Then two really big things happened, both of which changed my life in their own way. The first was that I got a new job in the hat section of a department store nearer home. The staff were older than the last lot in the boutique, and much nicer. It feels rather awful to admit it, but looking back on it, that might have been the happiest time of my life. After a while, they asked if I could do a bit of modelling at shows for regular customers. Apparently I had ‘just the right kind of face’, as the department manager put it.
Even in my wildest dreams, I’d never thought of being a model! That sort of thing happened to other girls – pretty ones. I was just ordinary-looking, wasn’t I, with mousy-coloured hair and freckles. At least, that’s what I’d been brought up to think. On the other hand, Twiggy had been living proof that a working-class girl could get on to the front cover of Vogue. Of course, I couldn’t do the same. But wearing hats on a catwalk would be so exciting, wouldn’t it? They might also cover part of my face so people wouldn’t see I was nervous.
Once again, my parents weren’t keen. ‘Modelling isn’t the kind of thing that a nice girl does,’ said my mother. But she changed her mind when I told her about the store discount I could pass on to them. It’s easy to think they were mercenary, but you’ve got to imagine what it had been like for them to have been brought up in the war years. Money was tight. Rationing went on until 1954. Every penny counted. Not like now, when many people ‘max out’ their credit cards.
You might be wondering, Poppy, why I’m telling you so much about my early life. But it’s important for both of us. Trust me.
The second big thing was that I finally got my first boyfriend.
I met Jock through the choir at our local church in Hackney. It was a Saturday, and we’d all been asked to sing at a wedding. Got paid 2s 6d each, we did! ‘Blimey,’ said one of my friends, elbowing me in the ribs. ‘He’s new, isn’t he? Bit of a looker, don’t you think?’
Yes he was, even though I could only see his back. But I liked his dark glossy hair which came down to his collar. He was also tall – at least six foot! Then we started to sing the hymn ‘Love Divine’, and from the minute he opened his mouth, I was lost. I’d never heard such a deep, powerful voice. When he sang ‘All loves excelling’, I got shivers of excitement running down my spine!
Then when the service had finished and we all filed out, he caught my eye and actually gave me a wink! Of course, he was just being friendly.
‘I heard that his parents moved down from Scotland a few years ago and that he came with them,’ whispered one of my friends.
Yet Jock’s warm, friendly accent was as strong as if he had just crossed the border, as I found out when we all met up in the choirmaster’s little office to get paid. Of course there was no reason why he would give me a second glance. There were lots of other girls in the choir who were much better lookers with bigger busts and prettier faces. So I couldn’t believe it when Jock and I found ourselves walking back along the high street together.
‘I turn off here,’ I said when we got to my road.
He seemed disappointed. ‘Fancy a drink next Saturday night?’
I’d never been asked out on a date before, let alone gone into a pub.
‘I’ll have to ask my dad,’ I said, feeling myself go red. It was the truth. I couldn’t go out without permission. Jock would think that was so childish! He’d be bound to lose interest now.
But he surprised me. ‘Tell you what,’ he offered. ‘Ask me round for a cuppa and I’ll ask your dad myself.’
I can’t tell you how nervous I was! From the stuff you read nowadays, it’s easy to think that the late sixties and early seventies were all sex and drugs. But that was just for a small group of people. There were still lots of repressed teenagers with strict, old-fashioned parents who were scared of the way the world was changing. Sometimes I think it’s why there are so many rebellious grannies around now. We’re fighting for what we should have fought for back then.
‘I’ve invited a friend from the choir back here,’ I said that evening.
‘What?’ said Mum. We weren’t the kind of family who had guests.
‘He only wants a cup of tea,’ I said quickly. ‘You don’t have to make him a proper meal.’
‘He?’ said Dad sharply.
‘Jock sings in the church choir. He works in your factory too. His surname is Page.’
My dad’s eyes narrowed. ‘That young man with the Scottish accent?’
I nodded.
‘He’s OK,’ said my dad slowly. ‘All right. He can come round if you want.’
So he did. Mum even asked him to stay on for a bite to eat. ‘It’s not much,’ she said. ‘Just bangers and mash.’
‘That’s my favourite,’ Jock had declared, and my mother beamed at him. ‘By the way, would you mind if I took your wee Betty out for a drink up in the West End next Saturday?’
My mother raised her eyebrows. ‘Very fancy.’ Then she looked at my dad questioningly.
‘Only if you get her back here by ten p.m.,’ he said.
‘Not a minute later,’ promised Jock.
Can you imagine, Poppy, what Melissa would say if we imposed a curfew like that!
I shook all week with nerves at the thought of my first proper date. Supposing I ran out of things to say? What should I wear? What if I didn’t know what to order and he suddenly thought I was too young for him? (He was twenty!) Maybe he’d see sense and cancel me. All week, I expected the phone to ring and for him to make some excuse. When that didn’t happen, I convinced myself he’d stand me up.
But instead he arrived dead on time.
‘You look lovely,’ he said, as if he really meant it and wasn’t just being polite. ‘What a pretty dress.’
‘Thanks,’ I said nervously, smoothing down the blue-and-pink Viyella fabric. ‘Actually, I made it myself.’
‘Did you now? I like a woman with style and talent.’
Woman? The word sounded so strange to me. I’d always thought of myself as a girl. As for the style and talent bit, I thought he was having me on. A flash of panic struck me. What if he was just a ‘charmer’? I wasn’t exactly sure what a charmer was but I remembered hearing it on the radio in a way that suggested it wasn’t a good thing for a man to be.
But Jock was a perfect gentleman. He insisted on buying my Tube ticket and found me the only empty seat in the carriage, which was stuffed full of people going out for the evening. He already knew London ‘like the back of my hand’ and took me to a pub in Argyll Street, near Oxford Circus. ‘I like it here,’ he told me. ‘It’s not rough but it’s got atmosphere.’ He ordered me a second glass of sherry without asking. We didn’t run out of things to say. Far from it, in fact. He asked me about my work and friends. Then he told me about himself and how he’d missed Scotland at first but really liked it down here now. He was also saving up to rent a flat of his own. How grown up!
On the way home, he actually put his arm around me. Every single bone in my body was on fire. When we reached the corner of my road, he stopped under the lamppost. ‘You’re very special, Betty. Do you know that?’