This story is told by Dot, reminiscing with Amy & Pixie after a few glasses of sherry
Did I ever tell you about my girl Aggie? I met her in 1952, just after King George passed away, we were so lucky to have him as King, still a massive racist but not as bad as Edward, he's have sold us to the Nazis at the drop of a hat.
Anyway I was working at Kendal Royal in the maternity ward, after seeing all those poor ladies in agony it made me so glad I'd not be having children.
Aggie came in with her sister Erica, she was a sister in two ways, being Aggie's younger sister, and a nun who'd been tricked into bed by one of the randy Catholic priests. Apparently he'd fathered half a dozen babies, the poor mites were sent to a Catholic orphanage where they'd be badly treated at best, or put through hellish torment unleashed by the priests and nuns if they weren't so lucky.
Aggie was so pretty, with beautiful red hair just like yours Amy. I moved over to Erica's bed and started talking them, Aggie had a beautiful smile, lovely red lips and rosy cheeks.
They both had mixed emotions, Erica had just given birth to a wonderful baby, a new life, but she would have to hand it over tomorrow before she left the hospital. Then there was the other matter of the father, who was also a Father and had sworn a vow of chastity.
Before Aggie left I got her to give me the priest's name. Now I'm not a violent woman, but I have a real hatred of injustice and people taking advantage of others who are not in a position to complain or gain redress. I'd also seen enough horror during the war that I wasn't afraid of a bit of blood if I happened to spill some in the process of punishing someone for being a bit of a bastard towards the nuns in his charge.
The next day I visited Aggie after I'd finished work, I told her that the priest wouldn't be getting any more nuns pregnant, he wouldn't be walking for a while either, not after I broke one of his legs and crushed his nuts under my heels. I was sick after I'd done it, but I'd seen worse injuries driving an ambulance in Manchester during the war, innocent families blown to pieces when their homes were bombed. This bastard priest didn't deserve any better.
I never ever told Aggie what I'd done, would she have loved me less if she'd known? Not something I was willing to risk.
That weekend Aggie met me in town and we went for a coffee, our fingers touched as she reached for the sugar pourer and it was like a spark went through our bodies. Our eyes met and we both smiled.
I walked home with Aggie, and at the garden gate she looked both ways to check no-one was around then kissed me quickly on the cheek before disappearing through the gate and into her house.
My heart was fluttering on my way home, feelings I'd long supressed were stirring yet again, this girl was going to cause me trouble, but to be honest I had decided that she was most probably worth it.
On Sunday I saw Aggie waiting in the graveyard as I emerged from church, she was from a Catholic family so I was surprised to see her in a Church of England church yard, there was a danger she'd upset her family if she was caught.
She wanted to go for a walk, just to spend some time with me, I don't think she enjoyed being at home with her parents, who were very religious and by the sound of things totally devoid of any kind of humour, which is odd, because Aggie struck me as being full of life and good humour.
We walked away from the church, the one down the lane, the same church I've been going to since I moved up here after the war, we walked aimlessly, turning down lanes at random. We talked and talked, we had so much in common, the biggest one being that neither of us was terribly interested in men.
After a few miles we realised that we were lost, I could see a pub in the distance so we headed in that direction. It was still open luckily, in those days pubs closed at 2:30pm and opened again at 6:30.
The landlord pointed us in the right direction home, and offered us a drink each on the house, helping thirsty travellers was the raison d'etre of a countryside inn after all.
We asked for half a pint of bitter each, which brought a raised eye-brow from the landlord, who then left us alone with our drinks whilst he polished glasses and cleaned his pipes or whatever they do under the bar. I remember all this vividly because this was the location of our first kiss, Aggie leaned over and kissed me on my lips, just a quick peck, but I felt it right down between my legs.
We finished our drinks, thanked the landlord and left the pub, following the directions he'd written down on the back of a beermat.
It was getting dark when we made it back to my house, Aggie kissed me again then turned round and walked towards her house, at the end of the street she turned back around and ran back, she hugged me, kissing me hard on the lips. She pulled back and told me that she'd had a lovely day and would I like to go to a dance with her next Saturday? I said yes and Aggie gave a little cheer and skipped away towards home.
On Friday Aggie met me after work and we popped into the coffee shop and made our plans for tomorrow night. It was pretty clear that we couldn't go together, as a couple, because homosexuality was still illegal then, so we decided to pick up a couple of guys then dump them once we were inside.
Aggie then had a better idea, she slipped to the back of the coffee shop to use the payphone, when she came back to the table she was beaming but wouldn't tell me what she'd planned.
I had to work Saturday, so arranged to meet at the dance hall at 6 o'clock the next evening.
.... There is more of this story ...