Love me do

Fifty years on, teen angst is just the same… if not the music!

All my favourite old songs filled the house as I listened to SixtiesHour on our local radio. It was part of my Saturday morning routine and I sang along as I baked, all the familiar lyrics coming back to me.

“Hi Mum, hi Dad,” came the cheery voice of my daughter Liz as she bobbed in at the back door, followed by Cerys, my granddaughter. Cerys had a face like a wet Sunday. “What’s up with Madam?” I murmured to Liz as Cerys went into the living room and slumped in front of the television. Her grandad was in there, watching the sport.

“She’s split up with her boyfriend,” she told me, raising her eyes to heaven. “I knew he was a waste of space. He was always borrowing money off her. I don’t know why she doesn’t go out with that nice Terry from next door. He’s always trying to be friendly but she doesn’t want to know. Says he’s not cool enough.”

I smiled. I was exactly the same at her age. The moment my favourite song played on the radio, I was transported back to when I was just about to turn sweet sixteen …

My friend Marcy called round one Saturday morning, all excited. “Guess who I saw going into Ronnie’s!” she said breathlessly. “I saw him as I was going past the shopping parade to buy your birthday present.”

I knew it must be some boy she was mad about, but she couldn’t wait for me to guess and blurted it out anyway.

“It was Darren – Darren Davison. Oh Jude – you’ve got to come with me.”

Ronnie’s Records was the regular Saturday hangout for all us teenagers. Marcy’s brother Rick had a Saturday job there, so it wasn’t as if she’d have no one to talk to while she drooled over Darren, the coolest prefect at our school. All the girls fancied him – including me.

“I just need, like, moral support,” she said. “Oh, come on, or we’ll miss him.”

So we hurried off and luckily he was still in the shop.

“Hi, Marcy – hi, Judy,” called Rick from behind the counter. “Have you come to spend your pocket money?”

We nodded and went into a huddle round the music magazine on the counter to read the week’s list of hit records and take sly glances over at Darren. He looked really cool in a black polo neck, a corduroy jacket and boots with pointed toes, zipped up the side. His hair was long and shiny.

Riffling through the singles, he paused. He must have realised he was being watched. We quickly went back to scrutinising the charts.

“What do you think of the Beatles?” Darren asked Rick.

“Oh, they’re so fab,” Marcy butted in before her brother could open his mouth. “I just love everything they’ve done. Jude does too – don’t you, Jude?”

I could only nod, too overwhelmed to speak. Darren Davison had noticed us!

“I’m thinking of buying PleasePlease Me,” he said. “It’s not number one – Frank Ifield is top with TheWestward Wind. It should be, though.”

“Yeah – I think so, too,” said Marcy enthusiastically.

I stood mesmerised, just like a rabbit caught in the headlamps.

“Cat got your tongue?” said Darren, grinning at me. I just couldn’t speak. “It’s ’cos my friend fancies you,” said Marcy, to my absolute horror. Darren looked smug. “I’m not surprised. I’m really fab,” he said with a smirk and winked at me.

I felt mortified – so furious with Marcy. “I’ll call in again. Just off to have my hair trimmed,” he said. “See ya, doll!” Rick glared at us. “What are you playing at, Marcy?” he demanded. “You’re just embarrassing, mooning over one of our best customers. If he can’t come in without being pestered by silly schoolgirls, he’ll go elsewhere.” “Sorry.” Marcy huffed. “C’mon, Jude.” I turned to Rick, my voice restored. Though he wasn’t cool like Darren, I liked him. He’d left school and was studying engineering at our local college. He wore his hair in a Brylcreemed quiff – so old-fashioned, and nothing like Darren with his Beatle cut.

“I’m sorry about that,” I said, knowing I was half to blame. “I’ll come in next week to buy something with my birthday money.” He nodded. “Why did you say that to Darren?” I demanded of Marcy angrily when we left the shop. “It’s you that fancies him.”

“You do too,” Marcy protested.

“I did a bit but I certainly don’t now,” I said. His spell had been abruptly broken with that smirk. “He doesn’t half fancy himself. What a bighead!”

I managed to avoid Darren at school for the next few days, though I spotted him in the dining hall with his mates. He smirked at me again and whispered something to his friends.

They laughed and I felt even more furious with Marcy. Darren was now definitely off my “most fancied” list.

“NAH,” I said CASUALLY. “I’m having a family BIRTHDAYTEA”

My birthday on Saturday morning began with excitement. I dashed downstairs and there were some intriguing-looking packages on the table. To my joy, one looked suspiciously like a single record. Oh, please, let it be PleasePleaseMe! “That’s from your gran,” said Mum. “She heard it on the Light Programme the other week and said you’ll really like it.”

I ripped open the wrapping. IRememberYou, it said on the label. “Frank Ifield!” I wailed. “Oh, I like him,” said Dad. “Let’s give it a go.” He put the disc on his radiogram.

“Irememberyouooooo!” yodelled Frank all through breakfast, while my parents said what a nice clean-cut young man he was, not like that scruffy lot from Liverpool. I nearly choked on my cereal.

Mum had bought me some stockings with little black beetles all over them and I felt so trendy. She’d also bought a tin of talcum powder and, joy of joys, a precious record token.

I was thrilled. I could go and buy three of my favourite records. I called for Marcy. She’d bought me another tin of talc instead of the expected Please, PleaseMe – never mind, I could afford to go and buy it myself now.

As we hurried to the record shop, I fervently hoped Darren would not be there. Unfortunately, he was.

“Hi girls,” he said with a grin. “You going to the youth club dance tonight?” Marcy stared at me in anticipation. “Nah,” I said casually. “I’m having a birthday tea with my family.”

Marcy was invited too but if she thought I was going to the youth club instead just to see Darren, she was much mistaken. He shrugged and she glared at me. I hurried to the counter, eager to make my choices. “Morning, birthday girl,” said Rick. I stared at him. Gone was the greasy quiff. His shiny, floppy locks just brushed the button-down collar of his denim shirt.

“When did you have your hair cut?” I asked in surprise. “Last night. What d’you think?” “You look fab,” I said sincerely. He looked so different – so cool. As we pored over the pop charts to choose my records, I kept glancing at him. Our musical tastes were so alike.

Marcy lost interest and wandered off to inspect some LPs near Darren. He seemed annoyed by my snub and left.

Of course my final record choices included PleasePleaseMe.

“Here’s something from me for your birthday,” said Rick. It was a copy of LoveMeDo. “I noticed it in the discount tub and thought of you,” he said shyly.

I ignored the discount remark and thanked him.

“Are you coming round to ours to play them tomorrow?”

Rick was always generous with his Dansette, bought with his Saturday money.

I looked into his eyes and nodded happily. And that was the start…

Istill cherish that record and think about that moment when I fell for my best friend’s brother. Marcy eventually got together with Darren but it didn’t last long. Like my granddaughter’s exboyfriend, he was “a waste of space”. So we’d been as fickle as Cerys in our youth.

“Is there a cup of tea going?” called Rick from in front of the television.

“In a minute when I just find these pesky whisks,” I called.

“I’ll put the kettle on,” said Liz. “Is this what you’re looking for?” she added as she moved my cookery book and held up the missing utensils.

I had to laugh. As I realise nowadays, in life and in love, sometimes what you’re searching for is right under your nose.