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Authors: Paddy Cummins
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that used to well up in him as she trotted up the village street. He would be waiting at the front door of his parent's pub, complete with the bar of chocolate that magically slipped
from the shop shelf to his coat pocket. They would walk, talk and munch to where the one-street village ended and the country began. Then for some reason which he never fully understood, Sandra would send the pony into a trot again. It was still half a mile to the school, mostly uphill. He didn't mind, he trotted too. It was a labour of love - and he did really love her. The pony would then be stabled at her uncle's farm - he lived beside the school.
He was sure that old Sister Benedict knew of his fascination
with Sandra. Every time she caught him gazing across at her she would shout at him.
'Garry Wren! Are you day-dreaming again?'
He got used to her. He remembered thinking: "What
would she know anyway? She's only a jealous old bags. Bet she'd love to have a boyfriend - God help him. She never will now - too old, too ugly, too contrary."
He still managed to keep one eye on Sandra - she was a
magnet, and so lovely. He couldn't wait for three o'clock to arrive and the joy of helping her saddle up the pony for the journey home - especially catching her leg and lifting her up. The other boys, particularly his brothers, would jeer him - he couldn't care less. The pleasure and emotion he felt was worth it
all.
The pony's trot was quicker on the way home. He would soon be out of breath, trotting beside her with the big school-bag on his back. T'was tough going but it didn't matter to him - he felt great. He often wished
that Sandra would reach down and give him a kiss when they got to the pub and were about to part. But no, never, just:
'Bye Garry ... see you to-morrow.'
He often wondered was it the chocolate that was the
attraction. Ah no, that wouldn't be fair - she really did love him - he knew it. She wouldn't show it, was like that - a bit shy. But she let it slip sometimes, couldn't hide it.
Like that day in the hay-shed. That's when he really knew.
That Saturday when she asked him over to see the new foal that had just been born. They spent hours admiring her, a lovely filly with four white socks and a white star in her forehead - a real beauty. When Sandra said that the mare
needed hay they both climbed up the bales in the big shed. It was great fun and suddenly she gave him a shove. It was a clever trick but he could play that game too. He grabbed her sweater, making sure they both tumbled down together,
ending up in the deep straw on the floor, with Sandra on her back and him on top of her.
She didn't panic, just looked up at him, smiling lovingly, and then he knew. It worked out just as she planned it - God, she was so
beautiful. Having chanced to give her a big kiss, she didn't mind at all - in fact she loved it. He knew because she tried to make it last longer. He knew she was getting ready to give him a big one back when her mother's squeaky voice rang out.
'Are you there, Sandra?'
She jumped up, scampered around the back of the shed, meandered into the yard as if nothing had happened. But her face was as red as a turkey cock's - and his was too. Mothers - always the same - bloody
spoil-sports!.
Sandra's parents were wealthy. Three hundred acres of land; her father an Estate Agent, her mother a daughter of an English millionaire. An only child - she would have been rich some day - but as they were very
protective of her, Garry hardly saw her during her secondary school years. She was a boarder in the expensive Springhill Collage, while he attended the local vocational school. Each summer she was whisked off to Chester in England to her
rich grandparents. But she didn't forget him and when he got that letter inviting him to accompany her to her Graduation Dance, he was over the moon.
As he lay on his bed of sorrow, Garry tried to relive that
unforgettable night. She was small, but so beautiful - he never
from the shop shelf to his coat pocket. They would walk, talk and munch to where the one-street village ended and the country began. Then for some reason which he never fully understood, Sandra would send the pony into a trot again. It was still half a mile to the school, mostly uphill. He didn't mind, he trotted too. It was a labour of love - and he did really love her. The pony would then be stabled at her uncle's farm - he lived beside the school.
He was sure that old Sister Benedict knew of his fascination
with Sandra. Every time she caught him gazing across at her she would shout at him.
'Garry Wren! Are you day-dreaming again?'
He got used to her. He remembered thinking: "What
would she know anyway? She's only a jealous old bags. Bet she'd love to have a boyfriend - God help him. She never will now - too old, too ugly, too contrary."
He still managed to keep one eye on Sandra - she was a
magnet, and so lovely. He couldn't wait for three o'clock to arrive and the joy of helping her saddle up the pony for the journey home - especially catching her leg and lifting her up. The other boys, particularly his brothers, would jeer him - he couldn't care less. The pleasure and emotion he felt was worth it
all.
The pony's trot was quicker on the way home. He would soon be out of breath, trotting beside her with the big school-bag on his back. T'was tough going but it didn't matter to him - he felt great. He often wished
that Sandra would reach down and give him a kiss when they got to the pub and were about to part. But no, never, just:
'Bye Garry ... see you to-morrow.'
He often wondered was it the chocolate that was the
attraction. Ah no, that wouldn't be fair - she really did love him - he knew it. She wouldn't show it, was like that - a bit shy. But she let it slip sometimes, couldn't hide it.
Like that day in the hay-shed. That's when he really knew.
That Saturday when she asked him over to see the new foal that had just been born. They spent hours admiring her, a lovely filly with four white socks and a white star in her forehead - a real beauty. When Sandra said that the mare
needed hay they both climbed up the bales in the big shed. It was great fun and suddenly she gave him a shove. It was a clever trick but he could play that game too. He grabbed her sweater, making sure they both tumbled down together,
ending up in the deep straw on the floor, with Sandra on her back and him on top of her.
She didn't panic, just looked up at him, smiling lovingly, and then he knew. It worked out just as she planned it - God, she was so
beautiful. Having chanced to give her a big kiss, she didn't mind at all - in fact she loved it. He knew because she tried to make it last longer. He knew she was getting ready to give him a big one back when her mother's squeaky voice rang out.
'Are you there, Sandra?'
She jumped up, scampered around the back of the shed, meandered into the yard as if nothing had happened. But her face was as red as a turkey cock's - and his was too. Mothers - always the same - bloody
spoil-sports!.
Sandra's parents were wealthy. Three hundred acres of land; her father an Estate Agent, her mother a daughter of an English millionaire. An only child - she would have been rich some day - but as they were very
protective of her, Garry hardly saw her during her secondary school years. She was a boarder in the expensive Springhill Collage, while he attended the local vocational school. Each summer she was whisked off to Chester in England to her
rich grandparents. But she didn't forget him and when he got that letter inviting him to accompany her to her Graduation Dance, he was over the moon.
As he lay on his bed of sorrow, Garry tried to relive that
unforgettable night. She was small, but so beautiful - he never
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