When you’re a young man, far from home and girls, those raging hormones might lead you to try anything. Enjoy this humorous account of one young man’s recollection of those days of raging hormones. (Originally published in Memoirabilia #1. Look for another chuckle from Billy Morgan in the upcoming SUMMER READING ISSUE of Memoirabilia #4)
As a young man with raging hormones, imagine my frustration upon graduation when I secured a placement in a remote radar station where most of the resident airmen were already dating the few available village girls. My colleagues teased me mercilessly, constantly suggesting I take cold showers every time I sighed as a pretty girl passed by the windows of the station. But one Saturday afternoon when I was lining up to enter a cinema in Helston, near Land’s End, I noticed a somewhat sickly looking girl with scabs around her eyes in front of us. My married airmen friend who knew how to talk to girls, somehow managed to get her to give him her phone number. Scabs or not, I was excited. I repeated her number to myself over and over throughout the movie, determined to give her a call.
When I got back to base I saw my big chance of meeting a real live girl for the first time. Unfortunately, the only phone on the camp was in the guard room and I did not fancy talking to a girl with two hefty military policemen hearing every word I said. I borrowed the camp bicycle and rode to the nearest transmitting tower. I climbed its vertical three hundred foot ladder to look for a bright red phone box. Spotting one about a mile and a half away, I descended the ladder and ran as fast as my legs would carry me. Huffing and puffing, I reached the phone box only to find it had been vandalized. My disappointment was great, but my desperation to get a date was greater.
Back I ran to the camp. Again I climbed the 300-foot tower. Shielding my eyes agains the setting sun, I saw one about two miles away. Down the tower I scrambled, nearly twisting my ankle in my eagerness to reach the ground and get to that phone-box before dusk. But alas, my need was not to be realized as that phone box had also been vandalized. I wasn’t about to climb the tower again so I gave up. Perhaps the Lord was looking after me that day. After all, who knows why that girl had scabs around her eyes!
©Billy Morgan, MIssissauga, Ontario, Canada