Another Blonde Chapter: the fickle fate of the flight of an arrow

There she was a cute little blonde girl in the playground over at the girl’s school. There must have been a hundred or more, but she stood out, to me anyway.

Yellow is the colour of my true love’s hair. First time that Cupid would draw back his bow and fired he missed! Now it wasn’t Cupid, I was stupid!

Stay behind and see me after the class. Miss Thompson’s stern words echoed around the room, and I got the feeling that everyone thought I was bottom of the class in composition again.

But I knew what it meant! No, I don’t mean what she was going to do or say; the only thing I knew that I wouldn’t get out of school in time. Today hours can go by and I neither notice or care, but in those days when you’ve just turned twelve, a little thing like five minutes can make a big deal. You see I was in a boy’s school, and we got out five minutes before the girl’s secondary school next door.

And it was just enough time for me to get along the path home, and wait for the girls getting out. But alas my plans were foiled, today of all days. There was this girl you see, who walked home the same way as me. Well not the same way as I went home, but what the heck, sometimes in life you have to choose different routes to see what happens.

Well now, you do know that I had occasion to talk to you about your last composition essay, boy, it was the weakest piece I’ve ever seen from you. It seemed like she took an eternity to say it. But this week, you’ve excelled yourself, and that’s why I thought I’d keep you behind to tell you in person, without embarrassing you in front of your whole class.

I suppose that was nice of her, looking back on it, but it was a C+, and to a boy who got bottom of the class E’s and F’s always, it should been worth hiring a band for!

“This story, about you and this girl Yvonne, sounded so good and real when I read it, it seems you had a good time with her down at the boating lake, and those chips and vinegar afterwards, well I could almost smell them. It does make a difference when you speak from experience you know, people relate to it.

You see when you write from feelings you become alive”. And on she went about how famous writers always drew on their experiences and shared their feelings with their readers. “But the colour of her panties, well, um, I don’t think you should have included that. In fact if it wasn’t for that it might even had been a B minus”.

“Oh and by the way don’t think ‘Yellow is the colour of my true love’s hair’ was yours, I think some pop song or other had that title”

It seemed like an eternity had passed, as i looked the hands of the clock on the classroom flying round the minutes four, with all the speed of Lynford Christie.

“But Miss …”, before I could say anything more, she went to her book cupboard, and brought out a book with the title: ‘FIFTEEN’. The only thing I can remember about it today was that you didn’t get to read it until you were in fourth or fifth, (remember I’m only still in first) and it had a cover that probably would be banned today, of a girl a really gorgeous one at that, with a skirt that had ridden up, and thighs you would die for.

But since you’re experienced I thought I’d let you take it home with you and maybe it’ll inspire you to even greater ‘from experience’ writing.

The only two things that I knew about Miss Thompson was one that for a teacher she was pretty good looking; and that she was this year my form mistress, since the guy we were supposed to have that year as form master, had taken off on a canoeing and mountain hiking adventure to Canada that summer and was never seen again. That kinda explains why I was in 1KR, and not 1CT after Miss Thompson’s initials.

But Miss …, and then I decided I wouldn’t tell her (a matter of respect for my first C+) that I was due to meet this girl Yvonne this very afternoon after school, and it had all been arranged by her best friend Nicola, who lived beside my granny, and when I had bumped into her at the local sweetshop, I drew up the courage to ask her if Yvonne would want to be walked home after school by me.

But then to admit to Miss Thompson that at that stage I hadn’t even met Yvonne, never mind not going out with her, and the boating lake was a figment of my imagination, and the chips and vinegar and the other thing were merely some sort of first former fixation with the female form and fantasy. (Then that C+ would rapidly have dropped to F).

So it turned out someone assumed I wasn’t turning up and headed home with her mate. Sorry Cupid, hope you’ve more arrows left, and if you have a mate who’s a bit of a devil see if he can get Miss Thompson with it!

Fate would have it that ten years later when I was booking my honeymoon at the travel agents the girl between the desk was a certain Yvonne Simpson, and that was the extent of a romantic link I would ever have with her.

And Cupid’s arrow did fall on Miss Thompson and later she became Mrs. …….., and I went on to teach her daughter at school. Not sure if it can really be called the first, but I guess I’ll have to write another blonde chapter.

Another Blonde Chapter: the fickle fate of the flight of an arrow


Mill Isle, Ireland

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Artist's Description

You can take the boy out of Belfast, but you can’t take Belfast out of the boy.

Book about a boy and a blonde from the Belfast of Van Morrison

It wasn’t Cupid who was stupid, but that’s schoolboys for you, foiled in the fixing of a date that seals his fate

Dedicated to Van Morrison

you see Van you weren’t the only creative person to come out of Orangefield, there’s at least one other

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