Naturally, however, there were side-effects.
For most of my second level education, girls remained a mystery to me. I never liked mysteries. They made me nervous. Our school used to finish early on a Wednesday and I had to endure the torment of passing clusters of giggling tormentors on the way home each and every week. While they were probably talking about something completely different, I always felt as though the gigglers were laughing at me. But that's the thing about being thirteen, fourteen or even seventeen. We become so self-conscious that we forget that it's not the looks that matter it's the personality.
To make matters worse, I lived in an estate (a "park" as my mother liked to call it!) which had a girls school at it's entrance. I can't prove anything, but I am pretty sure that all the girls used to lie in wait on a Wednesday afternoon until they could see me making the dash for home only for them to emerge in 'giggle groups'. I still feel embarrassed now at the thought of it. There was only one course of action a fellow could take. Eyes focused on the ground, I would plow forward regardless of what stood in the way. Every now and then I would disturb a group of pretty stubborn gigglers but generally the plan worked and I would reach the safety of the house door in one piece, if a little red in the face.
Looking back it is hard to believe that I could ever have fallen in love before I left school. Yet love is an unusual thing. It seeks you out and haunts you until you give in to it's charms at which point it slowly weaves a web about you. The web that trapped me was woven in the Spring of 1992. It was a beautiful web; delicate to the touch but strong enough to hold me in its charms to this day. I was not the only one to fall for her. Most of my classmates thought that she was the most exotic creature they had ever laid eyes on. Much of our lunchtime discussions centred around which ofus would be her most suitable mate. I rarely suggested myself, but meeting her again, as I did recently, I am quite sure that we would have enjoyed a classic romance.
We never held hands. Never felt the warm tingle of a first kiss on our lips. We never even walked together. If she had ever known how often I looked at her and thought about her, she might well have been scared; but I was hidden by the trees as the men were hidden by the glasses from which they drank. Sometimes a lady is so beautiful that one cannot approach for fear the picture might in some way be ruined. What if she giggled? What if she looked past me towards a handsome shadow in the distance? As it happens, I don't think she would have done any of these things. She was too nice. Even the other girls knew that (and if I'm not mistaken many of my friends compared their girlfriends to her, to devestating effect).
Yes, she was truely beautiful. I am glad that we have crossed paths once again.
I believe that it is time you were introduced. Eyes down now...
The Planter's Daughter
When night stirred at sea
And the fire brought the crowd in,
They say that her beauty
Was music in mouth
And few in the candlelight
Thought her too proud,
For the house of the planter
Is known by the trees.
Men that had seen her
Drank deep and were silent,
The women were speaking
Wherever she went -
As a bell that is rung
Or a wonder told shyly
And O, She was the Sunday
In every week.
Austin Clarke.
When night stirred at sea
And the fire brought the crowd in,
They say that her beauty
Was music in mouth
And few in the candlelight
Thought her too proud,
For the house of the planter
Is known by the trees.
Men that had seen her
Drank deep and were silent,
The women were speaking
Wherever she went -
As a bell that is rung
Or a wonder told shyly
And O, She was the Sunday
In every week.
Austin Clarke.
The heart drops. The sound of giggles pass.
