Open Writing

It was the end of an exciting day. The other two appeared less cheerful. Ronnie was grouchy. He'd upset people today, and lost quite a few arguments. Olive looked weary, as if her feet hurt which they probably did - it had been quite a trek. We'd spent the day canvassing in Wigan for the Tory Party. Three Young Conservatives thrown to the lions.

I'd joined the party not long after Aneurin Bevan, as editor of 'Tribune', had called the Conservatives 'vermin'. Somehow it felt more honourable to be vermin throwing my lot in with Churchill than with Bevan.

My parents were Conservative, always had been. They wouldn't dream of voting any other way. Mum, always a bit of a worrier, protested, "Wigan! It's a bit rough, will she be alright, Bill?"

Dad, who, as a policeman during the miner's strike, had spent a month in Wigan, said, "They're lovely people, Nell. She'll be as safe as houses."

And I was. I realise canvassing a constituency full of dyed-in-the-wool Labour followers wasn't the smartest thing to do. That's probably why the Warrington Conservative Association sent three novices along, knowing it to be a lost cause. I don't think for a minute that we persuaded anyone to vote Tory.

I'd had a lovely time, and met a lot of entertaining people on doorsteps, who, even if I hadn't converted any, had been very kind to me. "Come on, love, why don't you join our lot," was what they said. I definitely didn't feel that they thought I was vermin.

Later we'd boarded the train back to Warrington. There was a man sitting beside the window. He was not very old though older than us, probably in his late twenties, and wearing a long camel hair coat - a belted one. The kind of coat I thought only actors or authors would wear.

His features were neat and even and his short hair had style. Not a 'short back and sides'. An errant lock of hair fell naturally onto his forehead, giving him a boyish air of non-conformity.

Then I heard Ronnie's voice, "I say, you're the Communist candidate, aren't you?' I cringed inwardly. Trust Ronnie! What a pillock he was.

The man looked up from his book and smiled. "That's right, I am." He had a pleasant voice.

Then Ronnie said something I thought was particularly puerile, even for him, "In that coat you look like a bookie's runner."

The man chose to ignore the remark. Looking at me he said: "What have you all been doing in Wigan, anything to do with the election?"

"We've been canvassing for the Tories; it's been fascinating. I'm probably the world's worst canvasser but I've had a great time."

He was observant and attractive, and I suddenly realised that it was me he was interested in. I suppose I felt flattered that I'd attracted the attention of someone so much older than myself. Talking to him I felt completely relaxed, because of his polite and easy manner, and for once in my life, thank heavens, without blushing. Being eighteen wasn't easy, but I was finally beginning to feel my feet, without making an idiot of myself.

"My name's John. Do any of you like music?"

"I quite like swing, and I think Johnny Ray's great" said Ronnie.

Olive said shyly: "I belong to the Salvation Army and play the cornet, not because I've got to, but because I really do enjoy brass band music."

Ronnie laughed, "Oh yeah! and saving souls"

John didn't say anything, but I knew he didn't like Ronnie and neither did I. He got such a kick out of diminishing people, and let's face it — nobody loves a smart ass.

Then John looked at me, smiled and said, "Betty?"

"Classical. I love Mozart, he's my favourite composer. Marriage of Figaro, Magic Flute. Oh anything of his really."

He asked where I listened to music. I told him about Flo' and going to the Saturday concerts at the Phil and Sir Malcolm Sargent.

"I live in Chester and every Saturday evening my parents have open house. They have an enormous collection of classical music. You would all be welcome to come along."

I knew that he had included the others, but I realised Ronnie and Olive weren't interested. He handed me a card with his name and address in Chester on it.

When we arrived in Warrington. John changed trains for Chester and we went home.