Our photo booth love stories
These grainy black-and-white images tell a story to anyone of a certain age! Before smartphone selfies, posing with your boyfriend in a photo booth was the way to cement your relationship. Four couples reveal the romance behind their old pictures
Four romantic tales from the age before smartphone selfies
‘It cost 10p for the photo, a week’s pocket money’
Hairdresser Gillian Vassilliou, 62, from near Watford, Hertfordshire, remembers that first snap with now-husband, Rene, 64
‘This picture was taken in 1972, on one of our first dates, when Rene was 16 and I was 15. Rene was in the year above me at school and lived on the same road in Crouch Hill, north London. I couldn’t fail to miss him; he was one of the good-looking boys.
As a teen I was shy, but I’d heard from a friend that he fancied me. Then, one day, I was chatting to my mates after a lesson and Rene came up and asked if he could talk to me. I thought it was very brave of him, because all of my friends were watching!
He led me away and asked me if I was going to the school dance, and when I said yes, he asked: “Would you like me to take you?” I had goosebumps; I didn’t hesitate.
I knew all the other girls were interested in Rene and, the night of the dance, just a few weeks later, we spent the whole evening together. After that, we were a couple. We were so in love that we used to go around the school engraving each other’s names in the wooden desks. Most of our dates were at the cinema. To get there, we’d take a shortcut through Finsbury Park station, where we’d pass the photo booth. It cost 10p, which was my week’s pocket
‘We’d cut up the strip, turn them face down, and take half each’
money. But whenever we could afford it, we’d get some more done.
It was so much fun, because it was instant. Back then, even if you had a camera, it would take weeks to see the photos; you’d have to take the film roll into the chemist and wait for it to be developed. But with a photo booth it was an instant thrill; pulling the curtain closed, adjusting the seat, waiting for the flash, then watching the pictures drop into the slot, taking care not to touch them while they dried.
Rene and I always tried to think of different poses, but whatever faces we pulled, we always had one with a little kiss. Afterwards, we had a ritual where we’d cut up the strip into individual pictures, turn them face down, shuffle, and then take half each – otherwise we’d end up wanting the same one! Then we’d go home and put them in our photo albums, which we still treasure. Even at 15, I could imagine spending the rest of my life with Rene. He had a cheeky way that always made me laugh, and I felt safe with him. I was his girl. These pictures also said: “He’s mine.”
We got married when I was 21. There was no big proposal; it had always been on the cards. We’d say: “We’re going to get married one day,” and we did. We married at the town hall, because Rene was Greek Orthodox and my family was Jewish and Catholic, and we wanted to please everyone.
Rene became a screenwriter and producer and we went on to have three children. Now, we have six grandchildren, too. Rene’s even written a book about our love story*.
Life hasn’t been one long rosy ride, but our secret is not to take anything too seriously. We’ve grown up together, so there’s always lots to talk about. I couldn’t imagine being with anyone else but Rene. We’ve been together for so long, it’s like we’re one person.’