Reminiscing.... Girls have a hankie handy

Memories

I was seventeen when I first met Bert I can’t say that there was any real attraction between us at first, in fact for the first year it was an occasional cup of coffee. It was shortly after my eighteenth birthday that he asked me if I would like to go with him to a disco.

Well I wasn’t sure, yes he seemed to be a nice enough bloke, two years older than me but I said yes. I must admit I wasn’t really interested in him at first but as we saw more and more of each other, he sort of grew on me, and we started dating.

It was only then that I discovered both his parents were dead, and when they found he had no traceable relatives, well he was brought up in a children’s home.

I asked him once about how they died, but he only knew that it had been a car accident when he was only eighteen months old. The way he replied and looked, well it gave me the impression he didn’t want to talk about it, so I never mentioned it again.

During those eleven months Bert and I dated he never even once said I was pretty. True, once in a while he might say. “That’s a nice dress.” Or, “Your new haircut suits you.” Maybe it’s silly, but girls and women get used to such praise. We even come to expect it, although we know it is, as often as not, no more than a whirl in the mating dance, a manoeuvre in the chess of love chases.

You see, early on, Bert said he was not one for words, at least not the romantic sort. He expressed his tenderness by thoughtful acts: always buying my favourite flavour ice cream: bringing back woollen socks for me when he noticed my feet getting chilly, I told myself I was shallow in minding his shortfall in compliments. When he asked me to marry him, he told me that the car accident had left him with a problem, well I still said ‘yes,’ sure we would find contentment.

Money was tight in those early days so it was a simple registry office wedding, then off to a Wimpy with my parents and a few friends to celebrate.

There was no honeymoon as such, we spent the week trying to make a one bedroom flat presentable, and by the time it did all our meagre savings were gone. 

Things didn’t change much as the months passed. For a council house you had to have children, so we found a bigger one bed flat, and after cleaning and decorating, well it did for us, and the cat

The years passed, it was a strange marriage, platonic I suppose, but it suited us.

We bought a two bedroom house to celebrate our fifth wedding anniversary. Had a house warming party; just a few friends. It was that year Bert got his promotion. Came home bubbling over to tell me, an extra five hundred pounds a year. I was so proud; it put Bert on two thousand a year.  

We bought our first car that year, a Vauxhall Viva. Brand new it was. We loved that car, took us all over it did. I cried when we let it go, but the new white one cheered me up.

We had our first foreign holiday that year. Went to Spain, didn’t like the food. Dad died that year, even Bert cried. Mother pined, she was lost without dad. They say she died of a broken heart.

The early seventies were good to us, me and Bert. Bert was promoted again, got a car with the job. Bert said if I learnt to drive, we could keep the old car for me, so I had driving lessons. Twelve lessons I had, and passed my test first time, Bert was so proud of me.

Then, I think it would be about seventy four or five, things got bad. Bert was really upset, having to make so many men redundant. He was even worried about his job. He said orders were down by two thirds, and if things didn’t pick up soon the firm might go under, a lot did.

It was a struggle, yes wages went up, went up every month they did, but so did prices.

Bert complained you never knew from one month to the next how much would be going into the bank.

Things improved in the later eighties, Bert was sent to Australia to set up a new factory. They let me go with him. Paid for me they did. Even gave me an allowance of my own while we were there. I didn’t like it, to hot, and the people all spoke funny.

It was in the early nineties that we bought our holiday home in Cornwall. Bert said it

would be a nice place to retire to. We had some good times there, made some good friends too. Mr and Mrs Williams opposite were very nice, he had a boat, fished in winter and took the tourists out in summer.

It was in the late-nineties, ninety eight, that Bert had a turn; the doctor did some tests then referred Bert to the hospital. Bert said it was nothing and soon seemed his usual self, but I admit, I was worried. It was months later, I came across pills, lots of them in his drawer.

Bert said they were old ones and not to worry.

The following year we had a glorious two weeks at the cottage in Cornwall; Bert seemed on top of the world. It was then on the Monday after we came home that I had a phone call from work. Bert had collapsed and been rushed to hospital. When I got there Bert was already in intensive care. Seeing him there, I admit I was frightened, all those tubes; and machines flashing and bleeping. Then when the doctor came, he took me to a private room; I knew then that it was bad.

It had been a heart attack, a bad one, made even worse by all the drugs Bert was taking for the cancer. I cried I had half…. no I think I knew. Ever since I found those pills I felt that there was something seriously wrong with Bert but now hearing it and the doctor saying that there was really very little hope I cried.

Cancer had crossed my mind but not the type Bert had, men couldn’t get that cancer.  Now as I sat holding Bert’s hand things started to fall into place. My kind loving Bert, ours had been a strange marriage but I had accepted it. We loved each other and that was all that mattered, and now as I sat holding Bert’s hand, watching life, our future slowly ebbing away. I had to tell my Bert it didn’t make any difference. Would Bert hear? I hoped so. I leaned down close and whispered.

It doesn’t make any difference Bert, man or woman, you’re still my Bert and I love you and always will.     

I think Bert heard me, I felt that little squeeze on my fingers, the special one kept for special occasions. I leaned over and gave my Bert a kiss, I think there was a smile, and then the bleeping stopped.