This is it

Many thanks to vivacious for the great header.

This is it

By

Kenny Loggins – 1980

The end of the third decade of my life beckoned as the bells rung in the New Year of 1980. This was also going to be the year my life changed forever; for better or worse is still one of many imponderables. I look back on the previous twenty-nine years and see the mistakes I made along the way, the bad choices and the lack of belief I had in myself and my future. But I also remember the simplicity of the era, the happy times with friends and family and the freedom I probably failed to appreciate at the time.

I don’t remember when or how it happened; there were no down-on-bended-knee proposals or romantic candlelit dinners with engagement rings, but somewhere at some time I agreed to marry David. It seemed a natural progression after almost five years together and despite a few niggling doubts, I felt it was a better option than to be left a spinster for the rest of my days.

For the first half of the year life continued as I knew it. Teaching filled my days; after-school activities and netball matches often meaning a very late return home, feeling exhausted and not wanting to venture far at night. I still bowled in a team with Mum and a friend on Mondays and David and I still played Badminton and enjoyed long walks with the dogs. A pretty ordinary life, but one I couldn’t imagine ever changing dramatically by that stage.

Mum, Boo and I spent our last holiday together in the Isle of Wight in June, although we both visited our favourite little island in the future, but not together. It was the end of another era, but one which now holds many precious memories for me. On return, most of my time was taken up shopping and making arrangements for my forthcoming wedding.

It would be no big affair, no white dress, fancy cars or church bells, for in those days a divorcee was not allowed to remarry in church. A simple registry office wedding amongst family and friends, with a buffet reception to follow, seemed satisfactory enough and plenty to organise, without all the added pomp and ceremony of the indulgent weddings of today.

And so it was on Friday, August 22nd 1980, just over two weeks after my thirtieth birthday, I said goodbye to my days as a single woman and my life at home with my parents. It was a late afternoon wedding and I still remember walking back to my parental home after a visit to the hairdressers on that bright and breezy day. I still recall my footsteps slowing as waves of panic and uncertainty swept over me. I put it down to wedding nerves and convinced myself everything would be alright afterwards.

I had experienced some painful events in my life and had made many bad decisions, but if I’m totally honest, I now realise I probably made the biggest mistake of my life that day. I say probably, because I cannot be sure where my life would have headed if I hadn’t married David; there’s always a possibility things could have turned out a lot worse. Another imponderable.

That may sound harsh, but I’m not the first and won’t be the last to realise I chose the wrong partner. So why did I marry him you may ask? There’s no definitive answer to that question, but a combination at the horror of turning thirty, which seemed old to be still single in those times and a certain amount of pressure from David and his family were two contributory factors.

There was no honeymoon, as it seemed unfair to leave Louise, so it was a simple matter of returning to his home as a wife and step mum after the wedding reception. I remember meeting my Mum and sister in Nottingham for a shopping trip the following day, now a journey of around fifteen miles and a forty minute bus ride. At that stage, I hadn’t learned to drive.

A fairly simple routine life continued. I returned to work that September with a new name and a new age group. I was now teaching the oldest children in the school, a delightful class of ten and eleven year olds. I found their appreciation of humour and their ability to take sarcasm on board as well as their more extensive abilities, suited my personality far more than the younger children.

David still taught at the local Special School, so our days were spent apart and our evenings often involved preparing, marking and discussing our work, the one thing we had in common. Looking after a home and cooking were now added to my agenda and there’d be many a battle to try and get Louise to accept my culinary offerings. I suspect the resentment was more directly associated with the cook rather than the food; it would take time for us all to adjust to this new way of life it seemed.

I still went shopping with my Mum most weekends and we’d frequently enjoy our Sunday dinner at my parent’s home. My Mum thought a lot of and was very kind to Louise; maybe raising two daughters of her own made her sympathetic to a little girl who didn’t have her own mother around all the time. She obviously believed a girl needs her Mum; something I didn’t fully appreciate at the time.

Days, weeks and months ticked by, but it was in the December I experienced my first brush with the green-eyed monster I hadn’t realised resided at my new address. Some of the staff of my school decided to take a shopping weekend trip to France one weekend early in December and I was only too happy to join the group. David didn’t sound too thrilled when I broached the subject, but as it seemed totally acceptable and reasonable to me to spend time apart and pursue activities outside our relationship, I didn’t think a great deal about it.

The trip was hectic but we pulled in a lot during the forty-eight hours, although I don’t recall anyone actually buying anything. The ferry back to England on the Sunday met with very high seas, causing most of the staff, except myself and a couple of others to turn green and spend much of the journey with heads hanging over the rails. The boat arrived late and the coach journey home to follow was even later. When it stopped at a motorway service station I phoned David to tell him the bus was late as he had promised to pick us up in Kirkby. I received a very cool reception.

When the coach finally dropped us off in the wee small hours, a sullen husband drove my work colleagues to various spots, but on arrival home I was subjected to an interrogation as to why we were so late back and a bout of anger as if I was personally responsible for the delay. This was alien behaviour to me and I couldn’t understand why he could be so annoyed and surly over something so unimportant. There followed a very heated argument and disturbed sleep.

Our Headmaster found it highly amusing when a very tired and washed out looking staff arrived at school the next morning, but I think I was the only one who had other reasons than the rocky ferry trip to blame. I didn’t confide in anyone about David’s reaction to the late coach, although I’m sure they’d have been as puzzled and saddened as I was.

Of course the atmosphere was soon smoothed over and life continued in the same pattern. But, it’s an incident I remember as the first to scatter seeds of doubt about my future married life. Could I get used to living with someone who obviously had a problem with people outside the immediate family and whose outburst had frankly scared me? Little did I know, within a year there’d be no possibility of backtracking or contemplating escape.

One signature that changed my life.



The deed is done. Outside Nottingham Registry office with Louise and my sister’s children, Rachel and Nigel.