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The Path of Fate Attending a Golf Course. by
The
TaleWagger
About this time in my life I became aware of the importance of Golf in a teenager's life. During the summer school holidays, my mates and I had plenty of time to spare and more energy to use up than was good for us. Most days were spent on the beach fishing, swimming, or chatting-up girls. However, for several Tuesdays during one summer, when I was in my mid-teens, we had gone in the morning to the golf course in the next village. There we met with members of another group from our school in competition, however it was not the Royal and Ancient game of Golf, it combat with airguns! The rules were far less complicated. We split onto opposite sides of the golf course and each group had to get as many as they could to the other side, without being hit twice; once was a wounding, twice was a kill. No shots were allowed to be aimed above the waist and to protect our legs we wore shin-pads and tucked newpaper down the legs of our trousers. Each week we had so much enjoyment that the result never seemed to matter and both groups became good friends. Unfortunately, and in real life there always seems to be an 'unfortunately' or a 'however', one of our group, Pat, got hit in the eye by a richochet and the pellet lodged under his eyelid. Within minutes his eye puffed up and he could not see out of it but he said he did not want to go the hospital but, being a fervent Catholic he wanted to ask his priest for advice. We all went with him to his local church where the priest removed the pellet, attended to the swelling and gave us a strong telling-off! Pat decided that he was not willing to offend his priest and no more fights with airguns, on the golf course ever took place again. This is did not mean that encounters with Pat on the golf course did not take place but they were a couple of years later, in the dark and the Pat involved was a Particia and not a Patrick. For some reason, Patrick and Patricia were common names in my youth and all the Patricias that I can remember were buxom young ladies. This, I attribute to the well-balanced diet that their parents had provided during and just after the austere years of the War, plus the free school milk programme! One Patricia that I remember, although I no longer suffer with the nightmares, introduced me, in a sandbunker on the fourth hole, to hand-knitted woolen knickers! It was an experienced that put me of the opposite for ever. Well, maybe not forever but at least for a day-or-two or possibly until the next day; it is something I do not wish to dwell on for too long. A Patricia who I remember with warm feelings, but was not romantically involved with, was about two years older than myself. By the time I was sixteen, I had known her about two years and, as she lived near to the recreation ground that we hung-out at, we saw her several times each week. She had several boyfriends in those two years, all of whom were several years older than my group and we were just friends who she enjoyed spending her spare time with. I suppose we all realised that we were too young and inexperienced for her and no one tried to date her. She was well-liked in the area, always got on well with her neighbours and admired by all because of the time that she spent with the elderly people in her street. No matter what, Pat always seem to find time to do their daily shopping and have a chat with them and never expected a reward. She was also invaluable to us as she could obtain something which we could not: access to the Good Life. On Wednesday at The Palais, and Saturday night at The Regent, there was dancing to top bands however, not only was the entrance fee astronomical, or it seemed to be if you were sixteen and still at school, but you had be be eighteen to get in. Of course, this did not apply if you had a complimentary ticket and Pat always had more than enough! No matter who her regular boyfriend was, she always made sure that she had 'a spare' who was a member of the local professional football team as they were always given copious amounts of complimentary tickets, to encourage them to attend the dances. Thanks to Pat we were frequent visitors to the Halls of Spinning Mirrors and had access to another world. This world I frequented regularly with my mates until I joined the Army in August 1953. While in the Army, I learned that Patricia had been raped by her drunken stepfather and her mother had been stabbed trying to protect her. Nobody deserves that in their life, least of all Pat. I felt very sad about it and wondered how it would affect her but about ten years later, by pure chance I met her passing the flat that I shared with my wife and baby son. She was pushing a pram and holding the hand of young child. We talked and, without referring to the rape at anytime, she told me that she was happily married to someone older than herself, who I vaguely knew from my old schooldays and had five children. She was still the same old bubbly person that I had known as a teenager, and all without counselling! I am certain that people were mentally much stronger in those days.
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