Touch of Bitter, Taste of Honey In Which a Party Takes Place, a Lot of Cider is Drunk and Alice Manages to Keep Her Knickers On.

Things get a bit spicy here - teenagers, cider and a party - come on - we've all been there ......... Will Alice succumb to Pete's charms or will she return home unsullied? Read on.......

Touch of Bitter, Taste of Honey.

Episode 3.

When they reached the party it was beginning to get dark, and warm shadows were stealing stealthily over the ground. They pulled up and shortly after some more of their convoy arrived. A voice called out from way above their heads.
"Door’s open. Come up the stairs as far as possible, leave stuff in the hall if you want to." An Otis Redding number floated past their ears and then silence as the window banged shut.
The Mods walked in and climbed the stairs. They did not, of course, do anything so ridiculous as leaving their ‘stuff’ in the hall, where anyone could steal quietly away with their leathers, suedes or Parkas. Eventually the noise, which had been growing louder as they climbed, reached a crescendo.
"Looks like we’re here," said Alice. "Kindly deposit climbing boots, ropes and pickaxes outside. Thank you!"
Pete opened the door and they went in. The place was fantastic for a party. It was an attic, or rather two attics, lit by spluttering candles in bottles, and dim green fairy lights. Up one wall and halfway across the ceiling plodded strange red footprints, breaking off suddenly. On the walls were painted in huge, strong black letters the names of groups or types of music such as The Who, Small Faces, Rhythm and Blues. Under the sloping ceiling reclined a long, long mattress where Pete deposited Alice while he went to find some drinks.
It was warm so she took her leather off and laid it reverently beside her while she drank in the fabulous atmosphere. A boy who had obviously reached the happy state came over to her.
"Hello you gorgeous creature" he said rather thickly. "You haven’t got a drink, here, have this and get happy. I’ll go find some more." He thrust a nearly full bottle of cider at her and swayed away into the green fairy lights. Alice was rather partial to cider and began to drink down the cool, slightly bitter tasting liquid. Pete loomed up out of the gloom, also clutching a bottle of cider.
"Boozer! Where d’ya get that from? I’ve just brought you this." He placed the other bottle beside her.
"Some boy gave it to me," she told him. "Where’s yours then?"
"Here" he replied, magically producing a bottle from the pocket of his Parka which was large, deep and mysterious.
"What is it?" she asked, reaching for it.
"A bit of everything I think," he laughed. "They’ve got a big jug filled with punch so I poured some into a half empty bottle of cider I found lying around." He took a swig from the bottle. After a second he said,
"Yeah, not bad. You want some?"
"Yeah, please."
He handed her the bottle and she drank deeply from it. The liquid was strong and burning but tasted good. She handed it back.
"Umm, yes, that’s nice," she commented as the warmth began to creep over her body, relaxing her and caressing her gently. Then a good fast record by the Small Faces came on.
"Dance," commanded Pete, "Come on you drunken little boozer." He pulled her to her feet.
"I’m not, I’m just lovely and warm and cosy." Then they danced, fast and good together. The dance was satisfying, dancing made her feel like that sometimes. All too soon the record ended. He caught her hand and led her back to the mattress where they drank, talked and kissed for about half an hour.
The atmosphere thickened around the candle-lit garret. Everyone was now seeing the world through a hazy, wonderful viewpoint. Voices floated lazily around the room and the music seemed far away and distant. The mattress was now full of girls and boys, lying or sitting quietly together. Around the room wandered a few lone girls looking for lone boys or simply swaying around, clutching bottles. Some still danced, whilst others surrounded the table, laden with food and drink, although most of the bottles were now empty. It was a good party.
Alice lay on her back, eyes half closed, lips parted. Pete’s fingers trailed around her neck, sending shivers down her back. She pulled his head down, biting his ear and then kissing him whilst his hands travelled lightly over her body.
"You’re breathing heavy Alice," he whispered teasingly in her ear. "I wonder why?" She laughed softly.
"Yeah, I wonder," she replied, delighting in the feel of his hand at the top of her legs, against her bare skin. She drew in her breath quickly when it
happened, pulling him against her in an agony of longing.
"Shall we go and find a bedroom?" he asked persuadingly in her ear, nibbling her neck.
She was filled with desire for him, she loved him so very much that she wanted to give him everything she had. She could have slept with him a thousand times but as yet she never had. She felt scared, not of him, but of afterwards. Supposing something went wrong, supposing she got herself pregnant?
"Pete, my Pete, I want you so much," she sighed. "It won’t be much longer, but please, please wait for me. It’s a big decision to make, and I can’t make decisions when I’m drunk."
"I thought I’d got you this time," he said sadly, but strangely enough he understood how it was with her. Most girl’s he knew gave themselves readily for a bit of fun, but with her it was something special. He knew she wanted to be sure he loved her first. How could he make her see that he did? He loved her tall, slim body, her smooth skin, her soft blond hair and the funny little things she said. He loved her for loving him so much when he wasn’t really worth it. No other girl had made him think about her the way he did about Alice. He wanted to care for her, to let her know he was always there to run to when she was afraid. He wanted to be gentle with her and to be the first boy she ever loved. So he whispered gently,
"I understand. I love you, but I won’t wait for ever."

***

They left the party before the end, which would be in the dreary hours of the morning. They sped along the quiet dark roads in the warm summer night. The moon hung like a globule of melted silver in the navy sky and the be-spattered stars strewed themselves like a broken diamond necklace on blue velvet.
Pete was not drunk; happy, but not drunk. He only really let himself go at all-nighters or parties close to home that he walk to. Alice, however was in a blissful, warm floating state. Nothing seemed real except Pete and the scooter vibrating beneath her. She felt happy and in love. Eventually they reached her house.
"Come and have some coffee before you go," she asked him. "Mum and Dad will be in bed." She did not quite know why she added those few words. Her parents knew, and seemed to like Pete and he liked them.
They went into the dark house, Pete steadying her as she was still rather unstable. They felt like a couple of burglars for some unknown reason and crept around whispering to each other. Alice made frothy coffee and found a packet of chocolate biscuits. They put Luxembourg on low and sat together munching ‘choccy’ biscuits and drinking down the coffee. Pete sat in the rather battered blue chair that had seen better days. Mysterious lumps sprung all over it’s arms, seat and back and it’s original shape had faded into the distant past. In spite of all the deformities it was a friendly, comfortable chair. It had seen Alice’s mother courting her future husband and now it held the boy Alice loved. She sat on the floor at his feet, leaning back against his legs. His hand ran through her hair and round to her mouth where she bit it gently. Then she turned round, still kneeling, until she was facing him. He put his hands on her shoulders and looked closely at her before bending to kiss her. Her hands slid under his shirt and moved over his back and shoulders. His skin was smooth and warm to her touch.
"I love you so much," she whispered. "I wish there was only you and me."
"One day I’ll wake up and you’ll be asleep beside me," he told her, "and wherever I am you’ll be and no-one else will matter."
They sat there for over an hour whispering the sweet words of love to each other until finally Pete dragged himself from the clutches of the old chair and went out into the heavy blackness of night. They kissed a long goodnight kiss, as only lovers know and then he drove noisily away, breaking the stillness.
Alice stood by the door, on the fringe of night, for a long time after he had gone, listening to the whine of his scooter carried over miles in the silence of darkness. She thought about herself, and him. Soon she would give herself to him, she would let him know that she loved only him and no-one else, that she trusted him and would do anything for him.
"Soon, soon," she whispered into the receiving dark blanket enveloping the earth. She shut the door and went slowly upstairs to bed.

'Touch of Bitter, Taste of Honey'. Episode 2. In Which Alice's Mother is Worried About Pete and Alice's Clothes and a Convoy of Scooters Heads to a Party

If you managed to get through the first part without throwing up  - think how I feel - I actually wrote this stuff!!  So let's see how Alice [me] and Pete [not telling] are getting on ..........back to 1965.

Touch of Bitter, Taste of Honey

Episode 2

All about doubts,clothes and scooters. 

They parked outside her house still laughing at the expression on Miss Jenkin’s face as they had shot past.
"Come in while I get changed and have some tea," said Alice smoothing down her windblown hair. She felt Pete watching her and looked up into his eyes.
"I love you," he said, bending and kissing her nose, then gently biting it.
"Ow! And I love you," she replied, laughing and giving him a quick kiss on the lips.
Alice’s mother stood at the window watching them. She did not usually spy on her daughter but this could hardly be classified as spying for they were in full daylight and one could not help seeing them. With a sigh she turned to make the tea. She was worried about Alice. She and her husband had been so proud when she had passed the 11plus to go to the High School. They had dreams of their Alice going to University and being a History or English teacher as these were subjects they were both interested in. Up until the fourth form their dreams had seemed to be realised but then the slow crumbling had begun. Alice had begun to turn Mod and go out to every dance or party possible. She had gone out with lots of boys, all with strange professions such as carpet cleaners, potato pickers and other such unusual jobs. And they had all, of course, been Mod. They weren't bad boys, just not quite the sort of person they had imagined for their daughter. Still it was not too bad then – until at the end of the fourth year she had met Pete. Since then she had gone around in a strange kind of haze, not caring about anything or anyone except her Pete.
Surprisingly she had passed her exams but she had a strange notion in her head to be a model. She had it all worked out. Art College for two years doing a window dressing course, then move to London and get a job. In her spare time she would go around the agencies with photographs and try to get into modelling. At first her parents had thought she would forget the idea within a week – that was a year ago and now she had taken her GCE’s and was going to leave school in a few weeks and go to Art School. And she was still going out with Pete. Oh, he was alright, he said please and thank-you, but he had no fixed job and had a crazy notion of writing books and becoming a great novelist. She really would have to talk to Alice about Pete and Art School. The door opened and they came in laughing.
"Hello Mrs Greenway, I’ve come to wait while Alice has her tea and changes," he said pleasantly.
"Hello Alice – Pete – you can have some tea too if you want" she suggested with forced cheerfulness.
"Umm – thanks, I won’t say no," he replied.
"I nearly died at school" Alice chattered "it was so hot and we just sat there and Miss Jenkins was gabbling on about something. I nearly went mad."
"Yes, it is hot today" agreed her mother "Here’s your tea."
　

Three quarters of an hour later Alice and Pete left the house to go to a party.

"Party!" thought Mrs Greenway. Alice was dressed in a short hipster skirt with a huge buckle and belt and a skinny ribbed sweater. She also wore her precious dark green leather coat and thick, stumpy shoes.
"Oh well, fashions change." She remembered her pretty pink taffeta and net party dress from long ago. As for Pete’s clothes they were so preposterous that she tried not to notice them. Last summer he had appeared in bright PINK trousers which had sent Alice mad with delight whilst she was not so suitably impressed!
Pete and Alice, oblivious to Mrs Greenway’s thoughts, sped along the road in the sweet coolness of a summer evening. The sun was sinking slowly towards the horizon of thick, wooded hills as they left her hometown. Stroud was a small, uninteresting town lying between two big sheltering ranges of hills. It had started as a wool town thriving on the white fleeces of the sheep that rambled over the grassy Cotswolds. The town still had a small woollen industry but was no longer important. It faded into a million other nameless, small grey towns spread all over England, all containing the same dowdy, out-of-fashion clothes shops, a Woolworths, a Boots, a cinema, a dance hall, a library and a bus station.
From the younger generation’s point of view it was a dump. There was a weekly dance which was the only thing beside the Cellar Bar that kept them going. The Cellar Bar was a fascinating hole, tucked away under the ground. It had walls of raw stone on which were scrawled ‘Ban the Bomb’, ‘Mods For Ever’ and other such thoughtful comments by the inhabitants of this warm dark cave where, if you were over 18 [or looked over 18] and had money, the drink flowed freely. Fishing nets were draped over parts of the walls and mysterious little arches were in abundance, dimly lit by lurking candlelight. In this small raw stone cellar, where moisture ran down the walls, the younger generation gathered and made it their own. For an adult to enter its darkly vaulted territory was a preposterous idea, although one or two brave souls had tried, but had spent an uncomfortable time drowning in the thick, meaningful silence broken only by the drumming of fingers on the log tables and the occasional clearing of throats. Eventually the intruder, driven back by the hostile stares, fled up the cold stone stairs to friendlier adult country where he told of his adventures to an incredulous audience. And beneath his feet the atmosphere cleared into warm, soft giggles and the bonds of friendship strengthened; they could be themselves again.

***

Pete parked outside his friend’s house and idly pressed his horn, the sharp sound breaking through the silence of summer. A window upstairs was flung open and Miff’s head appeared.
"Oh it’s you," he shouted to them. "Hang on, I’ll be down in a minute." The window was loudly slammed shut again.
"That means a half hour wait," Pete said cheerfully, standing up to get his cigarettes from his trouser pocket. "Might as well get off and stretch your legs."
She got off the scooter and walked over to the low wall, running around the tiny front garden. In the garden stood Miff’s house, a tall, thin, grey looking building with tired eyes for windows. The dark green paint on the front door was chipped and peeling from standing up to many years of wind, sun and rain. Curtains drooped from each window and a few ill-looking plants in various jars and flowerpots stood on the front windowsills. The name ‘South View’ hung drunkenly from the gate. If one looked south one saw an almost identical building, and the same happened east and west.
Alice sat down and gave a sudden yawn, stretching her arms and her whole body as she did so. Pete came quickly over and caught her by the shoulders, giving her a gentle push. Caught unawares she overbalanced slowly onto a dry, dandelion filled flower-bed. With a playful cry of anger she started pelting Pete, who was doubled up with laughter, with small stones. He jumped over the wall and picked her up, ignoring her yells of protest and kicking feet. He stood her on the wall, keeping his arms around her as he did so.
"Peter John Western, I’ll kill you. I hate you. I hate you. Let me go. LET ME GO! No I am not going to kiss you – no – no – nommmmmmmm."
He bent his head down towards hers and kissed her, stopping her threats and struggles as if by magic. A loud cough by their side made them break off as if by magic.
"I hate to interrupt you just as it’s getting interesting but we’ve got a party to go to."
It was Miff who spoke. How he had earned his nickname no-one quite knew just as no-one knew his real name. He had always been, and always would be – Miff. He was quite short with dark brown hair, cut of course in a ‘tufty’. His face made one want to laugh until one got used to seeing it. He always had a surprised look about him even when deadly serious. He talked loudly and wanted everyone to listen to him; his jokes had to be the funniest; his voice the loudest and his laugh the noisiest. But underneath his blatant, couldn’t-care-less exterior was hidden a heart of gold. He would never refuse to help anyone and most people liked him when they really knew him.
"Hi Miff, you got a cough?" asked Pete, as Alice jumped to the ground.
"No, I was just embarrassed," he replied coyly, twisting one leg around the other and putting his head on one side.
"You – embarrassed?" laughed the girl, "That’ll be the day when Mods turn Rocker."
"Never!" thundered Pete, starting the scooter. "You walking Alice?" he shouted behind him as he went off down the road.
"No" she called back. "I’ll go with Miff." Pete turned sharply and pulled up smartly at her side.
"Your carriage awaits you, madam."
"What happened James, did the horses bolt?" she said daintily as she sat on the Vespa.
"Yeah, here they go again." He replied as they shot off down the road after Miff. About a mile further on they met another whole convoy of Mods who were also going to the party. They all joined up and roared through the gathering twilight together. Alice felt exhilarated as they sped along, the wind whipping her short hair into a frenzy. There was something wonderful about being part of this convoy of scooters, flashing through quiet villages and past slow, uninteresting cars. For the second time that day she felt like shouting, but this time with pure happiness. There was also the thrill of danger in scooter riding which made it even more exciting. She glanced behind her at the scooters they had passed. She and Pete were nearly ahead, there remained only two gleaming machines to overtake. She knew Pete was feeling the same as herself.
"Hang on love," he shouted over his shoulder. The wind whipped his words from his mouth and blew them carelessly away. He accelerated hard. Now they were neck and neck with the scooter second from the front. For what seemed like eternity they hung there and then slowly they edged forward until suddenly they were alone, with only one more obstacle ahead.
"Go on Pete, we can do it" shouted Alice excitedly as they began to catch up with the Lambretta ahead. Then a corner loomed ahead so they had to drop behind a little and slow down. The Lambretta slowed down too, slightly more than the Vespa. Then the corner was gone and seconds later the other scooter was gone. They were in front!
"Hurray, we did it," she yelled. "Lovely Vespa!" Now they were leading some thirteen scooters and the thrill of leadership was wonderful to them both.
"That was great" Pete yelled back, "She can do some speed."
"She’s wonderful," Alice replied, trying to avoid mouthfuls of fur from her boy’s flapping Parka hood, and thinking at the same time how she loved Mods and him.

to be continued .............

Touch of Bitter, Taste of Honey. Episode 1. In Which Alice Dreams of Running Around in her Nylon Slip and Miss Jenkins Gets Hot and Sticky.

First blog - sitting here gazing at empty 'post box' and my concentration in pieces owing to the fact that from somewhere is coming the most annoying high pitched beeping noise. Have to keep running around the place trying to track it down instead of thinking of world shattering ideas for my Blog.  Have I suddenly developed tinnitus?  Don't think so.....

Do I write a daily diary?  Maybe.

Do I put in some poems?  Maybe.

Do I discuss serious issues? Maybe.

Do I try to make you laugh - hopefully.....

Now an idea has surfaced - I will serialise my one and only completed novel, written at the age of 15 in 1965 which amazingly still survives in its battered yellow notebook handwritten in my own fair schoolgirl hand and full of the dreams and fantasies of those long ago years.  I, of course, am the heroine and my first true love, Pete, the hero.  Not that he had any part to play in the writing of this romance and I would have died more than a thousand deaths had he ever seen it!
Hope this nonsense will make you laugh and maybe bring back some memories for some!

When I wrote this I was lost in a world which I could manipulate and end up being the girl who got her man.  It was deadly serious.  Reading as an adult it is mainly pure comedy.  Those were such times of innocence and I hope anyone chancing upon this ridiculous tale will bear with the dreams of a hopelessly romantic teenager from all those years ago.......

Touch of Bitter, Taste of Honey.

Episode One.
In Which Alice Dreams of Running Around in her Nylon Slip. Pete Feels Hot in his Parka and Miss Jenkins gets Sticky.

The mistress’s voice droned on and on unmercifully in the hazy summer afternoon, the sun beating on the warm wooden desks.
Alice looked out of the window at the freedom and blueness out there. Some girls were playing tennis and she could hear their laughter drifting slowly across the school field as if from many lazy miles away. She thought about Pete; he’d be waiting for her at the end of school for he had the day off work. Unconsciously her fingers sought the identity bracelet he had given her, which she wore under her blouse sleeve so that it would not be confiscated. The silver was warm and moist under her hot fingers and she felt the engraving lightly; ‘I Love You’.

She looked at Miss Jenkins, slumped untidily in her chair, her frizzy brown hair standing on end as usual except where it adhered to her hot, sticky forehead. Her mouth was opening and shutting like a goldfish and a stream of meaningless words flowed over the girls’ heads. Alice suddenly felt a wave of hot rebellion pass through her. Why should she sit listening to this fat, stupid woman, mechanically moving her jaws and trying to teach History. She wanted to jump up quickly before she was drowned in this woman’s atmosphere.

"Look at me!" she would shout in triumph "You won’t trap me. I’m still young and I’ve got a boy who loves me out there – we’re going to get engaged. You won’t drown me with your droning voice. I’m free! I’m free!"
Then she would jump up, throw off her heavy, unfashionable school uniform and run out of the classroom in her nylon slip, bare feet caressing the cool grass as she flew across the field. And Pete would be there waiting for her and they would run together, away from everyone, everything, until they were completely alone. Then he could love her and nothing would matter except the two of them.
The tired brown clock ticked slowly on, the two worn hands hardly moving. Miss Jenkins talked on in the sunlight as the end of school rippled nearer.

****

Alice carefully put some mascara on her long brown lashes.
"Meeting Pete?" asked Marilyn.
"Yeah," she replied, her mouth wide open with concentration, "he’s got the day off so we are making the most of it."
"What does he look like?" asked Penelope curiously. She was rather a brain in the form and wore socks and woolly vests. She had never heard of The Small Faces and always turned off ‘that pop rubbish’ when it came on. As for boys, she didn’t know what they were for and was rather curious to find out.

Alice looked at her, feeling a little sorry for the girl, but she answered her shortly.
"Not your type, he’s a mod."
"Oh!" Penelope said, silenced as she was no great spokesman on mods.
Marilyn laughed.
"He’d be too hot for you, Penny, eh Alice?"
"Yeah, much too hot. You wouldn’t be able to manage him." Alice replied, thinking of how he loved her.
"What’s ‘hot’?" asked the poor innocent girl. "Is it sort of – of- sexy?" The last word was uttered in a kind of conspirital whisper.
"That’s it Penny, you’re learning." replied Alice combing her blond hair.
"Oooh, tell me, what does he do? Does he try and – well you know?" enquired the girl, eyes round with expectancy.
"Yeah, I guess so." Alice called after her as she went out of the door into the sun. "Cheerio Penny, Marilyn."

She left one slightly wondering girl behind her to plague Marilyn with her endless questions while she walked in the warmth to her Pete.
She could see him in the distance, sitting on his scooter opposite the school gate. He’d really done the mods proud today, wearing pin striped trousers, a check shirt, op-art sunglasses with his hair cut short in a ‘tufty’ on the top. His parka was slung over the back seat of the blue Vespa, which proved how hot a day it was, for his parka was his second skin. She could see girls looking curiously at him, some enviously. Just ahead of her walked three mod fourth years, cheap and common looking.
"I spy with my little eye one of us," said Brenda schemingly.
"A nice one too, drop your satchel when we get to him so he can notice us. Looks hot doesn’t he?" planned one of the dyed brunettes, hitching her skirt a few inches higher.
"Oh yeah!" thought Alice grimly. With a friendly smile on her face she caught up with the girls.
"I heard your little plan" she told them. "Good idea, I quite agree with you, he’s gorgeous. He’s called Pete by the way."
"Is he?" minced Brenda trying to sway her hips. "We’re going to try and get him – look, he’s smiling at us."
"Sorry girls – at me. I got there first and I don’t mean to lose him to a fourth former." She walked over to where Pete was waiting. "I shouldn’t bother to drop your satchel, it’ll be such a waste of time picking it all up again – he’ll be gone – with me!" she called loudly over her shoulder.
The girls blushed and hurried down the road.

"What was all that?" Pete asked.
"Just dis-suading some of your fans," Alice laughed; his arms encircled her waist and she stopped laughing. He kissed her gently, after which she said it was a school rule not to kiss your boyfriends outside the school gates, but to hell with school rules. She gave him his parka which he put on lovingly, leaving it open to save being roasted alive. She got on the back and removed her school hat and then they were moving, in a cool gentle breeze amidst the shimmering heat. They passed the three fourth formers and Alice waved while Pete parped the horn. They gave the two’s up sign and then were left in their thick pool of hot air which the scooter cut through like a knife.

Alice studied Pete’s back and head. The thick warm fur round the hood of his parka with his check shirt emerging in less forested areas. His blond hair which was very nearly straight, curved gently in the wind and blew around his ears where it was trespassing as it was supposed to be parted over both ears. Her arms tightened around him and he quickly turned round to smile at her.
Ahead was a small black mini crawling along the road. Inside, crouched concentratedly over the wheel sat Miss Jenkins. The seat beside her was piled high with history books to mark. She felt hot and sticky and very uncomfortable. She also felt fat, which she always did in the warm summer.
Her car crawled past girls from school enjoying their release from school. She noticed Mary Campbell walking alone, carrying her bulging satchel. She smiled. Dear Mary was her prize pupil. She was so interested in everything to do with history and always came top in the examinations. Such a nice, pleasant girl, she thought.
Then a loud roar grew on her from behind and growled in her right ear. Startled she tore her gaze from Mary and saw a blue scooter with a strangely dressed hooligan on it. Clinging round his middle, skirt way over her knees, hair flying, no hat, was one of her pupils, Alice Greenway. Grimly she watched them vanish into the distance. Trust that girl to go around with THAT type of boy. She would have to have a serious talk with her in the morning – but the morning was Saturday so it would have to be left till Monday. Miss Jenkins crawled miserably on in a sticky pool of sweat.