On beating bully's part two.

Linda R was a pretty blonde girl who lived in Stockport and had come down to Manchester to visit Belle Vue with her sister and cousin to enjoy the excitement of the fairground and wander around the famous zoo at that once great emporium of pleasure. It was early in sixty-four, the days had just started to lengthen and the weather had turned from winter cold to a warm spring. My pals and I had cheated the turnstiles yet again by unscrewing part of the railings on the boating lakeside and squeezed through thus saving us one and six. Which meant of course that we could buy fags, or go on a few of the rides, whichever took our fancy.

We had been there for an hour or so when as we walked toward the monkey house. I saw Linda coming out, she smiled and of course I was immediately in love, we didn’t stay long with the monkeys, they were in a foul mood throwing things at people passing the cages and pissing on anyone stupid enough to get too close. We made our way toward a quieter part of the zoo where the sea lions lived. As we approached this rather dishevelled building I noticed the pretty blonde girl again, this time she and her friends were sat on a bench just outside the rather grandly named sea world. My friends entered the sea lion house but I had slowed down in the hope of perhaps getting another smile from her, just then a group of lads walked over and started to talk to them. I lingered at the entrance just in case, and was just about to give up and follow my pals when things turned nasty. It was obvious that the girls didn’t want to talk to them because they were trying to get up to leave, but every time they did they were pushed back down onto the bench.

This was not the way to treat ladies and in a moment of madness I decided that these uncouth bastards needed to be taught a lesson. Because of a pretty face a delightful summer dress and something as simple as a smile I decided to walk into the valley of death and save this fair maiden from the hands of these ruffians. Its amazing how stupid men can be sometimes, the funny thing is I wasn’t scared, I should have been anyone with common sense would have been. But I strode up to them grabbed the offenders arm spun him round and told him to leave the girls alone and go bother someone else. I stood there looking into the face of Toffee Holland, my old adversary from junior school. (See on beating bully’s) He shook my hand of his arm and snarled at his mates to “get him” but just then my pals wondering where I was had come outside and seeing what was happening, shouted “Fair fight, fair fight” and so it was to be. My pals backed of, his pals backed of, the girls backed of, I think at this point I should have backed of, but I had gone too far and it would have looked bad in front of the pretty blonde girl.

We circled each other for a minute or so fists at the ready, then he lunged at me knocking me to the ground, my wind was gone and he sat astride my chest reigning blows into my face. Its fair to say that at this point I was getting the shit kicked out of me, that day in the school yard came flooding back to me. It was a private embarrassment that I carried for years, and it seemed to be happening again, but far worse, it was happening in front of the pretty blonde girl. My Father always taught me not to fight, but if you have to he would say “fight fair”. It was fairly obvious that fair had to go out the window, and so in desperation I grabbed his crown jewels, twisted as hard as I could and yanked them once or twice for good measure. He screamed like a girl and rolled of me clutching his bits and bobs. I stood over him waiting for him to get up, when he did I gave him the thrashing he deserved, and perhaps I went too far because my pals had to pull me off, still old demons were dispelled that day.

We spent the rest of the day walking round Bell vue with the girls and its true to say that when it came time for the girls to board the bus and go home, I was smitten. We were to see each other for a little over eight months until one night she had come down to see me and she didn’t go home. We spent the night in an old car just talking and enjoying being together. The next day there was hell to pay, her brothers came down to pick her up and take her home, her Father was ill at the time and my irresponsibility had made him worse. He died a few weeks later and rightly or wrongly I was blamed for that, and forbidden ever to see her again.

I used to take the bus up to Stockport and hang around where she lived in the hope of seeing her, but unknown to me she had been sent to live with a relative soon after her Dads death. She sent me a very sad letter in which she said how sorry she was that things had turned out the way they did, but her brothers had made things impossible.

I never did see her again, but I carried that letter with me for years, and sometimes I would take it out and read it, looking for a clue or some kind of hope I suppose, But none was there, it was as final as it could be. Years later when I was married to my first wife she confronted me with the letter after going through my wallet, I told her that it was just a memory from the past, but she insisted that I tear it up to prove that it meant nothing. The courage that Linda R had inspired in me that day in Belle Vue which had enabled me to beat the bully had deserted me, and I ripped the letter into tiny pieces and watched it blow away on the wind.

I think of her now and again, I can still see her face in my mind, she will have changed I’m sure but I remember her as she was that day, a pretty blonde girl in a summer dress smiling.