poem is a distortion of the truth, as I am not the father of her daughter, but perhaps I wish events had worked out as described. There’s no doubt that it would have made both our mothers very happy!

Jenny
She danced and sang as my Teddy Bear,
Said 'You are my Sunshine' from the lights of the stage.
Soubrette made dreams.
An acrobatic blonde dancing on my tender heart
In Skegness took my virginity without mention.

Too much of this world she knew
Yet she sought not the sailor's game
Was just a child of the 60s
Doing what we all did then
'Where is Love' was to blame

The child that became
Has now a much better name
Than those that fumbled together in her creation.
Genteel and wed
To a producer of plays
Closely watched by her lonely mother