MY LIFE © - CHAPTER 39 - LOVE AT FIFTEEN

"El Queens in the Afternoon" .... does that sound too Hemingway for a title?

What about "The Black Merc"...hhmmmm too Agatha Christie??

No, I guess the title of this chapter as "Love at 15", though it may sound too Wimbledon -(Love - 15) – is the more appropriate one, so we should leave it at that. This chapter is about a Love Story in Gibraltar in 1960 or 1961. I am sure many millennials will find it somewhat ridiculous, yet the earlier generation will easily identify with the intense passion which our hearts battled for what was then so much…..yet today means so little.

Yes, I fell in love. I would do that often throughout my life, "fell" being much more the operative word than "love". These were the days when "las niñas del Convent Verde" would flood Main Street at 4:15 at the end of the school day. El Convento Verde (The Green Convent) referred to the green uniform all the girls wore. This differentiated with the other "Convento de Pago" which was a private school where it stands today in the South of Gibraltar.
This obviously coincided with the end of our own school day for us at the Grammar School. We had about an hour to go before tea time. After that it was homework and possibly sometime in the youth club of whichever area of Gibraltar each lived in.

And it was a hectic hour!

The most popular sauntering places were in Main Street, outside Lipton's. In today's parlance that was outside Princess Silks (now an Apple shop) and "El Martillo", now the Piazza/John Mackintosh Square. "El Martillo" was so called because in the square itself was where a public market used to be held, with assorted stalls and even an auction.... the hammer of the auctioneer - el martillo - gave the square its colloquial name. 

If you missed seeing your "crush" outside Lipton's you could go down to El Martillo and try your luck again. Contact consisted of sly looks, meaningful smiles and giggles from the girls.
Posing, preening and sultry looks from the boys. There was a whole lexicon of communication, all meaningful, subtle and in many cases victorious for both sides.

Memory is a strange thing for just as I am writing this, I have recalled a ditty that was sang to the girls, much too their annoyance, and it went like this:

"Las niñas del Convento

no saben freir pimiento,

Na'ma' saben decir,

Que'l novio es del Regimiento"

Just how many years ago since we last heard this sang out???

Anyway back to the story.

In one of those heady, happy, innocent days I spied a girl in green with a cheekiest of smiles. Cupid, always hovering around me, let loose one of his guided missile arrows which struck true, if not ever permanently so.
Nattie, though such was not her name, smiled at me and despite what I thought was a Robert Mitchum look of indifference, I was jelly inside. This happened opposite the Post Office, which had a public telephone booth in the outer foyer which could afford some rudimentary square feet of privacy.
Memory flash olfactory style ..... the distinct smell once inside that wood and glass booth ... musty, no quite urinary ...yet not far from that either!
She and two or three friends sat on the ledge of the shop-window of Cosquieri Ironmongers (now Vijay), chatting and directing subtle, sideways looks .... Me at the Post Office, as if indifferently waiting to use the public phone. As one of the Greenline Buses drove through and hid each other for a few seconds, I crossed the street and as the bus passed I was standing there in front of them.

"Nattie, would you like to come to the cinema with me?"

"When?"

"Today" .... Talk about striking when the iron is hot, I had no idea what was showing in any of the cinemas. But I did know so that the seats at the Queen's Cinema provided a more cosy intimacy than the Rialto, the Theatre Royal or the Naval Cinema.

"What is showing?"

"There's a good one at the Queens...."

"OK .... "

"6.15, we meet at the ticket office?"

"Yes ... OK ... yes ..." and my courage was doubly rewarded.
A date at the cinema and a lovely smile to keep me going till then.

While the Rialto and Theatre Royal had 3 showings, 6, 8 and 10 pm, the Queen's and the Naval had two, at 6.30 and at 9.30.

Obviously at that age and at that time, the 9:30 p.m. was not for those of our age during weekdays. And certainly, no self-respecting parents would allow their 14 or 15 year old girl to go, un-escorted, to the cinema at the evening performance.

Off I went, home, tea and toast, a very rushed homework, and a long session in the bathroom consisting of soap and water, a change of clothes, a chiselled side parting and a gallon or two of Old Spice!

Not much of a queue to buy tickets on a Thursday afternoon, but there was I when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned around and Nattie looked absolutely gorgeous. If memory serves me well, she had a floral dress on, white socks and Clarks sandals. To this day Nattie loves her clothes and she even designs her own in an amazingly original way. We chatted, looked at the posters of forthcoming films, and made our way to our seats somewhere in the middle of the middle rows. The days of the back row were not for us yet, not then, not ever as it happened.

No sooner had we sat when the national anthem played, as it did before every performance. Good British subjects one and all, we stood in silence, watching Her Majesty the Queen, trooping the Colour, side-saddle, and the waving Union Jack in the background.
We sat through that week’s filmed report of the news by Pathe Pictorial, probably just as depressing as news is now but the presenter had a more upbeat tone to his voice as I recall. After that came Tom and Jerry cartoons, the perfect antidote. And all during this time Nattie had her left arm on the armrest between us ... tantalisingly close, almost the whole reason for inviting her was to be able to hold her hand during the film. But did I dare do it? No ... not yet, David ... wait a bit ....

For if I tried and she were to remove her hand, that would signal the total catastrophe of my intentions however honourable they were.

Lights faded in... canned music. The 15 minute interval. and I offered to buy something from the tuck shop for her.

"Si, thank you ... un Mivvi please" A Mivvi was an ice lolly ...I would have brought her Titanic's iceberg had she asked!

I bought that and an Orange Maid for myself and we sucked and slurped and smiled and spoke till the actual main film came on ....

Do not ask me what the title was.  In my mind it was more like "To hold, or not hold that tantalizing hand" ...

And the film went on and on ….
and Nattie's hand stayed where it was,
and my courage was draining as the scenes unfolded...
till I could stand it no more!

It was now .....or never!

With the courage of desperation, I slapped my hand over her left one and grabbed hold for dear life.

"Aaiii!" she screamed in fright!

"Ohhh sorry, sorry ... " I mumbled in shameful apology.

The mission was a total disaster..... or was it?

My hand was still holding hers.

She had not withdrawn it from mine ....

Better yet, she held on to my hand, smiled and rested her head on my shoulder!
(Cue in Paul Anka....)

"I left my hand there waiting for you to hold it, David"

But subtle hints were never my best talents. Cowardice almost destroyed the day, but desperation and love, in one combination or other, won the day!

Could there ever be a sweeter moment in my 15 years?
Today over 60 years later …. it still remains very much alive in my distant memory.

In today's depleted values, that moment seemed to have taken centuries. Yet from that moment till the end of the film, sped past in mere seconds! There is a glow that once emanated from the first moment of "boyfriend and girlfriend" of innocent youth .... I doubt it is there yet ....

I would like to think that we shared a kiss or ten, but if we did they were kisses on lips that were closed, though tender, warm and resonating with the singing of angels in our minds.

And I had an ace up my sleeve.

I expected to walk Nattie home, possibly, daringly, walking part of the way through the Alameda Gardens. What better romantic setting for two very young people in innocent love.

But it was not to be.

As we left the cinema, virtually oblivious to the rest of the audience, to and looking into each other’s eyes, we heard the honking of a car. There are on the pavement opposite, was an ominous black Merc 190.

Sitting inside, the faithful guardian of his daughter's innocence, her father.
Of course, we were not holding hands any more, not out there on the street, in public ... that privilege could only come past puberty and after being properly engaged, ring included....and that was not our destiny.

Cupid would need two or three quiverfulls before I ever reached that stage .... and perhaps by then he should have gone to SpecSavers! 

 Nattie's Dad looked at us both, nodded at me ... hopefully thinking I had behaved, and not in any severe way, called out:

"Nattie, venga, vamos para casa"  (Come on Natie, let's go home)

I never forgave him, not for years ... mostly because he was right!
In fact, in later years I was fortunate enough to get to know him much better. I had a lot of admiration of him ...but that is another story.