NextBack"Liz Horgan fancies you", said Terry Rice "Liz who?" I queried. " Elizabeth Horgan" she was on the Batchley bus the other night, the Irish bird you were dancing with at the Foxlydiate hotel. I cast my mind back and remembered dancing and having a few words with this very beautiful Irish girl, I also remembered my embarrassing disappearance. On a barley wine high for most of the time I could not recall what we talked about but I remember her saying" I saw you at the Danilo last Saturday" then after a pause, " I'm going there next Saturday". Why she told me that she was going to the cinema I could not imagine, that was how naive I was. Terry worked in the stock room at Woolworth’s and also lived on Batchely estate on the north side of Redditch and he and I would travel home from work together. A few months previously my parents and I had left Abbeydale estate and moved in to a brand new council house on Pinetree close at the top end of Batchley estate.
"So, Liz Hogan fancies me", now what does one do? I know what I did, nothing! Each night on the bus home I was constantly looking for her but at the same time scared stiff that she might be on it and when Terry mentioned again that she had been asking about me I still didn't know what to do. "I'm going to ask her for you " he said, leaving me in a state of mental turmoil for the next few days . " Right! You're taking her out on Sunday " said Terry, " Seven o'clock at the Gaumont. Sunday came and found me lurking on the corner of the Library building surreptitiously peeking towards the Gaumont Cinema not wishing to be the fool who turned up if she didn't, 'Doubting Thomas' strikes again! However sure enough just before seven o'clock this personification of sophisticated 'Haute Couture' appeared in a soft pink and mink ensemble. Plucking up courage I squeaked towards her on my 'Brothel Creepers', a fashionable form of male footwear of the Fifties. These shoes with over two inches of soft sponge sole were an integral part of the 'Teddy Boy' image, they were high on fashion and low on stability. How anyone could creep quietly around a brothel in them I will never know. These in conjunction with my light 'camel dung brown' suit with green piping on the pockets, a slim green knitted tie and 'D.A' or '(Ducks Arse)' hairstyle completed an ensemble bordering on sartorial vulgarity. As I approached her it must have been rather like a neon sign flashing, 'Beware, Pillock approaching', she seemed not to notice. Thus began my first serious love affair.
