Starting a conversation with my 20-year old Self

A motherly conversation with my 20-year old Self

For the purposes of this Blog I shall refer to my twenty-year old self as 'Rosy'.   
She is a 20-year old girl/child of the 1960s in her first year at university, on the cusp of womanhood, in her own solipsistic world, thrilled by the unknown adventure that lies ahead of her and lucky to have the freedom to explore herself and the world from the secure base of a loving family home provided by her long-suffering parents.

From the perspective of her future self, which is Me, Rosie, a soon-to-be 64-year old woman who’s managed to survive the trials & errors of four decades of Life to land relatively safely on the far side, this Rosy is still an ‘innocent’, only dimly aware of the workings inside her and largely unconscious that the confident, even at times breathtakingly narcissistic person that emerges from the pages of her diary, is often a fabricated self, furiously defending herself from deep insecurities and fears,—and at this particular time from acknowledging the raw wound inflicted by her recently broken relationship from her long-time childhood sweetheart, A.

The Diary entries span the period from September 1970 to March 1971.

Home was a flat in London in Westbourne Terrace W2 with my parents and brother Simon, just returned from Sydney to start up a new life again back in England, but without Teresa our older sister who had stayed to make her life in Australia, married to Greg.

The Diary is a brown hard-backed notebook bought in Paris in May 1969 where I lived and worked as an au pair for three months with Madame L. and her two teenage daughters on the Quai Anatole France. There are only a few entries before it abruptly stops on 15^th May, and the pages are crossed through with lines and the words: ‘YECHHH!’ and ‘WHAT RUBBISH! RAH 3-9-70’, scrawled across the pages in a different ink. It’s picked up again at the beginning of September, and starts —

“All that was utter rubbish — written with the thought that A. may read it and half copied from my real diary while I was staying in Montmartre with Margot

SEPTEMBER 3^rd 1970 THURSDAY

Pretty grotty weather — God knows what will happen to us in Cornwall, we must be out of our tiny minds.  Daddy bought a Rover today and is going to sell the station wagon, damn it all. I’ll have to learn how to drive the Rover before I can pinch the car again!

I spent all day on my French essay, and except for a small bit — which I’ve already thought about — it is finally finished: ‘L’homme tragique est un être séparé que sa passion où son éxigence de pûreté entraîne hors de la realité…”

(Crikey! that’s brilliant, but you had NO idea about this, surely? What did you say in your essay? Was it all borrowed and plagiarised, was anything original?!)

I’ve just harped on about the effects a stable social & religious framework has on the minds etc. of the people in society & vice versa — from Greeks up to Romanticism thru’ classicism — Shakespeare being something apart, etc. bla bla — and bugger them if they don’t understand a word!! — In the evening Annie & Pollly came round & Pam (Pip’s girlfriend) rang so we invited her and her brother around — they came about 10.30 with some other girl — the brother was the absolute end — can’t be bothered to describe him — just an A1 pompous bore. 
(How intolerant & cruel — the poor boy was likely struggling and insecure like you, just employing a different form of protective armour)
 Pam seemed quite sweet, I’ve heard so much about her, apparently she’s been dying to meet me and is as jealous as hell because she’s convinced Pip’s in love with me & we’ve had an affair etc. — but apparently she’s like that with everyone.

God it’s late and I’ve got to be up early tomorrow. I’m really looking forward to seeing Buddha (Rosy’s ‘best friend’ at college) tomorrow, despite the “big problem—mystery” — I love being with him sometimes — at least I miss him when I’m not! — Had funny wintery feelings today — i.e. being reminded of darkness & snow — hence Harrow and A. in the old days — I was a fool and read his letters last night — It’s still a mystery to me what suddenly changed him, because right up until that first weekend where it all blew up he was saying things like —“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me — I’m so afraid of losing you”, etc etc. It really is a mystery — My God how I’ve changed in the past two years! (oh, yeah?????)  Schlaf’ gut!

THURSDAY SEPT 11^th

Well — had a marvellous time in Cornwall as it turned out — On Friday morning, when B. was supposed to be picking me up, Mrs H. rang & said he had a frightful cold & could I come by train — fair enough — but I had ‘borrowed’ the station wagon to go to the doctors early that morning & Daddy discovered this (2^nd time this week!) & was FURIOUS — and refused to give me a penny for the holiday! — so in desperation I increased my overdraft successfully by £6/18/- and in a mad rush packed my one extra jumper, nightie, toothbrush & that’s all, and dashed off by tube to Waterloo & just caught the Lymington train — great journey — reading Mutter Courage & relaxing & got there by about 7.00 — B. picked me up & we went back & had a sit down lunch with Mrs H. & a friend of theirs. — William P-W & Sally H. arrived at about 3.30 & we eventually set off by about 4.30 — B. drove all the way — at 10.30 we stopped to have a drink in a super pub in Exeter & then camped in a mad field — at such strange angles that we were slipping downwards & sidewards on top of eachother all night — I hardly slept a wink! (we had picked up the tent from Nicholas P. on the way & had a beer in his super-modern house).

We rose at about 6.30 next morning — stopped a little later to have eggs & bacon in a little place & eventually got to Rock where we bumped quite by accident into Anthony (W’s cousin) & Sally’s sister Jane, and they took us to the campsite where half the people who were at the house party were (the P-W’s home on the Isle of Wight where B. & I had stayed for the 1970 IoW Festival a few weeks before) — Richard (Dick), blond, TR4 sports car — Peter & Jeannie (engaged) & Jonnie & Jane (Beach Buggie & skiing boat) — camped in farmer’s field — practically the sole inhabitants!  We stayed three nights & four days — very changeable weather but mostly wet & windy — everybody would meet at the hotel pub on the harbour for lunch & again in the evening, and spend the day surfing in wet suits — I used a ‘belly board’ once or twice. Really can’t describe what we did — just hung around like this enjoying ourselves  
(did you really? I remember you feeling grim and lonely amongst all these strangers, cold & alienated & unhappy)
 — that boy Richard apparently took a fancy to me & I realised it early on but he had the impression B. & I were thick as thieves & didn’t want to break up a beautiful relationship! — but though he appeared at first to be a rich, pot-smoking dropout, one day while the others were surfing I dragged him in to have a swim (it was freezing!) & afterwards we sat in his car listening to his stereo-cassette — having a nip of whisky (!) & talking & he was terribly interesting — he really & truly intrigued me & I would love to know more.

FRIDAY 12^th SEPTEMBER

— his name s Richard — Dickie — don’t know his surname — shortish, blond, watery blue eyes — longish hair — rather weak face — but well dressed — obviously on drugs but probably new to it (what would you know, Duckie?!) — perhaps it was booze, but he looked pretty far gone half the time — but when I was talking to him in the car with the whisky and the stereo — just a few things he said struck me and really stirred something up — I think of him even now, will probably never meet him again & if I do it will all seem different  
(how untrue this rings  — I think you were still writing with a view to A. reading this diary one day and wanting to make him jealous, you made all this up.)

— Will I ever meet someone to fall completely in love with?

B. — I always miss him terribly when he’s not around — I miss him now and want to write to him or phone him — but won’t. I talked to him while lying in our tent about what’s been worrying me about him — he talks quite freely about the boy he was in love with at Rugby & homosexuality — He thinks he is quite over it now but it is just that with girls he is so inexperienced & ignorant that it makes him terribly shy & embarrassed — it is pure inexperience — It’s not exactly fun dealing with an inexperienced boy — apart from the thrill of discovery that you can give him I suppose — especially one who just won’t let himself go completely as one has to — & it seems so wrong somehow & made me feel like “Miss Pringle, Tutor in Sex — for the woman to be teaching the man (I wonder if homosexuality can sometimes be a refuge from terror of women?) — B. — I do love you in a way — how I wish you’d go one step further and really open your soul to me.  He’s confided some very personal things to me — but what I want is for him to be completely honest with me — if he could just once look at me fair & square in the eyes — seriously & sincerely & for a long time — just looking into my soul & forgetting about himself — then & only then will I really feel this thin barrier between us has been broken.

Tonight Annie & I went & saw Easy Rider — M & D warned me against it but I thought it was fabulous — I can say nothing more than it was  a real experience — that meant something to me and I’m glad to have seen it — because it has & will help to get rid of silly & meaningless little prejudices that are built up inside me and I want to get rid of them because I don’t believe in them.

Otherwise today was an utter flop — I slept & lazed around and did NO work & have got so much to do for those retched exams — & on the whole German literature is not my cup of tea — at least, except for people like Kafka — Dürrenmatt — Böll — but the thought of having t plough through Grillparzer, Goethe, Tieck & that Romantic Novelle co. (I thought you loved the Romantic Novellen!) is quite an upset to the metabolism

Dear God

SUNDAY 12^TH SEPTEMBER 1970

That last bit wasn’t a despairing exclamation but a sudden burst of affection!

Have just read through B.’s letters and laughed myself to pieces — dear I love that boy. I rang him tonight on impulse. He’s coming up to London tomorrow to look for a flat & said he’d come to see me tomorrow or on Tuesday.

Re. Cornwall. On Saturday night, our first night there, we all went to our separate tents — & B. gave me a kiss & snörgle goodnight them rolled over and slept —Now I had been really excited earlier that day when we came back from surfing earlier than the others & decided to have a short rest — he had kissed me then like he’d never done before — gone was the cuddly teddy bear bit & I really thought this was it — so that night when he again showed o interest I couldn’t stop thinking about it and tossed and turned & literally didn’t sleep a wink all night — the only other time I can remember having such a night was that night with A. in the downstairs room at New College – AWFUL —But somehow — I don’t now how — on Sunday night, it was al different.  I don’t know how the conversation started — but he just said something about how he is really shy & embarrassed with girls because he’s had no experience & that gave me the opening to say how worried I’d been wondering whether he still felt attraction for men rather than women — he told me a little more about his “affair” at school with some guy called Mike — God I’d love to meet him! — Bruce said that when he first met me he never in his wildest dreams thought he’d ever even hold my hand. — It’s so strange having such a young and inexperienced boy after so many years (hmmmm.. who are you trying to impress?) of much older and very experienced ones (oh, yeah?) — and yet despite that obvious difference between us there is something deeper that is no different. / We decided to drive back on Tuesday as it was so wet & windy. That last night we did make love — but briefly, tentatively, as only B. could his second time — and then we slept. I was on a camp bed and slept brilliantly — but poor B. had a dreadful night & eventually woke me up to ask me if he could share the camp bed — he was in a pool of rainwater! We arrived in Lymington late on Tuesday night & Mrs. H. had the beds all ready for us — sweet of her.

Next day B. drove me back to London and after briefly dropping in home to leave my things & say hello — we upped & offed again to see his friend J. in Beaconsfield.

(…to be continued.)