Date: Thu, 20 Jul 2006 16:41:13 +0100
From: chermo@hotmail.co.uk
Subject: Looking back /1/  Introduction

This story is semi-autobiographical.  The events are based on real events.
The characters based on real people.  The names and places have been altered
and changed to protect the anonymity. If you are reading this you will know
who you are.

Which section it should appear in I have no idea and apologise if this is
in the wrong place.  It is a series in 14 episodes dedicated to the best of
friends now no longer with us who posthumously gave me the idea to write
it.


INTRODUCTION

It was the summer of 1969 and while the rest of the world was enjoying the
"summer of Love" for me it was the start of the school holidays and a
typical 1960's Scottish family holiday to the Red Lion caravan site in the
East coast seaside resort of Arbroath -- not something I was particularly
looking forward to.

Allow me to introduce myself,   Raymond Cherrie,  then aged 14,   from
Edinburgh , Scotland.  I had started a growth spurt earlier that year and
now stood at  5ft  5 , slim  with short cut brown hair and green eyes.
Sports were all I lived for. As  a footballer I was on the fringes of the
County squad for players a  year older than myself and  had enjoyed success
both in swimming and athletics, so it would be fair to say I was pretty fit.
Away from  sports  I was the average  Scottish teenager of the time, hanging
around in the local gang, listening to music and  getting into probably more
than my fair share of trouble both in an out of school

My growth spurt naturally coincided with an increasing interest in things
sexual.  From the day I arrived at secondary school aged  12-1/2 and  saw one
of my classmates  in the communal showers  after games with a liberal
sprinkling of pubic hairs,  "baw-hairs" as we called them in Scotland, I was
fascinated by all things in that area of the body.  My own first baw-hair
appeared to my delight shortly after my 13th birthday, so by this summer I
had a decent size bush  though still with no signs of any developing
elsewhere. I had discovered the pleasures of  playing with myself  early on
and despite sharing a room with my brother Ken who was 11,   was active in
this respect every day.

I had experienced a fairly typical strict Scottish Presbyterian upbringing.
My dad  worked as an engineer at a local factory and my mum served in a
local shop. We weren't well off  but never went short.  We weren't what you
would call close, didn't talk a lot,  and by modern standards I enjoyed a
huge amount of freedom . It must be hell nowadays for teenagers with contact
through mobiles being almost like tagging.  Once I was out the house that
was it until I came back, We had neither car nor telephone like most others
I knew.

Discipline was part and parcel of  daily life  both in school where the
tawse  or "lash" ,as we called it, was liberally used  for even the most
minor of offences by some teachers. It had been used  now and again in
Primary School but now  in my second year at High School  virtually every
lesson saw the tawse make an appearance  and that  had been the case  since
we moved to secondary school.  For me  the feel of leather on hand  on at
least one occasion was almost a daily occurrence -- on a bad day it would be
three or four times -  -  not  that I was that bad  but  I couldn't shut up
and always wanted the final word.

School punishments were never reported home and parenst almost never sent
for  so  what happened in school stayed there.  I felt the weight of my
dad's leather belt every so often  usually for swearing or fighting with
Ken ,   or when he got to hear  of run-ins with neighbours and the local
bobbies for such heinous crimes as  breaking windows with footballs  , using
empty buildings as target practice,  smoking and  one count of shoplifting
which led to a heavily applied twenty strokes.  But that was where it
usually ended  , no long lectures, no grounding or any of the current
practices which would strike me as much more abusive than the  application
of his belt over my pyjama bottomed  backside.

Back to the holiday , it's amazing how something you looked forward to for
months as a 12 year old suddenly became a dreaded prospect at fourteen. I
mean what the fuck was there to do. A walk to the cliffs, a day at the
boating pond, a game of pitch and put .  Your mates were all somewhere
else, hanging around with your younger brother and sister was certainly
uncool and sharing a small caravan with four others very restrictive if you
get my drift.

The bus  came on time we boarded and off we went -  little was I to know
what an impact this summer was to have on my future