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Granny had a friend living in Thompsons Avenue who thought she was superior to most of the locals, she would get around and gossip with gran for hours, putting on airs and graces, and boasting of her daughter and her piano playing skills. They would gossip about anyone, everyone and everything. Her daughter was about the same age as me, and I would always be told about how nice Roslynne was, how clever she was, and that I could do no better than to marry her when I grew up. I was only about seven years old for Christ's sake. Roslynne would brag about her important lorry driver father Stan, and that their secret greeting when he got home, was "How" holding up their right hand in the well-known Native American greeting. She had passed loads of exams for her piano playing, which was another reason that my Gran was keen for me to excel in my meagre efforts at mastery of the keyboard. Eventually, Mr and Mrs Hindson took their irritating little progeny away from Thompsons Avenue, and bought a larger house up near Christchurch. I did hear later that Ros had found some fame somewhere abroad as a singer, and Granny took great delight in showing me a picture of her as a showgirl in what looked like a sequinned bathing costume. I believe she used a stage name made up of the back end of her first name, and her father's first name. I am not sure of this, but it would figure.

The house they left was taken over by the Titlarks. Dennis was to become a particularly good friend of mine, and when Dennis reached sixteen, he became the proud owner of a '125 Bantam' motorbike. We used to go all over the place on that thing. Dennis was a bit of a daredevil though, and how we didn't get killed one night on a jaunt to Abergavenny, I don't know. The road up from Newport to Abergavenny took us along Shaftesbury Street, through Malpas, down Llantarnam 'pitch' through Croesyceiliog, New Inn, Pontypool and on up through Goitre, then Abergavenny. During this journey, we had passed through Penperlleni and were behind a large lorry. Around that area was a particularly winding stretch of road, and a narrow hump-backed bridge. We tried several times to pass this lorry as the road afforded a better view owing to straighter stretches, but every time we tried, the lorry accelerated. On one attempt, we were alongside the lorry, and he did it again, but this time as we tried to drop back, he eased his speed off, keeping us in the middle of the road. Dennis opened the throttle wide, but a '125 Bantam' didn't have a lot of oomph, and the lorry accelerated again. As we came to a bend, Dennis braked very hard, and managed to get behind the lorry, as a car zoomed past in the opposite direction. I have since been scornful of the boasts of lorry drivers claimimg to be superior drivers, and more ludicrously "Knights of the road" among other epithets. Just look at their habit on the motorways of driving too close behind other motorists, including other lorries, and you will probably reach the same conclusion. Their excuse for this? "If we leave a gap, cars will get in there, and we'll end up going backwards". (Huh?).

Dennis, and the rest of us used to pile into someone's car and shoot off to Barry Island on a Friday night, to the roller skating rink above the shops on the front. There we would try to skate, but I spent more time on my backside than on my feet, but we did manage to chat a couple of girls up. We gave them a lift home to Penarth, and Dennis paired off with one, me with another. As we turned into the road where the girls lived, I was surprised to see a familiar little yellow car, a mini. It was Gil's. His girlfriend, Chris lived in the same road. He went on to marry her in fact. Dennis and I continued seeing these girls on a few dates, but that fizzled out after a while. We still went to Barry Island for the skating, as there were always new girls turning up at the rink. I never did manage to learn to skate, but we had a great time anyway. One evening we walked down towards the beach in the dark, and as we leant over the sea wall, the sight that befell our eyes was unbelievable. There a few feet below was a mass of heaving bodies. It was sight of a Romanesque orgy. Copulating couples were everywhere. We shone a light on one couple, disturbing the guys rhythm, and flicked a few stones at his bare backside. He jumped up and started swearing at us, and we departed further down the beach. We jumped off the wall onto the soft sand below, narrowly missing another mass of fornicating couples. Running towards the waterline, we jumped over numerous couples in the same flagrante. We surveyed the sight of this mass of humping humanity awestruck, wondering how we were the only people that night not lucky enough to be engaged in similar activity. Picking our way through the bodies back to the wall, we ascended and got back in the car to go home. Seeing quite a few couples running in our direction, we beat a very hasty retreat. We were a bit wary about going back the next week, but when we did, we obviously weren't recognised.

We were invited to a party in Pontypool by a mutual friend and I took along my long time girlfriend. Part way through the party, I noticed that she was missing, and Dave Davies' girlfriend was in tears. It was her birthday party, and she was hoping it would double as an engagement party. It transpired that Dave had disappeared with my girl, who was acting strangely. At the end of the evening, Dave gave me a lift back to Lliswerry, and parked in Thompsons Avenue. Dave was a steel erector, and about five years older than me. He was built like a brick outhouse (yeah, I know, but I'm keeping it clean). My girl was in the front seat with him, and no matter what my protests, they had obviously made some sort of arrangement. There was a battery operated record player in the car, and she turned the screw by playing the record "Hit the Road Jack". This cut to the quick, but I knew that she could be hurtful anyway.

Dennis's new girlfriend lived in the Sebastopol area, and he took her everywhere after that. One party in Bishpool Estate, where I met Christine Pym (she was used to the "No1 or No2" jokes). After a while, we went into one of the bedrooms for a quiet chat, and because of the constant efforts of others there to deliberately disturb us by flicking the light on and off, we decided to remove the bulb. We lay on the bed simply chatting, there was absolutely nothing happening, but all of a sudden, those jealous of our supposed high jinks, burst into the room calling her some nasty names, and accusing us of everything under the sun. It was obvious to anyone with their eyes open that nothing untoward had been happening, but one or two got particularly angry at us. I took Christine home to Cromwell Road, right by Somerton Park's entrance. I then returned to Bishpool, and had some strong words to say to those that had actually upset Christine. I noticed immediately that Dennis and his girlfriend were missing. They were found - starkers - in the same bedroom, and from her state of dishabille, had certainly been enjoying themselves. Dennis started to flick the bedcovers from off her body, exposing her to the stares of all around. She seemed not to mind. Whether this was the result of drink, or some other reason, I never did find out. It was not long after this that Dennis was going to go away to join the Army, and when he did, I lost all trace of him.

Christine and I went out together for a few weeks after this, but having lost my "one true love", it would never last. I shared an interest with her brother, who was an excellent guitar player. We often played 'The Shadows' tunes, and didn't do too badly either. He unfortunately suffered from Nephritis, which severely limited his lifestyle. He was a dab hand in the bookies though, always winning a few bob from the shop a few doors down. When Christine and I split up, I was sad that it meant he and I couldn'd practice playing the guitars together. I did suggest that we keep in touch, but that was not really practical.

Dennis's girlfriend introduced me to friend of hers from Sebastopol, Letitia I think her name was, and I escorted her around, more out of politeness to Dennis and his girlfriend, but she and I were never suited. I thought she was a bit of a drip to be honest. She had saggy stockings, Norah Batty-esque, and although Compo seemed to be turned on by this sartorial vision, it did nothing for me. I made it a point to never be seen in daylight with this girl, and I even took her home with me one evening, (rather than visiting my local which is what she suggested). A far better solution than letting all the other lads see the depths to which I had sunk in the girlfriend stakes. But I felt I had to do this to give Dennis a clear run with his girlfriend. Gran took to her straight away, and said the very words that are most suitably guaranteed to induce a lad to ditch a girl, not that I needed much pushing, "Oh, she's nice and homely". Bye bye Letitia, don't call me - I sure won't call you. I put her on the next bus back to Sebastopol. Phew!!

I didn't see much of Dennis and his girlfriend after this, but I heard that he went into the Army and he and his girlfriend got married. An apology is due here. Sorry, but although all the events depicted are true, names in italics have been changed to protect the innocent (and not-so-innocent).

There was another girl that had the 'saggy stocking disease', Francis Maloney was her name. She lived in Hendre Farm Drive. Always wore glasses, and not very good looking really. She was always hanging around, and it was a job getting her to clear off as she was spoiling my image. She had attended the same school as Christine, and my long time girlfriend. I think she fancied her chances, but was given very short shrift from me. We lived in the house that had a bus stop outside the house, and as a result there were always people around. So her turning up when there was a queue presented something of a problem. One such occasion she knocked on the door and Gran answered. She called back, " There's someone here for you". I walked through the hallway and was horrified to see Francis standing there with big bags around the knee area of her stockings, and the long queue on the bus stop, all turned to stare. She looked a complete mess. Suggesting we go somewhere private, she nodded towards the door. I told her that that was not possible as my Gran was there, but she then added with a saucy wink, that we could go somewhere where we could be "private". The whole bus queue also caught this innuendo, a few smirks pointing this up. I declined as politely as I could, but she was a persistent little devil. It was not until I was forced to tell her straight, that she finally got the message. I did see her a few times, more by accident than choice, and she still had that glint in her eye. I did relent on one occasion, and we went to the cinema to see a horror film, the Edgar Allan Poe classic starring Vincent Price, " The Raven". I was just getting into the story as Vincent Price was talking to his dead father in the crypt, and she decided to try and get amorous. Fighting off her advances, she then realised that there was no future in it, and she got up and walked out. I followed and saw her home, but that was that. I finally got the message across that I didn't want to get involved with her.

A few girls from Hartridge School had designs on me, probably because of my involvement with one of the best looking girls ever to have graced it's halls. They may have had the idea that they could wrest me away from her whilst she was still in school, but after she left, and she and I parted, I was still the subject of her peer group's attentions. I don't know quite what it was that she had been telling them about me, but I was reaping the 'benefits' and as in the case just mentioned, some of the non-benefits. Some of them were quite pretty, but not a patch on my long term girlfriend.

The year was 1960, and The Shadows first hit record 'Apache' had been in the charts for about sixteen weeks at number one. It was a hot Summer and I spent a lot of my time at Bernard Morse's house in Parry Drive, and next door at Mrs Weston's listening to 'Apache' among other hits at the time. Mrs Weston was German, and one day her brother arrived from Aachen in Westfalia. He was on leave from the German Army, and with his help, I increased my knowledge of German, with the emphasis on the swear words. I had learned some German in school, but that was rubbish compared to this. Bernard, Mike and I learned how to say lighter (feuerzeug) and matches (streichholz) in German. I won't list the expletives, but they were quite a revelation. (Ten years later I walked into a pub, to overhear a German chap telling someone that there were no swear words in German. One word from me, and he knew that his wind-up was over). We would go to the 'quarry' (Lliswerry pond to some people) and sit there whilst Aachim chattered away. I was picking up more and more of it and translating into English. The school German was of some help after all. At the same time we were teaching him English, and in particular some of the riper Anglo-Saxon language we knew. We were a bit disappointed when Aachim went back, but my summer was not uneventful by any means.

My other motive for going to Bernard's house was this beautiful girl, and it was in Mrs Ingrid Weston's porch that we used to meet.

©Len Jones 2003