I'll Never Fall in Love Again

Many thanks to vivacious for the great header.

I’ll Never Fall in Love Again

By

Tom Jones – 1969

Returning to college at the start of 1969 was not something I was looking forward to. Wentworth Castle was a joyless place, there was little to do in the middle of nowhere in winter and the lecturers were on the whole making life hard for many of us. I was taking English as my main subject and it was perfectly clear there was no love lost between my tutor and myself. Unlike my English teacher at school she droned her way through lectures, obviously having only text book knowledge of the literature she covered. Much of it I’d studied before and in truth probably knew more about it than her. Falling asleep in her lectures a few times didn’t help my popularity and I’m pretty convinced she’d have thrown me off the course if she’d found an acceptable reason to do so. She was the first lecturer to make life difficult for me, but certainly not the last.

I disliked the college, the lecturers, the workload, the rigid discipline and the limited social life and several times contemplated leaving of my own accord. However, there was a certain stubbornness in my character to see this through and qualify as a teacher, even though by now I wasn’t sure I wanted to be one. But there were some redeeming features in being able to now share a room with my good friends Vivien and Kath, the college food was excellent and Barnsley itself quite a pleasant town with plenty of shops, pubs and young men. Not that there was much chance to visit very often, studies and teaching practices took up the majority of the time. My English lecturer ensured she was my personal tutor for my first teaching practice and despite criticisms had to concede I had the potential to make the grade in the classroom, so had no grounds to fail me which is what I believe she’d intended.

Nigel was still working at the Bookmakers back home in Nottingham. He’d become disinterested in pursuing a career to suit his intelligence, as well as rather devious and underhand. I still saw him at weekends and holidays but although the deep feelings for each other were still apparent, our lives were by now taking totally different paths, leaving us little in common. Jean and Carbolic Dave married that year when she discovered she was pregnant; the thought of being wed with a child on the way at eighteen was inconceivable to me, but we still spent a lot of time with them.

Poor Graham underwent months of hospital treatment, traction and finally surgery on his damaged spine. I visited him in hospital in May of that year, but for whatever reason we then drifted apart. Graham later went on to marry one of the nurses from the hospital and I didn’t see or hear from again until after the turn of the new century. There’s another long and involved story for future reference, should the occasion arise.

My Mum was now without my sister as a social companion but still went out a lot and continued the ten pin bowling team with Robert and other friends she’d made. I think Nigel and I were roped in a few times too as she began to see the potential of her youngest daughter as a replacement buddy for my sister. I don’t remember how it came about, but I found myself involved in plans to take a camping holiday abroad that summer with Robert and Mum. A strange set up I guess, but it seemed pretty average for my dysfunctional family. I suspect my Mum was now hoping to encourage some romance between Robert and myself, but it wasn’t going to happen. There were passport problems but eventually I acquired a last minute U.S. one after a trip to London with my American father. I still remember that day; one of the rare times I’ve spent alone with my Dad outside of the home.

By the time the end of my first year at college arrived, Nigel and I had temporarily split. My Mum secured me some holiday work in a branch of the Bookmakers she worked for which I thoroughly enjoyed. It was challenging and interesting with a wide range of different tasks to learn and develop, plus short hours and good pay. The punters were often very entertaining and eager to chat. One young man caught my eye especially and it wasn’t long before he asked me out. He wasn’t my usual type being fair and slight, although I’ve always had a weakness for mischievous blue eyes and a cheeky grin. Our relationship blossomed swiftly and I began to think maybe John was going to be ‘the one.’ We saw each other nearly every night; went to restaurants, exclusive pubs and nightclubs and I loved every minute of his company. He was charming, very funny, confident and a lively conversationalist, yet retained an air of mystery which kept me interested.

I didn’t particularly enjoy that first trip abroad with my Mum and Robert in August. We travelled and camped through France, Switzerland, Spain then into Italy but for me there was far too much time spent in the car, campsites that left a lot to be desired, plus I missed John and just wanted to go home. It was also becoming obvious my Mum wasn’t well, although she wasn’t going to admit it easily. She’d lost a noticeable amount of weight, was very breathless and coughing a lot. I returned home tanned and happy to be reunited with John, but with a dreaded new year at college looming. There were assignments to complete, new books to buy and I was not looking forward to leaving John behind.

The final night of my college break John had promised to pick me up for a last meal and evening out. Time ticked by and he didn’t show up. I didn’t have his phone number, but I did remember he’d once dropped out his address in conversation. It was only a bus ride away from where I lived, so feeling anxious and tearful, wondering what on earth could have happened to him I made the journey to his home. His wife answered the door.

There followed a rather nasty divorce, but fortunately for me I was only interviewed in my own home and not asked to attend court. How can you be guilty of adultery if you have no idea your lover is married? I was gutted; ashamed, miserable and distraught so who did I turn to for a shoulder and sympathy? Nigel, of course. By the time I returned to college in September we were back together and myself more worldly-wise, cynical and wary of the male species. Like Tom Jones, I swore I’d never fall in love again.

A few weeks into the new term at college my Mum was diagnosed with advanced tuberculosis and admitted to a sanatorium about twenty miles away from where we lived. The disease once believed to have been stamped out was on the increase here for some reason and Mum had caught it from one of the members of her bowling team. It would be a long road to recovery and a struggle for me to balance college, home and a hospitalised parent. My relatively carefree days as a teenager were rapidly coming to a close.

Myself and family friend Robert taking a welcome break on the St Bernard Pass, Switzerland – August 1969.