Has anyone a friendsreunited Tale to tell?

I’ve been a member of Friendsreunited for several years. When I joined there were 11 school members from my senior school years 1961-66 and at present the number has held fast at 135 in total. I expect that’s the extent of those that could read or they may have better things to do other than join up and spend hours chasing rainbows like me. Whatever. The idea of the site was good and allowed re-contact with those friends of a distant time. After the initial excitement of posting a few general questions it soon settled into a non-event. It seemed that the majority of those who had registered did so just to be listed and expected everyone else to do the work. One of the drawbacks is that the message you post is shown to all areas that you may be listed on i.e. work places and places where you may have lived. I can’t think of many generic messages that could transcend across such a wide range of locations;
Anyway enough of this twaddle.

I tried to encourage my school friends to write about a variety of topics but after six months gave up hope of ever having any meaningful exchanges; until one day when a new girl joined; I’ll call her Helen. She had been a popular girl at school, especially with the lads if you get my drift. Now we’re not talking about what we’ve come to expect today. In those distant times we were still quite innocent and naïve (well I was) we hadn’t been through the liberated 60’s at that time; that was too come. In our new Comprehensive school there were1200 pupils. There weren’t any pregnancies that I can remember, we all wore school uniforms and addressed the teachers as Sir and Madam. Anyway Helen came on the site and introduced herself in a very outward way and charming way she said that her nickname was ‘Bubbles’ which I understood was directed towards her personality and not to the sounds she made when partaking in her favourite hobby of Swimming. She said that “enjoyed life and was looking for someone to have fun with especially if he was financially secure, had a pension and an insurance policy” she went on to disclose that she was prepared to try anything at least once because life had taught her that things were rarely as bad has originally expected. Tempting proposition I’m sure many will agree. She sent me a professionally commissioned picture that looked as if the lens needed cleaning it was as if there was a coating on the lens which softened the image and distorted the proportions; but hey, we can’t all have a good cameras eh? Helen’s picture was one that a man of my age finds has attractive; her Bomber jacket constrained her fuller figure with difficulty, the starburst filter which had been used reminded me of how porcelain sparkles after washing in fairy liquid. Helen gave me her address in Kidderminster and encouragely said that ‘I could come at anytime and that she would leave the back door open’; an innuendo I failed to understand. Needless to say I stayed away from the net for a while, at my age I have so much to loose.

Several months later I received a mail from Helen announcing her forthcoming marriage, she had found someone to share her twilight years with. Helen sent me details of the date and the venue and also copy of the wedding list, which had been placed with Birmingham’s most exclusive store. She thoughtfully included its web address with the proviso that Argos vouchers would be just as acceptable. To encourage me further and help overcome my shyness/reticence she mentioned that several other school members would be attending; hmmm very interesting I thought. As the date approached I wrestled with the mental quandary, should I go or not? One part of me said do it, it would be good to meet up again, but another side said we had little in common after forty years and life had taught me that we are all touched with the finger of grief at some stage and it can be a dreary competition to hear who’s been affected most.
I made a devious plan, which would place me in the general vicinity on the wedding day. I arranged to visit my sister in Cheltenham, which would mean driving past Kidderminster on my way home. I over stayed my visit to my sister sufficiently to coincide with the event in Kidderminster. Travelling back north up the M5 I counted down junctions weighing up the choices and decided to let ‘sleeping dogs lie’ and not to tempt fate. When the last turn off to Kidderminster presented itself the car alarmingly swerved off onto the exit. Fate had intervened and directed onward, it was destiny and I was merely its passenger. Approaching the Country Inn I thought if I could observe inconspicuously I could then decide whether to expose myself to her (not literally you understand) I found the Inn on the edge of a pleasant village. There were several cars in the car park more than you usually get on an early Sunday evening; it was dusk and a little frosty. Approaching the entrance to the grandly named Banqueting Suit and Restaurant I wondered where the ‘e’ had gone. Peering through the doors of the reception area I could see with a small bar. I went in nodded to the young receptionist and headed for the Gents so that I could come out and then head for the bar area without appearing as a later comer and attract attention. A few minutes later (much relieved) I was standing at the bar vaguely attached to group of guests nodding at the correct times as if taking part in their conversation. The guests were split up into the normal groups, bride and groom’s relatives and work friends. It was easy to meld into whatever group I wanted and by giving the occasional nod or “alllright’ I didn’t attract too much attention. I surveyed the gathered assembly looking for anyone who looked familiar. The promised school members were not clearly discernable I guess after such a period we have all changed I’m often reminded of that fact when a catch a glimpse of my self in the mirror. From the corner of the bar I could see through a serving hatch directly into the privately booked room set out for the wedding reception. The guests were settled into their table locations. I strained to see through the cigarette-induced fog the top table where the Bride and Groom were seated just out of sight. Just then a glass was struck and an announcement made for the start the speeches. Unusually, on this occasion the Bride stood up and explained that because her newly acquired husband was confined to a wheelchair she would do the talking on this occasion. I somehow believed that would be the case for the rest of their time together but didn’t feel it necessary to interject with what everyone else thought as well. Helen had changed in the forty-year period since out last meeting, the pert Twiggy type last seen in a green leather coat from Walsall market had blossomed in much the way we had hoped our insurance investment policies would have. Her wedding dress took on the dingy colour that only fluorescent strip lighting can display, it had a myriad of creases in a way that Dianna’s dress had. The size of her gown of her reminded me of the last time I had visited Billy Smart’s circus. Helen thanked her guests for coming and explained how those who hadn’t already given their gifts or vouchers could have their names ticked off the list before the end of the evening much to the amusement of nervous shuffling laughter. Helen spoke affectionately about her new beau and mentioned how she had fallen for him the first time he had run over her foot as he had exited the post office after picking up his Giro. It had been the start of their friendship and was the culmination of her stalking. With a hand on his oxygen mask she explained how she would look after him for as long as he lived; which I didn’t think would be too long especially as she fiddled with his oxygen cylinder valve carelessly. She had already arranged for the conservatory to be assembled whilst they were away on their honeymoon, Indicating that the tiled area would be more serviceable and less prone to wheel marks. She made some comical remark about how the cocktail sausages in the finger buffet had reminding her about the time she has accepted her hubbie’s proposal/submission of marriage but I couldn’t make out what the connection was with a shrunken morsel of sausage meat.

Call me a traitor if you will, but I was pleased, nay grateful that I hadn’t met up with her before she had found the man of her dreams. I left the bar by way of the toilet as I had entered, walking purposely back to my car and the safety of central locking. I slipped it into neutral rolled down the drive onto the road before starting the engine and racing towards the M5 Northwards. My lasting memory was of Helen pushing hubbies wheelchair dangerously close to the cellar stairs in her version of the Conga.

They say you can never go back and this was one of those occasions when I certainly shouldn’t have.