No Ordinary Woman

by Valerie Byron

  Over the next month, Moira and I were inseparable. We went to the local RAFA club, which was organized for local Air Force personnel. We called it “The Jazz Club”. Most of the youngsters who attended these dances were locals, and Moira and I had great fun meeting and dancing with young men on Monday nights. Even though I was pregnant, and in denial, I was still having flirtations with the young men I met at the dances, and no-one, not even Moira, knew my secret. I carried on as if nothing was out of the ordinary. I met a young man named Glynn one Monday night at the RAFA club. I found him obnoxious, pushy and rude. He had a crude accent and was definitely not my type. However, he had a huge crush on me and was incredibly persistent. I avoided and ignored him as much as possible, hoping he would eventually take the hint that I wasn’t interested.

  One morning I was taking the train to work when I felt faint. It wasn’t hot, but I was standing up in the carriage as there was nowhere to sit. By the time I got to work, I felt nauseated and very scared. The following weekend my brother came to visit, hoping to see Susan. He and I went to the local shops and were about to walk into a bakery, when I fainted and fell to the ground. He anxiously picked me up and took me home. Four months had passed since the event with Louis, and I was still pretending nothing was wrong. However, I knew deep inside that I was pregnant, but just didn’t know how to deal with it. My brother looked at me with knowledge in his eyes, waiting for me to tell him what was going on, but I ignored the opportunity to confide in him.

  A few days later my mother confronted me with my diary. She had seen it lying next to my bed, and had read it. She could tell from the entries that I was pregnant, and was very upset and shaken. I cried and told her what had happened, and she said that we would have to do something about it. She couldn’t understand why I hadn’t confided in her earlier, and I had to explain my shame at being in such a disgusting club in the first place. Pauline had not been in touch with me for several months, and knew nothing about my condition. My mother was furious with Pauline for taking me there, and asked me not to see her again.

  Alan Aitchison tried to help, although I could tell he was disappointed with me. I knew deep down that he thought I was a promiscuous slut, even though he never said anything. He wrote to friends who might be able to assist me, but did not seem to have any luck. I could feel the tension in the air between him and my mother. Having an unwed daughter, pregnant with a black man’s child, was not something that happened every day in 1960.

  However, it seemed as though my guardian angel was looking out for me as usual. A few days later, I was covered with a rash and had a fever. My mother called the local doctor to come and examine me. He confirmed my pregnancy and explained that I had German measles. He explained to my mother that if I decided to have the baby, it would probably be blind or deaf and could possibly be mentally retarded. He didn’t add that it would also be part black – because, of course, he didn’t know. Without hesitating, my mother told me that she would make arrangements for an abortion, which she proceeded to do.

  Time was of the essence. I was four months pregnant and needed to find a psychiatrist who would authorize the abortion. They were illegal in those days and one had to jump through all kinds of hoops to get one. Even rape was not necessarily a factor in being granted a legal termination.

  In the meantime, the very annoying and pushy Glynn was still pursuing me with an ardour that I found strangely flattering, but I had to tell him I would be out of town – in London, “visiting friends”. He asked if he could write to me there, and I gave him my mother’s friend’s address.

  My mother whisked me off to London, where I stayed with her childhood friend, Oudie, while we went through the necessary procedures. Arrangements were made for me to see a Harley Street psychiatrist. It was very intimidating sitting at the desk of an important doctor, telling my story, but he believed what I had to say and immediately made arrangements for me to enter a private clinic.

  Post abortion – London 1961

  Only days later I was in a private room, waiting to have this unwanted child cut out of my body by caesarean section. Since I was four months pregnant, it was too late for a D and C. I was sliced from my navel down, leaving a huge vertical scar. It was a painful procedure, but I was so relieved to finally have it over with that my spirits rose immediately. I gave no thought to the child I had carried inside me. To me, it had been implanted without my consent and I felt it was an invasion of my body, not something I would love and cherish. I am still amazed that I never thought of that child again, or had any feelings for it. I recovered emotionally the moment it was removed. Oh, the selfishness of the young. I am not proud of that event, but at the time I felt I had no option.

  While I was recovering in the clinic, I started to receive numerous telegrams and letters from Glynn back home. They were clever and funny and cheered me up immediately. My feelings toward him started to change. He had no clue what was really going on with me. I had written back and told him I had to have minor surgery – something to do with ovaries – and he believed me. After a week of receiving constant flowers and letters, I was eager to return home to start a relationship with Glynn.

  Looking back, it’s strange how I jumped back into the swing of things, as if nothing had happened. Admittedly, there was the deep, raw scar running from my navel to my pubis, which would always be a reminder of what had happened, but it was becoming like a dream, and I pushed the whole episode out of my mind, determined to get on with my life.

  Glynn was anxiously awaiting my arrival home and I saw him with new eyes. All of a sudden, he appeared witty, handsome and adoring – just what I needed, so I took full advantage of him. After a few fun dates, his brother, Rodney, who was at university in Sheffield, suddenly and inexplicably took ill and died. I can’t remember what it was from, but my brother Alan was an attending physician at the time and tried to save him. Glynn’s attention naturally swerved from me to his family situation and after a while, we just drifted apart.

  I decided it was time to make a fresh start, and started to look for a new job. I had gone back to my old position at the solicitors’ office in Manchester, but felt it was boring and dull – not what I needed. David Richardson was still on the periphery of my life, so I decided to stick with him for a while. I landed an interesting job with the Law Society in Manchester, typing up petitions for divorce. “Divorce on the grounds of cruelty. Divorce on the grounds of adultery. Divorce on the grounds of Desertion.” After a while I became depressed, because each day was concerned with a new and different reason for people to part from each other, which made me think that perhaps marriage was not such a good idea.

  David and I had been seeing each other fairly regularly and I was starting to have very strong feelings for him. At the same time, my brother and Susan had become a couple. The four of us spent time together most weekends, and eventually Alan proposed to Susan. He gave her a lovely solitaire diamond that belonged to our mother and she was very pleased with herself. However, since they shared my twin-bedded room on his weekend visits, it was not difficult to eavesdrop on their lovemaking. It appeared to be laboured, and Alan once confided that it was more work than he imagined, trying to satisfy her.

  My friendship with Moira was growing stronger each day, and we spent a great deal of time together. We would take the bus into work each morning, enjoying playing tricks. Like crazy teenagers, we would put small explosives in our cigarettes and nonchalantly offer them to each other. As the other puffed away, the instigator would smirk knowingly and burst into gales of laughter as the cigarette exploded with a bang, drawing stares and frowns from the other passengers.

  “I wonder what we’ll be doing in ten years,” I would ask her. “I wonder what we’ll be doing in twenty years?” she would counter. It was hard to imagine ourselves as being thirty or forty years of age – a lifetime away.

  I confided in Moira about everything, except the abortion. She came from a strict Catholic family and would have been “mortified
” as the Catholics say. I loved her warm, close, Irish family and again spent many a happy hour visiting them and imagining them to be my own.

  The weeks passed by until one day David telephoned me to break off our relationship. I was shocked beyond measure, and could not understand what I had done. I had become very close and intimate with David, and was hoping that he would propose marriage to me. His mother adored me, and I had spent many a weekend at his family home, getting to know his parents and brother.

  David haltingly explained that he had been seeing Susan behind my back, and was in love with her. I won’t say my heart was broken, but I was humiliated and distressed because of the way he ended our relationship, and because they had been cheating on me and Alan. I was also disgusted with Susan because it was obvious what her motives were. She felt that David was a better financial prospect than my brother, and decided to trade up. I knew their marriage would not last long – so I bid farewell to both of them. My brother was heartbroken, but returned to Sheffield to graduate as a full-fledged physician.

  CHAPTER SIX

  I was now twenty years old. Life was filled with dates, excitement, parties and work. Everything I had ever wanted out of life seemed to be offered to me, except the one thing I truly wanted – real love. Even though I was probably too young for marriage, I yearned for stability and a family of my own.

  Valerie, in St. Anne’s Square, Manchester 1962

  One day, Moira and I met for coffee at the Kardomah Café, located in St. Anne’s Square in Manchester. We were sitting at a small table, smoking and giggling, when I noticed some young professional men sitting at a table not far away. They were dressed in the usual business attire – bowler hats, dark overcoats, shirts and ties. One of the young men fixed his gaze on me and would not take it away. He was tall and stocky, with rosy cheeks, straight, light brown hair and blue eyes. It was very obvious he was taken with me and of course I was flattered, to a degree. Unfortunately, he wasn’t my type at all, and I tried to ignore him. After a few minutes, he came over to our table and started to talk, asking for a date before he left. I reluctantly agreed to go out with him, as long as Moira could come along too. As usual my “not interested” response was out of commission, as I didn’t want to hurt his feelings.

  His name was Paul Banks and I discovered he had attended the same private school as my brother, worked in the City, and raced cars on the weekends. We did go out as a foursome for that first date, although I had to twist Moira’s arm to go on a blind date with his friend. The evening turned out to be a nightmare for her. Paul’s friend was the ugliest and most boring young man with horrendous breath. The moment she laid eyes on him, her eyes widened and she insisted that she and I sit in the back of the car, while the two men sat in the front. The entire time we were in the car we giggled hysterically, and when one or other of our dates asked what we were laughing at, we would point out the window and shriek “Oh, look at that!” so they wouldn’t realise we were laughing at them.

  Paul taught me how to drive his stick shift car, patiently tutoring me as we motored around the local countryside. He took me to Brands Hatch to watch him race, and showered attention on me. He was the first man who seemed very interested in making a life with me and I was flattered beyond measure. When he eventually offered me a beautiful topaz ring for our engagement, I accepted, although I have no idea why. I didn’t love him, wasn’t physically attracted to him, and cannot even remember if I had sex with him. I just couldn’t say “no” for fear of hurting his feelings. When the time came to start looking for places to live, I panicked. One interesting aspect of our relationship was that I never met his mother. I find that curious now, especially since I was wearing his engagement ring.

  After a few months, common sense prevailed and I knew I absolutely couldn’t marry Paul. Unfortunately, I didn’t have the guts or courtesy to just end the relationship; instead, I started treating him badly, behaving like a brat, and seeing other men behind his back. He took it for a while, but eventually realised I was not the girl for him. It was a relief when he wrote a letter to my mother (which he dropped into our mail slot), explaining that he was sorry but he could not go through with our relationship because of my poor behaviour. I wondered at the time why he didn’t address the letter to me, but was gratefully relieved that I didn’t have to marry him.

  Val and her fiancé, Paul Banks 1962

  I was so relieved to be rid of him, I almost cried. A huge burden had been lifted and I felt free. I was very immature and selfish in those days, never realizing how much my behaviour could hurt others. It took many years for me to grow up and become a sensitive adult.

  Alan Aitchison was still in frail health and lived in a private hotel during the week. He would come to our flat on weekends, where he would drink endless bottles of beer, and chain smoke. My mother would cook him tripe, which was the only food he could digest. For those of you who have never heard of tripe, it is the lining of a cow’s stomach. I expect a diet of beer, cigarettes and tripe didn’t do him that much good.

  I was sometimes irritated to see him sitting at the baby grand piano in his torn plaid dressing gown on the weekends. As he would stand up from the piano stool, I would notice rips in the back of his robe, exposing his bare rear end. It was very embarrassing when I had my friends over, as he didn’t seem to care at all how he looked. But my mother adored him and waited on him hand and foot. He was always kind to me, but I became quite snippy with him on many an occasion. I would often come home from work to find him sitting on the couch smoking and drinking.

  “And how was your day?” he would always ask, and I would snap back “Fine,” and go into my bedroom to avoid further conversation.

  I found him to be passive, which annoyed me, yet I had no compunction accepting the ten shilling notes he would place in the piggy bank in my bedroom, or the packets of cigarettes he would give me as gifts.

  In those days no-one had heard of premenstrual syndrome. I suffered from it for many years, and it was especially noticeable in my early twenties. For several days before my period, I was impossible. My mother, Uncle Alan, in fact any adult figure I came in contact with, irritated me. Unfortunately for me, everyone thought I was a difficult bitch, having no clue that an imbalance in my hormones was causing my unpleasant, testy behaviour.

  In June of 1963, Alan Aitchison offered to pay for my twenty-first birthday party. I was out of my mind with excitement as I had never imagined the possibility of this kind of celebration. He allowed me to choose the hotel, only insisting that the champagne be “Bollinger’s,” as all the rest was “swill”. I happily agreed, sent out invitations, and prepared to enjoy the most wonderful party of my life at Le Petit Trianon Club in Cheshire.

  My brother, Alan, and his new fiancée, Jackie (a young nurse) were part of the group, as well as Moira, Pauline, Zelda and many other friends. I cannot remember who my date was that night, but it was a very happy occasion. I remember the energy and joy of the evening, until I saw Moira dancing with a man I knew was married. Suddenly, everything went black in my head, and I ran over to her in a rage. I stood between the two of them, pulling them apart and shouting that he was married and that she should stop dancing with him. Poor Moira was in shock. I have no idea why I reacted that way, but it made me sick to see her dancing with a married man, their heads close together.

  Several months after my engagement with Paul ended I met a young woman named June. She was introduced to me by friends, and was about four years older than me. She was very outgoing and had a dominant personality. We made friends very rapidly, and she asked if I would be interested in taking a week’s vacation with her. I thought that was a brilliant idea, and the two of us took the train to a little holiday spot called Lee-on-Solent, near Plymouth in the south of England.

  We had arranged to stay in a picturesque pub in the centre of the village and arrived after a long train ride. The first night, after unpacking, we went downstairs to the pub to check everything out and perhaps fi
nd a place for dinner. As we sat at the bar, having a drink, I looked across the room. Sitting on a barstool opposite me was the most attractive man I had seen in a while. Adding to his good looks was the fact that he was dressed in the uniform of an officer of Her Majesty’s Navy. His eyes were so brilliantly blue that they seemed to pierce mine as he looked at me across the bar. Time seemed to stand still and it was as if we were in slow motion. I have no idea how the two of us got together, or what our first words were, but before I knew it I was sitting on his lap in his friend’s car, June in the rear, taking off for a tour of the town.

  I soon learned that twenty-year-old Geoff Rogers was studying to be an officer at the Naval Academy in Portsmouth, a short distance away. During my week’s holiday, I managed to spend most of the time with him – and while he was at school, I sat on the pebbly beach, working on my tan.

  I was fascinated with this handsome young man, just a few months younger than me, and was convinced that I had finally fallen in love. We spent hours together, just talking and getting to know each other. I would ride with him to the Academy each night, and we would play the radio. “Blue Velvet” was a popular song of the day, and became “our song.” After dropping him off, he would allow me to take his car back to my hotel.