Wild Thing

Many thanks to vivacious for the great header.

Wild Thing

By

The Troggs - 1966

I'm pretty sure there's not a person in England who was alive and out of nappies who won't remember 1966 for one single reason. There may have been serious problems with Rhodesia, The Beatles may have performed their very last concert and Lennon caused riots with his flippant comment about their popularity, but the whole country bathed in glory that summer as Bobby Moore held the trophy aloft at Wembley Stadium after England beat West Germany 4-2 in the Football World Cup.

Many too will remember a few months earlier the theft of the prestigious World Cup trophy from Westminster and the hero of the day who recovered it a week later. While Scotland Yard tried to hide their blushes as they investigated the theft and subsequent ransom notes, Pickles, a four-year-old mongrel sniffed out the trophy wrapped in newspaper while on a walk with his owner. The headlines were full of the story and Pickles went on to appear in films and television programmes until his tragic death the following year.

My own personal history may not have been so dramatic, but this was to be a year of firsts and revelations. My sister turned twenty-one that summer, which in those times was considered the coming of age and the key to the door. The family held a large party in hired rooms to celebrate the occasion. She was also engaged to her Staffordshire boyfriend by this time; something I know my mother did not approve of. However, she still found it convenient to enhance her own social life as my sister was still available Monday to Friday for evenings out.

It was about this time I also realised my Mum was seeing other men; whether they were just friendships or full-blown affairs I don't know for certain, but I'm pretty sure some relationships belonged to the latter category. My Dad seemed to be oblivious to her comings and goings and probably enjoyed the peace and quiet when she was out the way.

This was to be an important year at school, concluding with the G.C.E. examinations signifying the end of formal education for many. Consequently it was also a time of career talks and individual interviews regarding our future ambitions. I had always wanted to work with animals, yet had never seriously considered the career options available in this field. At my interview it became apparent only training to be a Vet would be appropriate for someone at a Grammar School and that was something I knew I certainly could not and would not want to do. This left only menial jobs such as a stable girl, dog groomer, work in a zoo or pet shop which were considered far too unskilled and poorly paid for a person with potential qualifications. It was time to rethink and start taking my future a little bit more seriously.

By now, I'd exchanged my paper round for a Saturday and Holiday job in a Newsagent's shop. This was a family run business; my employers were very kind and pleasant to work for. I still feel pangs of guilt about the number of times I slipped any friends who came into the shop too much change or a smuggled packet of cigarettes, but being young and selfish is the only excuse I have to offer. The couple who ran the shop had two small children, one of each, and I really looked forward to seeing them every Saturday and they always responded well to me. I'd had very little experience of young children, but slowly the idea formed I would perhaps like to be a Primary School teacher.

Nigel and I had become very close. I'd discovered over the months we had an awful lot in common, besides birth signs and interests. The air of arrogance he gave off was indeed a front; we were both a little unstable, lacking in confidence, needy and emotionally damaged. I recall the night Nigel broke down in tears as he told me he'd found his well-hidden birth certificate and was shocked to discover the man he'd called Dad all his life was not his real father. He'd been confused as a child because he'd told friends he could remember attending his Mum's wedding and couldn't understand why no one else could. His mother had never told him the truth and he had never dared tackle her on the issue, but in those times being illegitimate was still steeped in stigma. I still think it was an unforgivable omission on her part, particularly as she came across as a snobbish and narrow-minded woman who obviously didn't consider a council estate girl good enough for her son.

My own Mum was quite happy to provide drinks and biscuits at school break times and study periods for groups of girls or boys and was well liked amongst my friends. It was a nice feeling knowing my home was the local coffee bar and I still appreciate the kindness she showed to my friends, even if she didn't like them all and was probably using us as one way to cover up her own insecurities and unhappiness. She didn't particularly approve of my closeness to Nigel at such a young age, but accepted him as a person, so he tended to spend much more time at our house than his own.

Nigel and I became lovers that year, a few months short of the legal age in my case. Not something to be proud of, but not uncommon. He was my first and I would realise as the years passed, probably my best, but I don't recall the earth moving, orchestras playing or bells ringing. Maybe I'd watched too many soppy movies and read too many romantic novels, but what was considered to be such an explosive experience didn't measure up for me, yet it was not unpleasant, so worth practicing.

Another thing Nigel and I had in common was flirting. Ours was to be an on and off relationship, with many flings in between or alongside our own. Later in 1966 I dated another boy in my year called Neil, who worshipped the ground I walked on and wanted to get engaged before he left school and joined the army. He was a charming young man, confident, generous, ambitious and mature beyond his years, but there was no way I wanted to commit myself to anyone at that age. I always associate the song 'Wild Thing' with Neil as that's what he considered me to be at the time and was enamoured with the free spirit he thought I was. His opinion, not necessarily mine. These days, the song also reminds me of someone else, but that's a story for another time maybe.

I scraped through enough 'O' Levels to return to the sixth form at school in the September of 1966, by now very aware I must take my studies and behaviour far more seriously than I had in the past if I was to gain a place at college. After the exams, Neil left school and I didn't see or hear from him again until a few years ago. Neil was the first person to contact me from Friendsreunited in 2001 but thereby hangs another dramatic tale for the future.

England's hero Pickles, responsible for the discovery of the stolen World Cup trophy in March 1966. Maybe he was singing 'Wild Thing' at the time too.