Angel in purple
When I was about 12, I used to get the bus to school most days with my best friend Harry Hyams. We lived in Finchley Central but our school was in North Finchley, so we had to get the 13, 26 or 260 (if my memory serves me well). We used to try to sit at the front, upstairs, on the left. Those being - without doubt - the best seats on a bus for a horny lad, as it gives you the best view out of the front and the chance to look down the cleavage of anyone waiting at the bus stop as the bus draws to a stop.

The other reason for choosing these seats was that there were two beautiful girls who used to sit near there. We went to the mixed grammar school (Woodhouse, if you're interested. We were the 3rd last intake before they changed it into a 6th form college), but objects of our desire went to the catholic girls' school somewhere near Tally Ho corner. They wore purple uniforms, while ours were pale blue, we were half-pint 2nd years, they were sophisticated third or fourth years and were way beyond us in every measure possible. God alone knows why they put up with us and our inane chattering, though, I suppose any girl of that age is flattered to think that they are attractive to any member of the opposite species (boys).

My favourite one was glamour on a bus seat. She had silky blonde hair and blue eyes, and filled her purple blazer, white blouse and pleated purple skirt with her wonderfully feminine body. Her legs (the bits between the bottom of the skirt and the tops of her long white socks) were delicious - but more than this, her lovely face, her laugh, and that buzzing feeling in my head when she held my gaze for a second or two were intoxicating.

At North Finchley bus station, we'd go our separate ways, we two heading for Woodhouse Road, them heading back across the High Road. And so things proceeded.

February, and a small boy's mind turns to Valentine's Day. With hot sweating hands I fashioned a card from cut out hearts, pictures of roses and kittens. I penned a poem (probably something like: Roses are red, violets are blue, your uniform's purple and smells quite nice too) and signed it "An admirer". Now, how to slip it into her bag without her noticing.

I never managed it. I carried that card around with me for weeks, until it was battered and horrible and one day I took my bike down to Dollis Brook and floated it away on the stream.

I don't think I ever found out her name but - and funny though this sounds - although I can't really remember much about her, I'll never forget her either.

She's probably 50 now...


EDIT: out of curiousity, I looked it up: St.Michaels: www.st-michaels.barnet.sch.uk/

They take boys in the 6th form from last September - so to speak.
(Che Grimsdale Best before:, Thu 14 Jan 2010, 15:20, 5 replies)

Gets a click
...for sad tale of unrequited love

*sniff*
( Scaryduck LIKES EGG, Thu 14 Jan 2010, 15:43, closed)

click
Great story.

I went to Bishop Douglass in East Finchley myself. Currently live in Finchley Central actually. Are you still local then? Expect you’ve seen some changes!
(TheManWithThePlan cussed your mum on, Thu 14 Jan 2010, 15:59, closed)

Hell no...
Moved out west to Chiswick/Ealing/Hounslow in my early 20s with Mrs G. Then up north in '91 where we've been ever since (I qualify for my flat cap this decade).

Sure have been some changes though, since the days when the Fin Skins hung out at the Wimpy Bar on Ballards Lane!
(Che Grimsdale Best before:, Thu 14 Jan 2010, 16:24, closed)

That's still there
The wimpy. North Finchley bus station now has a massive block of flats on top of it though :P
(TheManWithThePlan cussed your mum on, Thu 14 Jan 2010, 16:33, closed)