|Judy and I were in our tennis whites; short white skirts and aertex tops, our racquets swinging from our sides. We were on our way to the Greystones Tennis Club, (now defunct) and stood by the edge of the road waiting on a bus at the stop. There was neither a path, nor shelter, nothing but a metal pole shoved in the earth at a slant. There was no bus timetable; this was not a place were time was noted. Buses came and went at will, perhaps once an hour, perhaps not even then. Most of my youth was spent waiting for buses.
My first cousin and I were spending the summer at my grandparents in Wicklow, far enough from Dublin to be deemed a holiday away (pre EU funded motor-ways, twelve miles was a fair distance). That summer was to be one of firsts; kisses, boyfriends and parties. Bodily changes were taking place and I was aware of an increasing amount of male attention.
The normally reticent Irish sun was out, as for the bus there was still no sign. We waited and waited. Cars would drive past and cars with men would beep, and tractors would roll by and horns would honk, there were lewd comments, catcalls and wolf whistles.
There we were, a pair of pubescent girls dressed in tennis whites. No doubt an attractive sight for many a red-blooded male, ain’t that the truth; still, nothing more than a bit of innocent fun?
But after an hour of waiting the unsought attention was getting to me. Boy, was it getting to me. I became so agitated so riled, so irked so I told my cousin I would let rip at the next unsolicited holler.
Over the hill came an open backed truck. A couple of lads standing in the rear and sure enough a comment was made… a ‘hello beautiful’, a ‘want a ride darling’ a ‘gis’ a smile gorgeous!’.
Being a good girl I did as I was told. I opened my pretty, little lips not to smile but instead foghorn blasted ungodly profanities directly at them – the shock on their faces was such I felt sorry for them. They weren’t expecting that. They most certainly were not expecting that.
back to confessions…