Thursday, 28 October 1976
(Gosforth, Newcastle upon Tyne | Age 15)
Home for Half Term
I went round to Granny Vernon’s, got some pocket money, went into Town and bought a good leather wallet.
I had gone round to Granny’s on my bike. Her Yorkshire Terrier went mental, as usual. She was interested in what I’d been doing, especially as I was home from Sedbergh for half term.
There were things I liked looking at in her house. I’d look at the things in her glass cabinet and get out her music box. Sometimes I’d go down the garden to the stream. Granny lived in a modern bungalow in Gosforth, with a long garden running down to a little stream. There was plenty to occupy me there, quite apart from being given some pocket money.
I needed a new wallet and had planned to buy a good leather one. I went into Newcastle on the bus, bought it, and returned home.
I went back to Town in the afternoon. Eldon Square was great.
It had opened earlier that year, and surely I’d been there during the summer. Perhaps another section had opened by October. It was flash, bright, busy and very American. There was nothing quite like it in Newcastle before. I went back and forth on the bus between Gosforth and Town, free to spend the afternoon looking around.
I got LPs: Chicago, S. Mayr and Supertramp.
Chicago and Supertramp were staples of the common room and studies at Winder House, my boarding house at Sedbergh. I heard plenty of music there, whether I had chosen it or not. If I fell in love with a tune, I wanted everyone to hear it.
My tastes were eclectic and broad. I’d listen to anything, and if it caught my ear, I wanted to hear it more. I was as interested in discovering something unfamiliar as I was in listening to the groups everyone else enjoyed.
But who was S. Mayr? Was I purchasing something for a boy called Simon May, someone I’d bought a mixed tape of Bowie songs from? Looking closely at what I’d written, it was S. Mayr, not S. May.
Had I been to Windows, the music shop in Newcastle, and sought out some obscure piece I’d heard on the radio or been introduced to? I could quite easily have done so.
I liked all kinds of music. Opera, piano, harpsichord and flute pieces appealed to me, as well as punk, disco, country and heavy metal. Anything that caught my heartstrings, provided it was authentic and played well.
Perhaps it was something like Sanctus from a Missa di Gloria in D major, a Messa Solenne in D minor, or even Alfredo il Grande. I particularly liked music in which the flute had a playful, distinct part, almost like a bird in the background. I played the flute myself, of course, and could be drawn to a piece simply because of what the flute was doing.
I went to see Julie-Anne and had a long talk about Life, et cetera, that turned serious until 10, when I got a lift home.
Julie-Anne Redfern lived in Gosforth and went to Westfield, a private girls’ school. We’d nearly known each other for a year, since the end of December 1975. We were boyfriend and girlfriend, in our own way. We wrote letters to each other while I was away at Sedbergh, and when I was home we’d see each other.
Only the previous day I’d spent eight hours with her. We’d listened to records, including David Soul and Rod Stewart, and talked. It had been raining, so we’d stayed indoors. Three days earlier I’d received a letter from her enclosing a Glacier Mint, which had set me thinking about kissing her.
But I never made a move. The moment never arose.
We never went to a party together. She didn’t do discos. We spent our time together talking, listening to music and enjoying each other’s company.
This evening we had a long talk about Life, et cetera. We thought we could be very grown up. We were teenagers sorting through all kinds of issues, boy to girl. Surely we discussed careers, family and Gosforth, along with our futures and relationships.
I knew I wanted to be in London or beyond. Acting still interested me. There were things I wanted to do, and I didn’t imagine spending my whole life in Gosforth. We could talk about these things as though we already understood what adult life involved.
I had sisters I could talk to, but one was thirteen and the other nineteen and away from home. Julie-Anne was different. She was a girl my own age, someone I could talk to about all kinds of things. We were sorting through our thoughts together.
The conversation turned serious, though I couldn’t have said afterwards precisely what had brought that about. We talked until ten o’clock.
I got a lift home. Perhaps it was her Mum or Dad who drove me, or possibly her older sister’s boyfriend.
Being home for half term was a strange contrast with Sedbergh. At school there was the tirade of people, boys, around you all day. In Winder House there were boys in the studies, boys in the common room, boys at meals, in lessons, at games and during prep. You were surrounded by them from morning until night.
Then you came home, and they were absent.
I was conflicted about that. At home I had the freedom to get on my bike, visit Granny, take the bus into Town, buy records, or spend hours talking to Julie-Anne. I could do things when I wanted without the school routine determining everything.
Nothing changed between Julie-Anne and me as a result of our conversation. We carried on as before.
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