J F Vernon Blog

Please note > None of the individuals shown in these images are real. All photographs have been AI-generated from text prompts to visualise fictional characters and settings. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

What’s Going On in These Photos

It’s Easter 1978, Gosforth Rugby Club, function room disco. Most of the kids in the pictures live within walking distance — Brunton Park, Melton Park, High Street. Some come with older brothers or sisters; some sneak in under the noses of parents. They don’t know it yet, but they’re all caught up in Kizzy’s scheme: the Form Photo dartboard game. See below for the rules!

The Camera
The snapshots are amateur, flash-lit Instamatic jobs — sometimes blurry, always awkward. Who took them? Probably Robbie, maybe Mark Jackson with his cheeky Instamatic, maybe Kizzy when she grabbed the camera for “evidence.” The important thing is they passed the camera around, catching themselves and each other in moments that felt throwaway then, but became charged with meaning later.

The Plan
Kizzy (she goes to one of the private girls schools in town) pinned her Form Photo to her wall and turned it into a dartboard game: the idea one dart, one names. Robbie, her twin brother, has just been sprung from Sedbergh (“posh prison” 90 miles west, over the Pennines). Most of the boys are back from Fettes, Stowe, Hailebury, Ampleforth or some such institution. Robbie has four weeks of freedom over the Easter Hols before he’s shipped back. The challenge: dance with, talk to, maybe kiss, maybe even date a girl in Kizzy’s Form Photo, not Kizzy of course, and at her behest her best friend Momo is exempt, and certainly not their form teacher Miss Rowbotham. False starts, dead ends, small victories — all count. The game isn’t whether Robbie wins or loses, but what he learns, who gets hurt, and who keeps score. This the Form Photo, Eastfield High.

The Cast
Not at all clear from the Form Photo, and so different in school uniform compared to when out partying. This Form Photo is the dart board. One dart at a time, if it hits someone, that girl becomes the target for Robbie’s affections: dance, discuss, date (or not). That’s the aim, more or less. So when you look at the photos below, these aren’t just anonymous disco kids. They’re the dramatis personae of Robbie’s brief, chaotic Easter:

• Cece, Sharon, Tracey, Donna, Momo, Julie-Anne, Helen, Jane — each with their own pull, their own rules.
• Paul Peters, the McAdams, the Carrs, Simon, Mark, Eddie, Ricky — boys as rivals, foils, witnesses.
• Kizzy — the instigator, clipboard in hand, never in the middle but always at the edge.

The Story Beneath the Pictures
At the time of taking these snaps, none of them know they’re part of Kizzy and Robbie’s game. They’re just dressing up, sneaking cigarettes, drinking warm beer, and hoping for a dance. Only later, when Robbie is back at Sedbergh writing in his diary, or when Kizzy redraws the board with red wool and biro arrows, do the photos become evidence of the month-long scheme its short comings, successes and failings.

The Line-Up 

• Paul Peters (brown cord jacket, red shirt): Looking far too pleased with himself, convinced his mum-bought cords are stylish. He’ll overcompensate, aiming a crude wisecrack at Cece or Sharon. Kizzy’s keeping score — Paul’s “grot energy” is obvious. Goes to Sedbergh, different Houser to Robbie, a year older and already ‘pulling’.
  
• Cece Foster (diamond-check crop top, tartan trousers): Bold, daring, performing confidence. She’s doing the teenage equivalent of spinning two plates — needling Sharon while making sure Robbie notices her. It’s her game, her tempo.
  
• Mike McAdam (striped shirt, slightly behind): The bully lurking at the edge, sneer ready, waiting for Robbie to slip. He’ll mock Cece’s crop top, bait Robbie about his “mum’s shirt,” then laugh when Sharon drags Robbie into something he’s not ready for. Same House as Robbie. A nasty piece of work, none of the charm of a ‘Flashman’, just a confused.
  
• Sharon Fox (purple satin jumpsuit, bouffant hair): Disco goddess, overblown and irresistible. She’ll be up on a chair before long, hips grinding to Boogie Wonderland, dragging Robbie with her. Too much, too soon, but unforgettable. She invented ‘Dirty Dancing’ and Robbie learns a lot from her. How to move and have the nerve. To be a foil to a girl’s gyrations.
  
• Robbie Foster (denim jacket, floral shirt): Trying hard to look confident, failing in little giveaways — hands in pockets, slightly hunched shoulders. He’s overwhelmed: Sharon’s heat, Cece’s pull, Mike’s pressure. He’ll stumble home in a daze, replaying it all. He’s not the only one to have his heart set on Cece. And she happens to be the one who ‘got’ the first dart.

Kizzy writes, later that evening: ‘I can still see them under those cheap fairy lights. Tracey, in her diamond top, was showing a strip of stomach like she was daring someone’s mum to notice. Her brother Mike is in the background, half-hidden, watching me with that smirk that always meant trouble. Sharon Fox, shimmering in a purple satin jumpsuit, hair bigger than her head, dragging the eye of every boy in the hall, whether he wanted it or not. Paul Peters, in his cord jacket, earnest and overdressed, was already angling for Cece. And Robbie — denim jacket, floral shirt, thinking he looked cool, but already sweating through the armpits.

It was chaos waiting to happen. Tracey leaning one way, Sharon pulling the other, Mike circling like a vulture. My friend Momo is laughing somewhere near the bar, and I’m clocking it all for later – to take notes like this.

Robbie shared with his sister that he didn’t know who he wanted, or who wanted him, only that someone would be hurt before the night was out. And someone was.

That’s the thing about that Easter. Every night was a firework lit in the dark. Some fizzled, some blew up in your face. That night it was Sharon on a chair, Tracey in tears, and me stumbling home with Cece’s name still burning in my mouth. It tried to cop a kiss, but she ducked. Pity.

• Hildy (plaid crop-top and shorts): Tall, German, athletic. She doesn’t quite belong, but that makes her magnetic. She’s the one the boys whisper about, pretending not to notice her legs while staring anyway. She moves like she’s at home on a hockey field, not a sticky Gosforth dancefloor. Robbie will sketch her later, unable to capture the exact sharpness of her jaw.
  
• Paul Peters’ sister (redhead, tartan skirt, early twenties): A mystery, too old to be here, turned up for cigarettes from the vending machine but stayed long enough to let the flashbulb catch her. She’s bored, faintly amused, a reminder to the rest of them that there’s a world beyond discos and O-levels. Paul will try to act like he’s not embarrassed that his sister is cooler than he’ll ever be.
  
• Tracey McAdam (curly hair, orange dress): Unsure, awkward, trying on womanhood like it doesn’t quite fit. She wants to be glamorous like Sharon, bold like India, but tonight she’s out of step. The boys notice her, but not the way she wants. She’ll cry in the loos later, and then come back sharper, louder, a little harder.
  
• Donna Carr (green jumper, jeans): She’s supposed to be behind the bar, collecting glasses, but someone dragged her into the line-up. She stands steady, practical, detached. Not interested in disco politics. But her calm draws Robbie more powerfully than any glitter or gloss. She is, unknowingly, the centre of his story.
  
• Kizzy Foster (Guernsey sweater, jeans): ‘Me!’ (Kizzy writes) ‘I shouldn’t be in the photo at all — I don’t dance, won’t perform. But I was pulled in at the last moment to help behind the bar, half amused, half irritated. I’m the observer, always. Tonight I’ll retreat to my notebook, and turn the chaos around me into hooks with string and question marks.

Helen Laidlaw — sweet, shy, dressed by her auntie in a floral frock and cardigan. Hands folded neatly in front, looking like she’s already listening out for her dad’s Cortina pulling up outside to take her away at 10.00am sharp. Innocence caught in the flash.

Julie-Anne Redfern — luminous in lilac, centre-parted blonde hair and a maxi dress that makes her look older, more polished than her years. She smiles easily, but for Robbie she’ll always be the “safe path” he swerved past. The one who could have been a farmhouse, five kids, and eleven grandchildren.

Jack Carr — Donna’s brother, dragged in from the back where he’s been shifting beer kegs and sneaking cigarettes. Black t-shirt, ripped jeans, fag in hand. He doesn’t belong in the schoolkid drama, and he knows it. But he’s here, smirking at the lens, a rogue element in the disco tableau.

Left to right:

• Simon Smallwood — turned out like his mum pressed him flat with the iron. Cream V-neck over a shirt and tie, neat hair brushed into place. He stands upright, arms close, faintly smug. Looks like he should be handing out raffle tickets, not dancing. Competition for Robbie.
  
• Mark Jackson — blond, striped shirt under a blazer, jeans. He’s holding an Instamatic camera like a prop, grinning as if he knows more than everyone else. The cheeky Gosforth lad, popping up in half the photos, whether invited or not. More competition for Robbie.
  
• Eddie Elliot — pale, heavier set, plain green jumper, hands shoved deep into his pockets. He looks like he doesn’t want to be there at all, already thinking of the Physics notes he left on his desk. The kind who vanishes home early, unnoticed. Not in the game, grounded for most of the holidays, having got drunk with a bunch of schoolmates during the Confirmation Retreat and climbed onto the Church Roof.

• Ricky Foster — rare sighting. Robbie and Kizzy’s older brother. Green velvet jacket, brown jumper, jeans that look too heavy for the dancefloor. He’s not here to dance; he’s here because his girlfriend insisted. One hand up as if he’s half-saluting, half-waving to say “that’s enough now.” He’ll finish his pint, make excuses, and be back outside within ten minutes, to test the handling of his Datsun 240Z up the Great North Road to Stannington.
  
• The Girl in Orange — not one of the regulars. Ricky’s girlfriend. Fiery hair, long orange dress, hands raised like she owns the room. She’s someone’s older sister, maybe a cousin home from college, maybe just the wild card of the night. She’s the kind of girl who makes the disco feel bigger than Gosforth for a moment — but she’s not part of the board.

Jane Uldal — floral top, blue maxi skirt, trainers, smiling easily. She isn’t in the dartboard game, won’t get kissed, won’t cry in the loos. She’s just here for the music, cleverer than the rest, steady while the others spin.

Kizzy’s Rules of the Game

The rules were Kizzy’s invention, half cruel, half playful:

1. One dart per night. Whoever it lands on, Robbie must make a move.
2. Points for progress. A dance earns one point, a kiss three, anything further—well, Kizzy kept her own ledger.
3. Failure is logged. If he bottled it, if he was rejected, Kizzy drew a big black cross through the girl’s face.
4. No repeats until cleared. Only when a girl was “resolved” could her picture be struck again.

The aim wasn’t just for Robbie to “win” — though he thought it was. The game was about seeing what happened when you threw a shy, over-imaginative boy into the chaos of a Gosforth Easter disco season. Kizzy watched, clipped notes to her clipboard, and updated the dartboard like a general in campaign mode.

For Robbie, the game became a desperate search for the one before his month of freedom ended. He half-believed he could walk away with a girlfriend for life, maybe even two “to be on the safe side,” before being shipped back to Sedbergh.

For Kizzy, it was an experiment in teenage behaviour. Who would fall for her brother, who would spurn him, who would use him to get at someone else? She wasn’t just playing Cupid; she was running a field study.

And for the girls? They didn’t even know they were on the board. They thought they were at a disco, sipping Babycham, waiting for the next record to drop.