Renza’s Diary
July 18th 1969
I got a lift back to England with John Barry from the base. He works with my Dad and offered to take me back for a long weekend. We drove to somewhere in Holland, near Rotterdam, and hitched with an RAF transport plane full of squaddies going home on leave to Heathrow. We had to sit on the floor and I was the only female on the flight, but it only cost me £3. It was cold and uncomfortable but I got home faster than via the ferry.
I got a train to Leighton Buzzard and Rich collected me from the station. I was very cold, and very tired, but just so happy to be seeing Scott again. It had all been so rushed and when I’d rung him I was terrified he would say no or they’d be away or something. But he’d sounded as excited as I was.
Dad’s friend, John, arranged to meet me again at Victoria Station on the 23rd to travel back to Germany, we’d catch the boat train to Dover and across to Holland from there. He’d said he’d drive me back to the base so I wouldn’t have to pay for much except a couple of train fares.
When I got to Leighton Buzzard, Scott was there and we fell into each other’s arms and I cried. Scott was all choked up as well and it was the most wonderful kiss in the whole world ever. Eat your heart out Juliet.
It was as if we’d never been apart, as if the last time we met had never happened.
Otis Redding was on the radio in the kitchen, singing ‘I’ve been Loving You so Long.’ Scott hummed along to it as he made me a cup of tea and some toast to warm me. the house was freezing inside even though it was warm outside.
The band have been gigging at some important venues locally and in London, with bigger crowds, which the Music Press now covered regularly, so Scott said. He told me to wear my glad-rags so he could show me off at the gig that night, which was at The New Penny Watford. I made sure I wouldn’t let Scott down and wore my new purple trouser suit with my favourite, really high heeled black boots. I haven’t been going flat out with the Dusty look for a while, so just lined my eyes with purple eyeliner and put lots of black mascara and eyeshadow on, with deep grey shading in the sockets. I left my lips pale. I used the last of the perfume my auntie sent from America last year.
‘You look gorgeous, good enough to eat,’ he said when I came downstairs ready to leave. I couldn’t help grinning from ear to ear. That’s just what I intended.
The gig was ace, with lots of journalists and photographers there, especially to see Narnia’s Children, and they were made a huge fuss of. The band’s set had changed a lot from when I last heard them but their harmonies and their playing was just amazing. Everyone was mesmerised, including me, by the sheer electricity they gave off. Zak was a brilliant front man, even better than I remembered and I couldn’t take my eyes off Scott for long, with his guitar slung low, and the way he moved…he was sex on legs. After the gig the band nearly disappeared into a sea of screaming girls, all waving autograph books and photos they wanted signed. It was so exciting. Very different to Merryhill. Rich kept an eye on me – he knew I was nervous after what happened on the Army Base.
On the way back Thunderclap Newman’s song, ‘Something in the Air,’ played and we all sang along, and then Jane Birkin and Serge Gainsbourg sang, ‘Je T’Aime,’ which I found embarrassing, not that my school French helped with the lyrics, but all that heavy breathing…
But most of the time Scott and I were able to be alone and it was magic. We talked and talked and managed to sort ourselves out, I think. He said he still wanted to get married and we will one day, but not for a while. I’ll try and get a job in England and come home – but he said he wasn’t sure we should live together, not sure what that meant, so we shall have to see about that later.
‘Just because I take ages to write, don’t think the worst.’ Scott said as he held me close while I tried to make us all a cup of tea.
‘I won’t, but it’s hard and sometimes you seem so cool towards me in your letters and on the phone.’
I handed him his cup. A little reassured. But not much.
But that night I shared his room and this time there was nothing in the way of being together in every sense of the word. At last. Indescribable. Magic. Groovy and like soaring above the clouds...all those things and more. So wonderful and tender and so moving – we both cried.
Stella’s Diary
July 18th 1969
I deserved today. I’ll gloss over the finer details here I think. You can probably imagine how it went.
I went back to work for the dressing down – and it was a zillion times worse than I could ever have imagined.
However, as I hadn’t slept properly since being back from Jersey, I was a gibbering wreck long before I entered “The Room”. They’d sent a car and an escort for me and I had to be security checked at the gate – and no one spoke or smiled.
There were four of them – two in uniform – behind a long table and they, quite rightly, read me the riot act. They asked why I’d done it, where I’d been and what I’d been doing and who I’d met.
Scared stiff, I managed to gabble and give them a sort of outline about an extended holiday and just having been thoughtless and that none of the documents had ever left my possession and that I was very, very sorry.
One of the non-uniform ones was clearly from Personnel and had my file and read out bits about my illness and operation, which helped a bit, I think. I smiled at her. She froze me with a glare.
I was then told that I was reckless and feckless and childish and dishonest. I was told I was a disgrace and had let so many people down. I was told how lucky I was that this hadn’t gone outside The Establishment.
I was told disappearing with my security pass was a breach of every Authority rule and law and breaking the Official Secrets Act. I was reminded that I’d signed legally-binding contracts to this effect. It could – if taken further – involve a prison sentence.
By this time I was more than terrified.
I then had to hand over each and every one of my documents to have them verified and signed off.
Then I was sacked. And told I could never join the Civil Service again. And escorted to the gate and off the premises.
There was no car to take me home – I was no longer one of theirs.
I stood at the bus stop and cried. I cried for me and for Scott and for Jersey and for everything… by the time the bus came I was practically incoherent.
The journey back to Harbury Green took about twenty minutes I think. I have no idea. I just slumped with my head against the window, staring out, not seeing anything, and wondering how my life could fall apart so spectacularly.
I was alone and lonely and scared – and missing Scott and Jersey more than I could even put into words.
And of course I couldn’t ring Scott at Leighton Buzzard, or even write to him to tell him how it had gone, because Renza was there.
Renza would always be there.
I dragged myself off the bus in the High Street, shivering despite it being another scorching day, and kept my head down. I didn’t want to face anyone. I was convinced the whole place – even if they didn’t know about my work fiasco – would know that I’d once again been “living in sin” and would be delighted to see me back and looking a complete mess.
I wiped my eyes and my nose and stared in the nearest shop window to regain some sort of my composure. Now I had to go home and face mum and dad – disgraced and unemployed. Disgraced I knew they’d forgive, unemployed was another matter. We didn’t have enough money for me to live at home and not have a job. I had to work. Everyone had to work. But, without a reference – there was obviously not going to be one from the Atomic – I knew I’d never get another decent job.
I’d ruined my entire life!
I stared into the shop window. It was the shoe shop. It sold boring old people’s shoes. All year round their window display was of black and brown lace-ups.
“Assistant wanted. Full time. Apply within”.
The notice was inches from my face. I sigh
ed, and because I was wearing suitable job-applying clothes – I’d worn my navy polka dot coat dress with the white Peter Pan collar and cuffs for The Sacking – I walked in through the shoe shop’s open door.
I got the job.
I was to start on Monday. The hours were 8.30 to 5.30.
Wednesday was half-day closing and I’d get alternate Saturdays off. I have to wear a uniform – a dark blue skirt and light blue poplin blouse – they gave me a medium because it was all they had. I know it will swamp me. The salary wasn’t great but it was certainly better than nothing.
I trudged home. Mum and Dad were both at work, and I ripped off the navy frock and put on my jeans and a T-shirt and huddled in the garden with the dogs and the cats, hating the blue sky and the sun because it reminded me of Jersey, and cried.
Then, because as I’d suspected there were dozens of new fan club applications from the girls who had been at Lords, I dragged out my Adler Tippa portable typewriter and wrote a long, long fan club letter about Narnia’s Children in Jersey and what they’d be doing in the future, and about ‘Livin’ With You’ and about anything else I could think of.
It ripped my already broken heart apart.
I read it through, then took it down to Barry to print off masses of copies. If he wondered why I looked like a zombie or why the original was splodged with tears he was kind enough not to mention it.
I spent the rest of the day folding the letters into envelopes and sending them out to fans – old and new – and, thanks to Stephan’s stamp-supply, was able to post them all without having to face Mrs Nosey Norris at the post office.
And then, again, I went home and cried.
Renza’s Diary
July 20th 1969
We spent a fabulous time with a friend of the band called John who lives near Heath and Reach and was in some sort of business, I forget what, and he invited us to his flat to watch the American moon landing that night. As midnight moved into the small hours of July 21st, we all crowded round his black and white television and had cider and Indian food, as we watched Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin actually walk on the moon. Zak didn’t think it was real and said it was all a big con, but how would we know? It was so exciting and historical. Scott and I loved it. We talked about space and Isaac Asimov and his books and lots of other things we both love.
I made sure that my uncle and auntie knew I was home so that if my parents asked they could cover for me. I didn’t have time to visit them as my trip was so brief, but they didn’t mind.
The whole visit passed so fast and soon I found myself holding on to Scott so tight he laughed, ‘Hey, I need to breathe, and you’re going to crush the life out of me,’ as we said goodbye.
‘I’ll miss you so much.’ I sobbed into his shoulder as he stroked my hair.
‘I’ll miss you, too, and I’ll be thinking of you all the time and especially when you look at the moon, I’ll be looking too.’ He held my face in his hands and kissed me so tenderly I almost fainted away. His eyes were brimming with tears and he looked so beautiful and so kissable I didn’t want to leave. But John Barry would be at the station waiting for me and I had to tear myself away from him.
I cried, silently and privately, all the way from Victoria Railway station to the steps up to our flats in the strasse. Now all I could do was hold on to the memories. Until the next time.
Stella’s Diary
July 21st 1969
Today I started work in the shoe shop. I already hated it and the uniform made me look like Little Orphan Annie. There were two older ladies and a girl from one of the outlying villages who was 16, and the manager, a grizzled old man who sat in a booth and watched us all like hawks.
The shoes were, as I knew, boring. We had to dust them when there were no customers. And climb tall ladders and lift the millions of boxes down and dust them too. And make sure they were all back in size, style, colour order. It was mind-numbing.
And when we did have a customer everyone else disappeared into the stock room and left me to it. I spent all day shoving hideous shoes on to ancient sweaty smelly feet, trying to ignore distorted, weeping corns and bunions.
It was clearly my penance.
And my first day was made even worse because I hadn’t slept.
Last night history was made when America landed their astronauts on the moon! Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin walked on the moon! I stayed up all night, watching it with mum and dad and the cats and dogs, and could hardly believe what we were seeing. It was so exciting, so incredible – so almost impossible to take in – but also for me, so painful because I knew Scott and Renza would be watching it together.
I physically hurt. Everything hurt. I knew it would be like this.
Stella’s Diary
July 31st 1969
I’m not proud of this diary entry – but I need to write these things down to tell the whole story.
Vix had been such a good friend since I got back. The best. She’d spent a lot of time with me, filling me in on all the local gossip and everything that had happened while I was away. She hadn’t once said “I told you so”. Not once. She had suggested we go out for a girls night out – like we used to – but I couldn’t. I just couldn’t.
She’d even said I ought to go for a drink with her and her Jeff – but I couldn’t do that either. It wouldn’t be fair to them. Because they’d be together and happy and I’d be the brokenhearted gooseberry and ruin their evening. I’d promised her I’d get glammed up one day and we’d go and hit the town again – but not yet. Not yet.
Instead I’d stayed in, every night after the hateful, hateful days in the shoe shop, and written to Scott.
I’d written him a ridiculous letter every single day. And, to my shame, sent them. I’d told him about what happened at work that day (usually nothing), how I hated my job, how I was now reading Dennis Wheatley’s They Used Dark Forces where the characters travel through their enforced-dream-state to meet on the astral plain when they can’t be together in real life, and that I’d tried this to be with him while we’re asleep!
Seriously! Absolute tosh – but it was true – I’d done it, and of course it didn’t work, but I was that desperate.
Desperate. Each letter has been more and more pathetically desperate.
I’d told him stuff about Vix and Jeff – even though he doesn’t know them and wouldn’t be remotely interested – and about my upcoming hospital appointment and about that old song that goes along the lines of “I go to sleep and imagine that you’re here with me…” and so many more boring and insane things.
Anything to make it seem as if we were still together.
And, even worse, I’d phoned him at Leighton Buzzard a couple of times, but he’d been very distant and distracted so I’d just said goodbye and walked away from the phone box in tears.
I guessed Renza was there now so he really wouldn’t want to talk to me. He probably wouldn’t even open my letters. I sort of hoped he wouldn’t. It was killing me, remembering how happy, how in love we were such a very, very short time before.
I know he’d said when Narnia’s Children left Leighton Buzzard they’d go back to Jersey for a while, and the only update he did bother to tell me in one of the painful phone calls, was that after Jersey he’d probably share with Stephan in London until a permanent place for the band turned up.
He hadn’t written to me at all and I knew how pathetic my letters sounded and that I was clearly now just irritating him by phoning him too – but I couldn’t help it. I was being ridiculously feeble – I knew it – and should have had more pride and accepted that it was all over – but I couldn’t.
I was clinging to the memories and the mad happiness amid the wreckage of our love affair. My heart was breaking and it hurt so much.
Stella’s Diary
August 9th 1969
On Sundays, and my Saturdays off from the gruesome shoe shop, I’d been going out with mum and dad in the car, taking the dogs for walks over miles of country
side, or round the perimeters of stately homes – Mum loved a stately home! Most of the time I’d walked a bit then hurried back to the car and huddled up on the back seat alone and read. Dennis Wheatley of course. And cried.
I’d been home from Jersey for nearly four weeks and every day was still awful. I got through my days in a sort of cold daze, breaking down when I remembered how wonderful it been – and now there was only this emptiness for the rest of my life.
At least now, because I had no idea if Scott was in Jersey or Leighton Buzzard, I’d stopped writing the pathetic letters. I bet he was glad about that!
One of the weird things at the moment though, was how much I suddenly hated certain records. Oh, not any that reminded me of Narnia’s Children, but new records on Radio One. I think it was because they were now part of this lonely, horrid life. My two major hates were ‘Marrakesh Express’ and ‘Sugar, Sugar’. They were both in the chart and being played everywhere all the time and I loathed them with a vengeance and knew I always would.
But my life wasn’t all bad because tonight, for the first time, I went out with the girls. With Vix, and Debbie and Sally – who had both elevated me to some sort of legendary superstar status because I’d broken the Official Secrets Act to run away with my rock star lover! – and a few of our other mutual friends and everyone was really kind to me and said I looked fab with a suntan and was lovely and skinny, and didn’t mention Scott at all.
I wore the black trousers I’d bought with Eva – yep, cried my eyes out again – and the Julie Driscoll top – all dressed in black seemed very appropriate. We went in to Oxford, to our favourite Chinese restaurant in Summertown to start with where I ate practically nothing and refused to open my fortune cookie just in case, and then on to the Stage Club.
Only One Woman Page 41
