Early stirrings - My first at last
7. My first at last
Some enchanted evening, ’53,De Grey Rooms, City of York;I see her and she sees me: thus far it’s been all talkfor my air force pals and I -talk and several pints of beer.I cannot dance but I can try, I cross the floor to ask the dark haired miss; That one, I told my friend; The pretty one, but he’d just laughed; No chance, mate, don’t be daftshe’s too stuck up and you?you’ve got the two left feet. But still I try and ask and hold my breath until - oh sweet miracle - she answers yes!
The girl is slim, well dressedher figure of the very best,out on the sprung-pine floor soft her hands, her perfume fills my all, I hold her not too close in case she hearsmy beating heart above the music as the dancing starts,lights low, crystal overheadturning, my friends grinning at me: I’m dizzy with despair.place my feet first here then there as the black-tied singer sings, Oh mine papa, to me you were so beautiful. I’m trying not to kick her shins.She turns her oval face up into mine; I see her smiling eyes, her ruby lips. I feel her body moving underneath the dressIf I’m to teach you, she starts tell me your name, you’re not from round about these parts? Her voice is low, well toned a lovely knife well honed to cut so deep into my heart. I’m Bryan, I say, So what is yours? She says, I’m Joan; hello, just follow me: so follow her I did, for thirty seven yearsof love and children four and laughter; in her end, of tears.
In York it was, my early stirrings reached natural conclusion;a boy had found his moorings;he, his girl, found joy in fusion.
Some enchanted evening, ’53,De Grey Rooms, City of York;I see her and she sees me: thus far it’s been all talkfor my air force pals and I -talk and several pints of beer.I cannot dance but I can try, I cross the floor to ask the dark haired miss; That one, I told my friend; The pretty one, but he’d just laughed; No chance, mate, don’t be daftshe’s too stuck up and you?you’ve got the two left feet. But still I try and ask and hold my breath until - oh sweet miracle - she answers yes!
The girl is slim, well dressedher figure of the very best,out on the sprung-pine floor soft her hands, her perfume fills my all, I hold her not too close in case she hearsmy beating heart above the music as the dancing starts,lights low, crystal overheadturning, my friends grinning at me: I’m dizzy with despair.place my feet first here then there as the black-tied singer sings, Oh mine papa, to me you were so beautiful. I’m trying not to kick her shins.She turns her oval face up into mine; I see her smiling eyes, her ruby lips. I feel her body moving underneath the dressIf I’m to teach you, she starts tell me your name, you’re not from round about these parts? Her voice is low, well toned a lovely knife well honed to cut so deep into my heart. I’m Bryan, I say, So what is yours? She says, I’m Joan; hello, just follow me: so follow her I did, for thirty seven yearsof love and children four and laughter; in her end, of tears.
In York it was, my early stirrings reached natural conclusion;a boy had found his moorings;he, his girl, found joy in fusion.
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