Tuesday, 24 September 2013

His name was
Yes, he was Spanish.
A tall, dark, passionate

 The grand passion swept us all along.
He was such a lovely man completely
madly in love; his presence lit up
our days.

Love letters fell like
confetti through the letter-box.

Lovers arm in arm, they went up to London to see Shirley Bassey, when she was just a raw diamond, unknown.  Doris said she lit up the stage with her animal magnetism. 

The record player filled the house with sexy soulful sounds.  Herbert looked at his wayward daughter with regret; disapproval writ large on his face. Doris knew he did not approve of what she was doing.  She knew she was an object of hatred, she also knew that my father was seen as the wronged party in this strange arrangement.

Her brothers, her friends, neighbours all stood in judgement.  She didn't utter one word in her own defence; nor did she counter any of the awful things that were said to her face, or behind her back.  Stoically she carried on.  

In my innocent way, all I could see was that my lovely dad was being taken for a fool.  As I got older my interpretation was that my mother, who even I could see was a bright sexy woman, was just too much to handle for my studious deep thinking father.  It became obvious to me that this odd set-up was agreed by them both and that was how it was going to be.


  1. In your owns words ~ Stoically she carried on.
    Sending hugs x

  2. Indeed this is an enthralling story, Linda.