Memories are made of this

Prologue

Do you think they will ever let us marry darling? Laura sighed as James pulled her closer to him. Even though they were now well past the wet fish shop and the Working Men’s Club that Laura’s father spoke of derisorily she couldn’t relax feeling a gamete of emotions from fear to an anger she had never known before. She knew that the love she felt now was irrefutable and her choices almost impossible. His breath, presence and courage as well as his humour was the silver thread which lifted her away from monotony and loneliness. He lifted the lid of his Braille watch with his left hand. The bus into the next town was running late. He needed to be back in Coventry by six if he was to get his connecting bus home.

That week-end they had walked down Harrowden Lane, where they found solitude in the Holly Walk away from prying eyes, sympathy or judgements. In spite of everything they had reached their decision that Laura should elope once James had settled into his new telephonist job in London. Really there were no other choice but for Laura to elope. Things might have been quite different if her very dear friend hadn’t broken her promise. She would have prayed if there had been faith but that had long since slipped away. She simply wanted the opportunity to live a normal life with the man she loved. The fact that they were both blind was only a barrier in others eyes. Why was it that her well-meaning community thought they knew best!

A story told years later through another set of eyes
She never saw the dawn light appearing in the sky but few knew why! Unable to sleep, Laura slumped down in her small chilly bedroom. Stooping down she reached for her imperial typewriter stored in its dusty home beneath her iron-framed bed and sagging mattress, kicking crumpled Christmas wrapping paper and scented cards aside. She faintly hears the sobbing of her mum from the scullery. She feels for a clean sheet of white paper. With her tiny left hand, guides the smooth sheet around the roller then begins to type another letter to her school friend.
My Dearest friend
You have no idea how welcome your letter and invitation to come and stay with you for a week-end is. We can catch up on old times, and that foul smarmy-nosy school matron with the shrill voice and garlicky breath. Do you remember how she caught us both sneaking up the fire escape when we were late getting back from our longed for college leaving dance in Birmingham? And you dropped your Braille note-book on the stairs?
No way could I tell her where we had been, despite being punished with two weeks curfew and the matron writing a letter home. Anyone would think we were living in the dark ages instead of the late forties. A kiss on the cheeks from another blind boy at school and I’m threatened with expulsion! No matter. On a more positive note, how fortunate I was to get a job so soon after leaving college and even luckier to discover one of the solicitor’s secretary’s lives at the other end of our village. She has kindly agreed to walk with me to Wellingborough Station. With a little luck, I should get a steam train to Birmingham for about six, hopefully in the first Saturday of 1949, if that is alright with you and your folks? I will try not to be too miserable, and hope to have fun with you all, but I can't get James out of my head. He is kind, funny, determined, and gentle, as well as a practical joker. No wonder I have fallen for his charms. You can’t imagine the fury I felt towards dad when he slammed the door on James white stick.
It might not have been so bad had he just lived round the corner. However he had already faced a day’s journey from his home in Coventry in order to visit me only to get a reception like that. Thankfully I had warned James about how father might react. I am sure dad was jarred to discover James had managed to thwart his plans by pre- booking the nearby Hind Hotel. I joined him there instead. Do you remember how we both dreamed of falling in love? Strange really, but to be honest, I don't think either of us thought we would have much of a life back then, did we?
Can you imagine how it feels knowing that Miss Blunt, the home visitor for the blind, and most of the town, see me as simply a child needing care and guidance and without a brain in sight.

Of course I know my parents love me and try to do their best for me. But that isn’t the love which can ever make me feel complete. If they can see this they are not saying or maybe just pretending! As I write I can hear them swearing at each other downstairs in our scullery.
It’s tempting to say something but I know that will not help at all. Please God, I pray that this isn’t the life I have ahead of me, before finally being shoved in a residential home somewhere nearby. There to feel my lonely spinster, trapped way to some fusty moth-balled parlor or other, with grey thinning hair, and the way I love sweet food now…no teeth! Food slopped in dishes by dinner ladies through our twilight years.
I had better finish typing this letter if I am to get any sleep. At least when dad goes to feed his pigs up at the farm in a few hours from now we shall have some peace, but it’s just a shame he doesn't stay there sometimes! Merry Christmas and I will see you in the New Year. Laura