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ERIC ARE YOU OUT THERE?

K

Kate

Guest
The two teenage boys approached us after the pictures. The dark haired boy addressed me explaining that his friend wanted me to “go steady”. My friend, Jill, giggled and I felt my face go very red. Jill was a tall lanky girl and I was at that time quite thin with silky black short hair falling across my freckly cheeks.

Going steady was indeed a commitment and even though I was 15, no one had asked me before. It was quite a thrill to have this young blond boy looking at me so ardently. His hair was slicked back into two cowlicks and he was good looking in a sharp featured way. He reminded me of Tommy Steele – I didn’t really like Tommy Steele, but he was famous. And I found out this boy was English as well.

I mumbled okay, I’d be his steady and he immediately grabbed my hand and walked with me up the street, Jill towing behind with his mate. He told me he’d been sent out to Australia when he was very young by his mother. I can’t recall who he was sent to – I don’t think it was an orphanage. He looked too well dressed and healthy for that to be the case. He also told me his mother had recently sent for him to return to England and that he was refusing to go. He couldn’t remember her at all and had only corresponded with her by letter.

He walked me home and I promptly forgot all about him until the next afternoon after school when he turned up on our doorstep. I felt uncomfortable about him being in our home. Mum and Dad made him welcome and it ended up he stayed for tea and then watched tellie with us afterwards. He didn’t seem to want to go home and I think eventually Dad gave him the hint it was time for him to depart. His name was Eric and he came every evening without fail – we were going steady in his eyes, but in mine – well, I wish I’d never agreed. I became to dread his visits and after tea would sit for a while with him in our living room with my parents until I could stand it no longer. I’d get up and yawn expansively, say I was really, really tired and go to bed, leaving my father to entertain him. Mum also took the opportunity to escape to do some household chore or another. My father was very amused by my behaviour, but felt extremely sorry for this boy. I know now that dad was remembering his own loneliness when he came out from England as a Dreadnought boy at 16 years old and how he must have missed his family.

I began staying at Jill’s house overnight to escape Eric’s attentions, but he would turn up on her doorstep before breakfast, desperate to see me. Then came school holidays and I gratefully escaped to my aunt’s place south of Hobart (we were living in Launceston at the time). Kettering was then well over an hour’s drive from Hobart and I felt free for the first time in weeks. But before long Eric arrived. Dad had taken pity on him and told him where I was and I have no idea how Eric managed to make the trip to the remote orchard where I was staying. I remember being extremely cold towards him and I must have convinced him to return to Launceston.

Holiday over I returned to Launceston – and Eric. The day of his departure back to England was getting closer and Eric was becoming more desperate not to leave me, he said. As I remember I had little sympathy for his feelings, but I did try to convince him how wonderful it would be to be with his mother again and how much she must have missed him. I think I may have started to lift his hopes of seeing his family again and he started to look more favourably on his departure. He vowed we would see each other again though and that he wouldn’t forget me.

I don’t think I went to see him off – or if I did I don’t remember. It wouldn’t have been something that stuck in my mind, heartless young hussy that I was back then. I do remember receiving a letter from him when he was on the ship all about the azure sea and gorgeous scenery. I could sense then a hint of optimism in his words and I felt a little miffed that he seemed to be forgetting me already. See I told you I was a young hussy.

Looking back now I can see he was not trying to form an attachment with me so much as form an attachment with Australia, the only home he had ever known. I was too young and naïve to realize his panic and his desperation to cling to this country was being manifested in his so-called love for me, but it is glaringly obvious to me now. I never heard from him again. I hope his mother was as lovely as I predicted and that he had a good life. I regret treating him so badly. Eric – mate – if you’re reading this – I’m sorry.
 
Oh for the wisdom and understanding that experience, age and maturity brings.

Lovely story K8

Come on folks.....I have had to re book my subscription with Peoples Friend, due to the abscence of the short stories recently :cry:
 
... and so you should be Kate! :wink:

Seriously, I think we all do heartless things when we're young, which we regret with maturity. Isn't youth all about mistakes and learning? But youth also bears resilience and the ability to brush aside hurt. I know I was hurtful and hurt along the rugged road to adulthood but I survived (I think). So, there's no reason to suspect that Eric didn't find happiness with someone else, probably beaking a heart or two himself along the way.

Another nice piece of writing, Kate. Thanks for sharing it with us.
 
I think most of us gals give a thought to someone we feel we have hurt along the way. I often think how nice it would be if we could have been friends, but it just wasn't possible was it. Oh the fickleness of youth.

Good story K8, I'm sure Eric thinks of you too.
 
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