“I’ve had another Valentine card,” said Albie, “tha’s a pity they hen’t signed it – though that perfume onnit seem familiar...!”

www.albiestales.co.uk part four

HAVING PERFORMED for their first time in public a month earlier – entertaining an unruly crowd of ‘teenyboppers’ at a children’s party in Sheringham – Chubby and and all his Checkers were now looking forward to their next booking, appearing as ‘star turn’ at the Cromer Secondary Modern school’s St Valentine’s Day dance. Although Albie would have preferred to play to a more ‘mature’ audience at least there should be some money in it for him, he thought – but how wrong he was to be! There would be no money for them, the group’s manager said, until all his overheads had been paid first – and that was likely to take some time!

T VALENTINE’S DAY, the fourteenth of February, was always eagerly anticipated by Albie, as, each and every year, he looked forward to receiving a Valentine card in the morning post. Alas, it always appeared to be the same from one year to the next with the Royal Mail delivering bills for his parents yet rarely a card for him.

“I’m off to work,” he told his mother, getting ready to catch the early-morning train to Norwich, “and, if suffin’ comes for me, don’t you dare open it!”

He said that every year at that time. How he yearned for a sign that his broken heart would soon be mended. And how the thought of an unknown admirer would give a boost to his over-deflated ego. He longed, oh, how he longed, to be intrigued, tantilised, by a message of l’amour even if it was unsigned, veiled by the mysteries of anonymity.

Gladys – Albie’s mother – was in the kitchen when she heard the letterbox. She knew the postman was thereabouts of course, on account of his whistling. A happy tune today, she noticed, but, there again, it was Friday and almost the end of the week. Funny how his repertoire varied from day to day, she thought: Mondays, always the same, Abide With Me, left over from the weekend; but by Tuesday he’d cheered himself up, Men Of Harlech or Blaydon Races, whilst whistling happier tunes as the week went on.

Today, as he went from door to door, the postman was whistling The Sun Has Got His Hat On – but, there again quite appropriate, as it was rather a nice morning for the second week of February. Pausing only from his musical renditions to post the mail through the letterbox, he then set off for the next house and began whistling the tune from ‘bar one’ again!

Going into the front room she stooped to gather the half-dozen letters laying on the doormat. Three brown envelopes, bills: one from the electric people, another from the Co-op coal merchant and one from the Blyth the builders for repointing the brickwork at the side of the house. There were also two plain white envelopes, postmarked London and Dunstable, and, finally, half-hidden under the others, a pink envelope, neatly-addressed to ‘Albie Gray, Regis Cottage, Regis Place, Cliff Road, Sheringham’.

FISHERMEN’S BEACH, SHERINGHAM – FROM AN OLD PICTURE POSTCARD

“I wonder who tha’s from, an wha’s innit,” Gladys said, holding the envelope up to the light in an attempt to see inside, “by the smell o’ the cheap scent onnit tha’s from some mawther... I wonder if I dare open it...”

Putting the kettle on the stove, waiting for it to boil, she held the envelope in the steam but only succeeded in the postage stamp dropping off onto the scullery floor – the anonymous sender having had the presence of mind to seal the envelope with Sellotape!

“S’puz I’ll just hatta wait now ’til boy Albie come home,” she sighed, shrugging her shoulders and putting the pink envelope on the mantlepiece behind the Westminster chiming clock, having had the presence of mind to stick the postage stamp back on the envelope first.

OLD FATHER VALENTINE

Just before twentyfive-to-seven that evening, Albert and Gladys Gray – Albie’s parents – were sitting in the living room watching television, when there came a loud knocking on the front door.

“Who on earth’s that?” said Albert, looking towards the hall door. “Tha’s a fine time t’come visitin’, that is – if tha’s that there Kleeneze bloke agin, I’ll tell him where he can stick his brushes...”

“Dorn’t git orl het up, Dad,” said his wife, getting up from her fireside chair, “yew stay where yew are, I’ll go an’ git it!”

Whilst Gladys was unlocking the front door, Albie came in through the back of the house, quickly making his way into the living room where his father sat engrossed in watching the local evening news on television.

“Hello, Dad,” he said kicking off his shoes and draping his coat over the back of a chair. “Where’s Mum?”

“There’s someone at the front door,” his father replied, barely taking his eyes off the television screen, “and, afore yew sit down, do yew hang that coat o’ yours up where that belong – at the foot o’ the stairs!”

Picking up his coat, Albie opened the hall door to hang it on the clothes’ peg at the bottom of the stairs, just as his mother came in from the front room.

“No one there, Dad, there wun’t,” she said, returning into the living room holding a small parcel, wrapped in colourful paper, in her hand.

“Someone left this on the doorstep for us,” she said, handing her husband the little packet, “that say ‘To Gladys an’ Albert’ onnit – but I wonder who tha’s from?”

“I reck’n that hatta be from Old Father Valentine,” laughed Albie, giving his father a sly wink.

“Whilst we’re talking about Valentines,” he continued, watching as his father began unwrapping the present, “I don’t s’puz there wuz any post for me, wuz there, Mum?”

“On the mantlepiece – behind the clock,” his mother replied, more interested in the contents of the little parcel. “Oooh! How lovely! Look Albert, some Maltesers for me an’ a bag o’ humbugs for you!”

Then, after popping a Malteser into her mouth, she turned to Albie as he took the pink envelope off the mantlepiece: “I reck’n that come from some mawther that do– ’corse that hoolly smell o’ parfoome – en’t you gorn t’open it then?”

But Albie was already halfway upstairs, where he intended to open the envelope in the privacy of his bedroom.

BE MY VALENTINE

Closing the door behind him, Albie opened the pink envelope to reveal a pretty Valentine card, with a large heart on the front around which was the wording ‘Love Me Do’. But who was it from, he wondered as he opened the card and read the message inside:

Love, Love me do,
You know I love you,
I’ll always be true...

“I might hev known it!” he declared, after reading the verse out loud to himself, “whoever sent it, hen’t even bothered to sign it...”

It was then he noticed the sweet smell of orange-blossom coming from the card and envelope. His mother had been quite right, it was perfume and rather nice it was too! Thinking back, he was almost certain he’d noticed that particular brand of scent before. But when? Or where, or – more to the point – on who? How he wished he could remember.

Albie let the card fall on his bed and then, as it lay face down , he noticed something scribbled, faintly in pencil, on the back: ‘CU 2 NITE’.

“Of course! Now I’ve got it!” he said, quickly putting the card back in its envelope and popping it into the top drawer of his bedside cupboard out of prying eyes. “Tha’s bound to be someone I know from Cromer who’ll be at the Valentine’s Day dance tonight... ”

“And, just look at the time – five-past-seven already!” he continued, glancing at the alarm clock by his bed. “I’d better get a move on if I’m to get to Cromer by half-past.”

With that, he quickly changed into his Chubby and The Checkers’ gear: blue-checked shirt and charcoal grey trousers, nicely tapered but slightly on the tight side. Then he put on his ‘Beatle’ jacket, collarless and in black velvety corduroy and, to complete the effect, pulled on a pair of black, Cuban-heeled Chelsea boots – ‘winklepickers’ – with long pointed toes.

“Nearly forgot,” he said to himself, reaching inside his cupboard for the bottle of Old Spice, “must look, and smell, my best for my Valentine – whoever she is!”

Pouring some aftershave into the palm of his hand, Albie patted it over his face, then sprinkled some all over his Beatle-cut hairstyle before going back downstairs.

“Wuz I right?” his mother asked, as Albie went into the living room. “That card wuz from some mawther, wun’t it?”

“No one you know,” replied Albie, also in the dark as to the identity of his mystery admirer. “But that wuz suffin’ strange as the Queen’s head was stuck on upside down!”

“Anyway, can’t stop now,” he continued, heading for the back door, “I’m off out...”

“But yew hen’t hed your tea yit...” replied his mother.

“No time for that, I’m off to the Gatehouse,” Albie told her, getting his Lambretta out of the shed. “I’m on stage at Cromer Sec Mod in twetty minutes – don’t wait up, I may be late!”

Parking his Lambretta at the Gatehouse Café, where the Chubby and The Checkers manager was already waiting, Albie quickly went inside and down to the cellar to collect his amplifier.

“What on earth time d’you call this?” John, the group’s manager, asked him. “We’re due at Cromer Secondary Modern by half-past – Chubby and his boys will be wondering where we’ve got to!”

“Sorry, John – I had to clean my shoes first,” Albie lied, knowing full-well his mother always did that chore for him.

“And just what have you forgotten?” John replied, as Albie struggled to lift his amplifier into the boot of the manager’s car. “You’ll need something to play with, won’t you?”

In his haste to get himself ready, Albie had left his ‘pride and joy’– his ‘Gibson’ guitar – back at home. “Oh, sh...!” he cursed, holding his head in his hands. “I’d better nip an’ get it...”

The manager of Chubby and The Checkers shook his head. “No time for that,” he said, going back into the café and returning a few moments later with red Rosetti. “Just as well I bought this at the time I got the others – I thought it would come in useful some day...”

“B-but – I can’t play that!” Albie protested, looking at the blood-red electric guitar. “My Gibson’s much better, after all, what will people think?”

“Just... get... in... the... car!” John told him angrily. “You’re playing that guitar, whether you like it or not!”

Just as they were about to leave, Albie was quite surprised to see Patsy, the waitress, walking up the gravel drive outside the Gatehouse Café.

CROMER SEA FRONT – FROM AN OLD POSTCARD

“Hi, Albie,” she said, through the car’s open window. “I hope you have a nice time in Cromer tonight...”

“What are you doing here?” he asked her, as, normally, she only worked at the café at weekends.

“If you must know, Patsy is babysitting for us tonight,” John said, edging his car out of the driveway and onto Station Road, “Joy, my wife, is off to a meeting of the Mothers’ Union in the Church Hall – and, for goodness sake, put your window up will you, there’s a helluver draught in here!”

Winding up his window, Albie failed to notice the sweet smell of orange-blossom that lingered in the night air as Patsy turned on her heel and went indoors.

DO YOU WANT TO KNOW A SECRET?

At Cromer Secondary Modern school, a great many teenagers had already arrived and, packed into the main assembly hall like sardines, were eagerly awaiting the start of The Valentine’s Day Dance. Meanwhile, Kenny, aka Chubby, and the rest of The Checkers were hurriedly fetching their equipment from the back of John’s car and setting it up on stage, looking forward to their evening’s performance – though with Albie still complaining about his guitar!

“I’m not looking forward to playing this thing!” he told the others, plugging the bright-red Rosetti into the amplifier. “Can’t beat the sound of a Gibson...”

“If you will leave your guitar at home, what can you expect?” Chubby reminded him, tuning his guitar. “Just as well John bought three the same, en’t it? Anyway, your’s en’t a real Gibson is it?”

This, of course, made Albie see red. In fact, he was so furious his face was almost as red as his guitar. “Now look you here,” he replied, angrily, “if I say tha’s a Gibson – tha’s a Gibson...”

“Come on, lads,” said John impatiently, “stop your bickering and hurry it up – let’s get the show on the road, shall we?”

Then, with a loud ‘swish’, the red-velvet curtains across the stage began to glide open revealing Chubby and The Checkers as they began playing the opening bars of their first number of the evening – The Hippy, Hippy, Shake.

“For Goodness’ sake,” sang Buster at the top of his voice. “I ’re got the Hippy Hippy Shakes, I’re got the Shakes – I’re got the Hippy Hippy Shakes...”

With that, boys and girls, teenagers, and those teachers who should have known better, began leaping about on the springy wooden floor – jiving, cavorting, arms flying, heads nodding, legs kicking, in time to the music.

“Ooh, I can’t sit still,” continued Buster, leaping about with the hand-mike flailing wildly by its cord. “With the Hippy Hippy Shakes, I get my fill, now – With the Hippy Hippy Shakes. Yeah, tha’s in the bag, Ooh – the Hippy Hippy Shake.”

“Go, Fingers, Go!” shouted Dave the drummer, and Albie began his first instrumental break of the evening, wiggling his hips and shaking his thighs, as his guitar screeched and wailed and echoed the length and breadth of the large hall.

After a couple more verses, followed by another instrumental, Chubby and The Checkers finished their first song accompanied by tumultuous applause.

“That seemed to go down all right,” said Chubby, turning to the other members of his group, “let’s give ’em a slow number now, shall we? Then Buster can git his breath back... Albie, can you do that ‘Billy J’ one we practised the other night?”

Taking the microphone from Buster, Albie screwed it back on its stand.

“Hi, gals an’ guys, it’s sure great to be with you all tonight,” he drawled in his best pseudo-Deep South accent. “But, hey! Do you wanna know a secret?”

A small group of girls, nearest the stage, began to giggle, then moved forward and leant on the edge, peering up at him with their big ‘Panda’ eyes, heavy with Mascara. “Go on, then, boy,” said one, leaning across the stage and making a grab at his leg. “Wha’s your little secret then?”

“For goodness sake, Albie, get on with it!” muttered Chubby, under his breath. “We hen’t got all night!”

“You never know how much I really love you,” sang Albie, fixing his gaze on the girl with the ‘Dusty Springfield’ eyes. “You'll never know how much I really care – ”

Then, with a little fiddly melody bit on his guitar, which he found quite difficult as he could never do two things at once:

“Listen, do you want to know a secret, Do you promise not to tell, woh, woh, woh, Closer, let me whisper in your ear, Say the words you long to hear, I’m in love with you, oo-oo, oo, oo...”

With that, all the girls began to scream, throwing their hands up to their faces and looking as if they were about to tear their hair out!

Perhaps one could even be his mystery admirer, he thought. But; was Albie to discover the identity of his anonymous Valentine card sender that night? In a word – no!

QUE SERA, SERA

In the meantime, back at the Gatehouse Café, Patsy was babysitting. Having put John and Joy’s two children to bed, and after reading them a story, she settled down in the lounge overlooking Station Road to watch television. Not much on, she thought, just an Alfred Hitchcock film: The Man Who Knew Too Much – but she watched it all the same.

Doris Day had just begun to sing Que Sera, Sera, as Patsy opened the box of Cadbury’s Milk Tray for the second time and took another chocolate, her favourite, the oval-shaped one with the tangy orange filling!

“I don’t think he knows much at all – that Albie,” she sighed, “but, whatever will be, will be, I s’pose – Que Sera, Sera!”

NEXT: Albie gets tired of travelling by train and ‘cadges’ a lift to work. Meanwhile, Patsy turns on the charm– but will he notice? Find out now in Albie Is ‘Fed Up’.

SOME OF ALBIE’S FAVOURITE WEBSITES A Norfolk Entertainer A Moment in Time Enjoy North Norfolk Enjoy Norwich Flint Holiday Cottages Norfolk Churches Norfolk Dialect Norfolk Village Signs Norwich City Hall and the Lions Picture Norfolk Remember Norfolk Sid Kipper

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