As a young man there were two things prominent in my life. Cars and women, the latter being more dreamed than actual. But I can remember cars from way back. My first car was a 1955 Hillman Husky, I was 17, passed my driving test a week after my birthday. The Husky was quite a forgettable car, but I might digress a little bit about it another time. My second car that cost me all of fifteen quid, was a Morris Oxford. What type? Black, such was knowledge of cars, models and variations. But my Morris had a front bench seat. It also had an under dash ratchet hand brake and column change gears.
One of the best things that happened in my early youth was that I learned to dance. Latin, Ballroom, Jive that sort of thing, very handy because most towns and cities back then had ballroom dance floors. When the bands of the late fifties and sixties toured, it would be at a ballroom venue. Being a dancer gave me an advantage over those lads who would hang around in groups, hands in pockets, waiting for the DJ to play a slow smoochy record so that they could ask the lady of their desire to dance.
One young lady in particular took a complimentary interest in me. She was rather an accomplished dancer, so we got on very well. After a week or so, I started to run her home, there would always be the furtive kiss and a cuddle and then she would be off into her home. The kisses and cuddles became a little more adventurous but the problem was, her Dad was a stickler for her being home on time. So we devised a plan to leave the venue early, have enough time for. ahem, nookie, and then I would run her home, following her bus. Dad thought she had caught the last bus home.
What's this got to do with the Morris? Do you remember that front bench seat, without a hand brake and gear stick in the way? It negated the need to climb in the back. Now at seventeen, going on eighteen, I knew that tab A went into slot B, but the things that lady taught me would make you blush, it nearly made the poor Morris blush.
About three months on and I thought that we were getting serious, especially when she wanted to chance me going bareback, and that was the sticking point. No risk of unplanned babies for me, not at eighteen. We went our different ways and poor old Morris who had been witness to my deflowering went too. One of the con rods parted company with it's piston, (must have been in sympathy,) and as I was offered fifteen quid for it, as it was, away it went.
There is a post script, sadly not of the Morris. That young lady disappeared from the social scene, then I heard that she had met someone, later I heard that they had married. Years later, by which time I too was married, I saw that lady, whilst sitting in my now current car. She was pushing a pram, there were two other children, one each side of the pram and she was expecting another.
Seeing her, with her family, I felt an inner sense of happiness for her. She had her children, well done her. It wasn't for me, but we are all different and I was happy that she found a man to love her and father her children. I don't have any photos of her, nor would I ever share if I did, but, seeing as you are all such a great audience, I do have one photo that you might like. Remember that Morris?
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