You were there by the farm road,
waiting, wearing that flowered
dress I liked, your dark hair tied
in a ponytail at the back. I had
finished on the farm weighing
the milk and was pleased you
had come. Your mother said you
were at the farm, you said. Did
you want to go home first? No,
we can go wherever you wish,
I said. You smiled and we walked
up the track to the Downs. We held
hands, you having taken mine first.
We passed the hollow tree where
we had sat at times to be alone.
That's a wood pigeon, you said
listening. Yes, I guess it it, I said.
We came to the clearing at the top
of the Downs and lay in the tall grass,
looking down at the green fields
and the farm below. Do you like
working on the farm? You asked.
Yes, I love it, I said. Not bad for a
London boy, Benny, you said. No,
I suppose not, I said. We lay back
and looked at the blue sky. We turned
and faced each other. Eyes on eyes.
Think I love you, you whispered.
Love you, too, I whispered back.
I touched your thigh with my hand.
We mustn't, you said softly. I removed
my hand. My parents trust me; I cannot
betray that trust, you said. I nodded
and we kissed. We lay there looking
at each other. I thinking of your dark
eyes and you thinking of your mother.
on a young couple in 1961