At the age of 22 I was in my second teaching post at an Infants' School. The headmistress was the wife of the head of English at my previous (secondary modern) school, with whom I'd had a 'dalliance' - but that's another story.

The other young teachers on the staff were engaged or married and I felt I was being left on the shelf. There were no male teachers of infants in those days so I joined 'Dateline'.

The first boy I went out with was an American - a chemist at the (fairly) nearby base - and all seemed to be going well until he crashed his car coming to see me one evening and then expected me to ferry him around while it was being repaired. I didn't mind that  - until the day he got me to take him to see another girl!

Then the phone rang one evening and this chap with a deep, sexy voice introduced himself and asked me out. We went to a dinner dance and found we had things in common. He was an excellent dancer with a strong lead so he made me feel like a good dancer too. We were both teachers and lived at home, he with his gran and me with my parents, so we were desperate to spread our wings.

However, he was 13 years older than I was and his looks didn't match up to his voice. I can't say I was head over heels in love but we started seeing alot of each other. Eventually we went on holiday together with me wearing an old wedding ring that used to belong to his mother. Now this was more to save money by not having two single rooms than with any expectations on his part but I did suggest that he might like to buy some condoms - just in case. 

He tried several chemists before he dared to ask and then that evening we  discovered that neither of us actually knew how to put them on properly. We ended up laughing so much that it completely dampened his ardour - so to speak, and he was reluctant to try again.

Perhaps that should have been a warning but I hung in there, telling myself he was really nice and his lack of sexual adventure may be due to respect. I don't think I was ever in love but I told myself his family were fond of him so he must be a good person.

Then came  the day when my parents - who had never approved of anyone I went out with - issued an ultimatum. I was not to go out with him any more.

So, pigheaded, stubborn little madam that I was, I left home and went to stay with his brother and sister-in-law. We saw the vicar, posted the banns and set the date for three weeks hence - 2nd November 1968.

That meant a hasty sewing session to produce a simple wedding dress and two bridesmaids dresses for his niece and cousin. We hired the village hall but the reception consisted of sandwiches and finger foods provided by friends and family (I was actually up at six on my wedding day making sandwiches). My parents did not come and my sister was deprived of the chance to be a bridesmaid. They said I had been disinherited and contact was broken.

We didn't have a honeymoon but one of the teachers at my school rented us her rather primitive cottage so it took all our time and money to get a home organised. We invited his brother and family that first Christmas but it was still a bit chaotic.

I had been to the Family Planning clinic to be fitted with a diaphragm - horrible rubber thing that you had to smother with spermicide gel before putting it in place. However, my new husband proved most reluctant in bed and weeks passed without the marriage being consumated. Weeks turned into months and I gave up using my family planning device altogether.

Eventually I got the message across that if he wanted a family - and he definitely did - he would have to do something about it. I couldn't produce a baby on my own. With some difficulty and absolutely no pleasure I eventually conceived about a year later.

News of my pregnancy broke the ice with my mum and she invited us to spend Christmas with them. Unfortuately I had a miscarriage at ten weeks.

I changed schools again and spent a year teaching 8 year olds during which time we saved up enough for a deposit on a bungalow and, despite a rather sparse sex life, I had a second miscarriage.

The doctor suggested that if I wanted a family I'd have to give up full time teaching so I found a part time job at my old Alma Mater. (In my first five years teaching I had covered infants, primary, secondary modern and grammar schools, plus some adult evening classes.)

It was on our first holiday since our marriage that I discovered I was pregnant for the third time. I knew it as soon as I nearly threw up at the smell of coffee. Just my luck, a couple of weeks in Greece - in August - suffering from morning sickness. I couldn't bear to leave the air-conditioned hotel so it wasn't much fun for Whale either.

Of course, we were both over the moon when CC was born but it brought home the fact that Whale was not at all practical. When I brought the new baby home he didn't dare touch her, and as for feeding or changing a nappy . . . . .

It wasn't any better when Jay came along either. He was all fingers and thumbs. However, he did manage to put together a playpen.

While the children were small I was too exhausted to miss a sex-life so it was some time before I realised that now that our family was complete, Whale figured that he had done his duty in the bedroom once and for all.

When I suggested a bit of slap and tickle he accused me of being a sex maniac and went so far as to say that if I wanted 'it' he wouldn't mind if I went elsewhere.

So I did.

But once I discovered what sex was really like it spelled the end of our marriage.

Whale moved into a flat at the University where he worked and the children and I moved back home with my parents.

The first question the head asked was "What can you teach beside music?"

"I'm only trained to teach music" was my naive reply.

"That doesn't mean a thing. I could employ you as head of science if I wanted" she retorted.

So, (in the days of a severe shortage of teachers) I left music college to teach English, Italian, games - oh and a bit of music - at a secondary modern for girls in the fens.

As a complete newcomer I was grateful when the head of English took me under his wing and showed me the ropes. He was a gentle, kindly father figure well liked and respected by staff and girls.

I was invited to the local pub with him and other colleagues and, eventually, he took me home and introduced me to his wife.

We got on well and it was suggested that I move into their spare room the following year.

Then it happened.

His wife was at a meeting. I was making a curry and he suddenly came into the kitchen and kissed me in a far from fatherly fashion.

It came as a shock. I'd always thought of him as the dad I'd never known (my parents separated when I was still a baby and divorce took seven years in those days) and he was more than twenty years my senior.

But I didn't want to hurt his feelings. At the same time, I was still, strictly speaking, a virgin, and curious to find out what sex was really like.

To cut a long story short, we did go to bed eventually, but it was a complete disaster. He was not a good lover and my heart wasn't in it.

I can't remember how it all came out into the open but the last term was a surreal mess. His wife had offered me a job at her school in Norfolk and I had accepted. But once the 'affair' came to light I felt I couldn't work for her. They both insisted that I should and he refused to discuss my anxieties. In fact, he avoided me like the plague.

With my notice already handed in, no job and no-one to turn to I applied for posts at schools nearby but I was in such a state that I broke down at the interview and confessed all.

The official from County Hall summoned my 'lover' immediately and he arrived half an hour later with his wife and a letter of resignation.

I don't know what went on behind closed doors but he didn't have to give up his job. He drove my car and his wife took me home in her's. She was extremely sympathetic and assured me that everything would be fine if I took up the post at her school.

Of course, I hardly saw him, even at school, for the last few weeks of term and I did go and teach infants at his wife's school the following September. Needless to say we never referred to the affair again.

Looking back, the whole incident seems completely incomprehensible, even allowing for the fact that I must have been pretty stupid at that time.

And I'm not sure that I've improved with age.

It was Nimrod that did it.

There was I enjoying the Concert for Morse when I found myself thinking about my First Love. Maybe the LSO was giving a more moving interpretation than I had heard before: or was it memories of all the live concerts we had attended together (we always spent a large part of our grants on tickets for the RFH and Covent Garden and lived on beans on toast): whatever, it brought tears to my eyes and a reminder of the strong emotions of those college days.

He was on the 'rebound' from a love affair that never started. Unrequited love for the Irish girl who lived in the same house. So I was there to pick up the pieces, listen to his outpourings of adoration for this unobtainable creature, and eventually to fall in love with him myself.

Within a few months we were a 'couple' (heavy petting but no sex: the pill was only just becoming available but it wasn't easy to get hold of and I would have been too embarassed to ask).

The only problem was that I was so naively besotted that I wanted to spend every waking (and sleeping) minute in his company. Eventually this was the main cause of him dumping me.

He needed space. He wanted to do some things without a faithful shadow and he was aware that I only pretended to share his taste in absolutely everything.

During the last year at college he developed a crush on a girl he saw on the train to and from Devon - in the year below us. He confessed his feelings and asked me to find out her name and ask her if she would go out with him.

I tracked her down in the loo and passed on the message. She was horrified, already had a steady boyfriend and didn't want to know.

But it was all over between him and me now. The last term was a very strained time (we still shared a flat with three other people) and although we remained 'together' on the surface the end of college meant goodbye.

My parents drove to London to collect me and I bought a half bottle of brandy to drink on the way home but it didn't dull the pain: I remained stone cold sober. On making enquiries some months later I learned that he was going out with the girl on the train's best friend.

A couple of years ago I tracked him down through Friends Reunited. In actual fact it was his wife (the best friend) who was on the list but a little curiosity driven detective work on my part discovered a very likely address and phone number.

I was going to London for a few days so I rang. It was his wife who answered and we spoke about college days and then went on to talk about our children. He wasn't at home  -  he was giving a course in Italy - but, yes, it would be good to meet up when I went over, she said.

So, we made arrangements to meet at a restaurant within walking distance of CCs flat. Jay, CC and I turned up early and as they went in to ask for a table for all of us I recognised MFL engrossed in his music scores with a bottle of wine. Apart from grey hair he hadn't changed one bit.

I said his name and he looked up. We greeted each other with a kiss on each cheek, the children came over and we sat down for a good old catch-up session. His wife would be late so we had nearly an hour to talk about old times. He thoroughly charmed my son and daughter and we laughed alot as we argued about exactly whose fault it was when I crashed his scooter and he thought it was completely mad of me to be living with 'two husbands'.

Then his wife arrived and the party calmed down a bit. We had a good meal but conversation was more formal. It's difficult to say whether or not we will keep in touch but I did invite them to come and see us and meant it sincerely.

I had to admit to myself that she was a much more suitable wife than I would have been. She was prepared to be the main bread winner so that he could pursue his dreams of being a conductor and freelance musician. They each had an independant life but it had brought them closer together as a couple.

My heart remembered the old tingle but my head told me to accept that it was never meant to be.

Thursday 10th october (2002)

Wake at 6a.m. - still dark. Wait till 7.20 before getting up. Quick breakfast of tea and yoghurt before Michel and Marie whisk me off to Charleville to collect the keys to the house in town.

It was better looking than the village house but had THREE steps at the frontdoor, an inconveniently placed washbasin in the toilet and it stank of animal pee! Non - absolument pas!

Keys returned, we went to open a bank account at BNP. It took well over an hour but the advisor seemed very thorough and helpful and tried to explain things in simple French. A lens fell out of my glasses so I had to sign loads of papers with one eye closed. A huge pile of papers to take home. Hope Marie will go through them with me when/if there's time.

 Next stop the Caisse Primaire for health cover. No appointments till Monday, we were told, but Marie, who held quite a high position there until her retirement, pulled rank and strings and got us a rendzvous for tomorrow. She's a miracle worker!

Visit to the Prefecture was less succesful. Rather officious lady gave a list of required paperwork which included a 'Cerificate de Radiation'. What on earth's that?

Lunch was simple but delicious: melon,  choice of left-overs - carbonade or confit de canard - with the most absolutely scrumptious roast potatoes cooked in duckfat, salad with cheese, icecream and coffee.

Took Yaris for a walk then came back to work on THE letter (telling Bear I was leaving him for good) while Michel put a cupboard together.

Jay rang to say he has re-arranged the truck hire for the end of the month and is coming back by car on Sunday.

Lots of conversation during which they both corrected my French alot. It's very helpful but difficult to remember.

Lots more officialdom tomorrow. Life could get comp.licated

Wedneday 9th October (2002)

Little sleep since 2.30 but we have to get up early today. Feeling very shaky - totter downstairs and freshen up in the shower. Jay makes some vanilla tea but I can't eat a thing.

We drive to Belval (We have friends here, who were away when we arrived in France. I didn't write in the diary exactly how we arranged to go there and can't remember.) discussing options and feelings. Maybe I've calmed down a bit now but am not optimistic. Jay is talking about going to see agents in Norwich about renting.

Hubert (our friend's brother who lives next door) opens the door at Belval, holding onto Yaris's collar. Hasty goodbyes with Jay and I go in the house. Did we say goodbye properly? - I remember a quick hug and a promise to ring this evening.

Conversaton with Hubert is strained, although we both try to keep it going. At last he says he must go home and will I undo the door when Marie and Michel get  back. I dash to the loo and miss their ring at the doorbell but Yaris is barking. We greet each other and then I try to explain the situation in very simple French.

'Did you realise that Ralph and I have had problems?

'Not at all'

'Well, he has always been jealous of CC and Jay . . . .

Amazingly, they understand readily and are most sympathetic. They volunteer lots of help and telephone their Notaire for advice. He agrees to come round at one o'clock. We have an early lunch - tomato salad, confit du canard, cheese and apple tart - and he arrives before the coffee.

Michel and Marie explain the situation in rapid French. The Notaire is most helpful. He thinks he has a suitable house in Charleville and others in two nearby villages. This makes me feel much more optimistic.

9.50p.m.

Found a house!

Marie and Michel have been fantastic. They arranged a visit to one of the village houses and took me to see it. It is BIG and there are two steps at the entrance but that should be OK with a ramp. The decor could do with a bit of work but it's clean. There's a big lounge, a reasonable kitchen and a bedroom/study plus accessible toilet and bathroom on the ground floor and three bedrooms upstairs - separated by a huge loft, complete with linen line. The stairs are variable as far as safety is concerned and those going down to the cellar are particularly hazardous!

There's a small garden and two garages. The village itself is very pleasant and there are plenty of shops, a doctor's surgery and even a hairdresser. Marie has put a '5 day option' on it for us.

Michel took me to see  the house in Charleville. It is directly opposite Match (a supermarket)  and on a very busy road. However, the Notaire promised us the keys to visit it at 9 o'clock tomorrow so we're going out of politeness, and, as Marie put it, to make sure there are no regrets.

We came to the conclusion that it would be better for me to stay with Marie and Michel than with Claudine and J.Y in Charleville so we went to explain them and ask J.Y to sign the papers for the bank. It was embarrassing because he was  expecting me to stay and was cooking dinner. Oh dear! Hope he wasn't too offended. (It was good of them to say I could have their daughter's room during the week but as no-one is at home till late each evening and there was no offer of a spare key, I'd have to occupy myself in town till they got home.)

Tuesday 8th october 2002

Jay has a five mile jog but I stay in the house for a more leisurely start to the day. Buy new matches at the local shop and some eggs to boil for breakfast.

The drive to Charleville is a bit busier than yesterday probably because it's market day, but as we come to the carpark someone pulls out so we are lucky to get a space.

Visit several estate Agents and two Huissiers (A kind of cross between a solicitor and a bailiff. They can let and manage houses but are not 'qualified' to sell them.) and the bank to open an account. We are told we have to use J.Y.'s addess and ask him to fill in some forms and produce a copy of his Carte d'Identite and a utility bill. Won't see him till Wednesday evening so make an appointment for Thursday 10a.m.

The two hour lunch break seems like an eternity. We have coffee and mineral water in a bar and then I buy a slice of Tarte aux Myrtilles (blueberries) and scoff it in the car.

There are lots of people chasing a small number of houses to rent and so long waits at Huissiers' offices. In desperation we pick out two likely looking properties and ask if they are accessible for disabled people. The girl shrugs and suggests we go and look at the outside first. She photocopies the details and off we go.

The one in Rue Lapic is cheaper - 445euros - so we go there first. Quiet area, pleasant enough road but the house is blessed with four steep steps. So, off to property number two - Chaussée de Sedan.

A large, imposing house and NO steps. Off we go to get the keys, leaving my passport and 20 euros as hostage at the Huissiers. The traffic is terrible going back via the 'direct ' route, mainly because they are painting the zebra crossings and digging up the road but here we are - good parking but directly opposite the ralway line!

I struggle to unlock the doot but Jay manages to open it and we are greeted by the sight of a man. Once over our mutual surprise, he turns out to be the owner and shows us round. The ground floor has four huge rooms, a kind of utility room and a toilet with a very narrow door.

Upstairs are four more big rooms, one with an ensuite bathroom, but the kitchen is small and disappointing. It has a sink unit, a gaspipe, lots of electrical sockets and nothing else, except for a most inconvenient pipe sticking out of the floor in one corner.

Then he shows us the attic, (four more 'rooms'), the cellar, which goes on and on, and the garden - a wild and wooded 2000 square metres - accessible via a balcony and STEPS!!! Still, it would be far too rough to push a wheelchair round through that jungle of weeds and trees. At least, we wouldn't have to worry about doing any gardening.

It's lovely apart from

1) The kitchen - or lack of it.

2) The downstairs loo - rather narrow for a commode on wheels.

3)The RENT 990euros.

We go back with mixed feelings of elation and disappointment but I say we're interested and will be in touch when we give back the keys and retrieve my passport and deposit.

On the drive back to Chooz the mood becomes less optimistic.

Can we really afford it? Yes, at a pinch.

What about the loo? Even if we take off the door it's not going to be wide enough.

The kitchen? Well, huge let down, but we could manage with a cooker, fridge-freezer and a table.

We really didn't think it would be so difficult to find anywhere. Jay is due to go back to England tomorrow and return with the furniture on Sunday.

What alternatives do we have?

Plan A - take house and move in on Sunday

Plan B - I'll keep looking, bring furniture over in hopes and resort to storage if necessary.

Plan C - rent somewhere in England until we find a place here.

Arrive at Chooz rather depressed. Jay cooks some crevettes but they are awful.

He makes a spaghetti Milanese but my stomach is tying itself in knots. I can't do it justice and end up admitting to feeling queasy.

Phone CC and use up an awful lt of units. Gerard knocks on the cabine (phonebox) and tells me to ring J.Y. (I'd arranged to stay with them in Charleville once Jay went back to England as I couldn't househunt from Chooz, 40 miles away)

It seems no-one will be home till after 8p.m. tomorrow so I'll have to wander round on my own till then. Great! Tell Claudine about the house we saw - she says 'take it - there's not much choice at the moment'.

Ring the Bear - briefly. Say I'm feeling sick and so get away with a short call. (At this stage I still haven't  told him I have left him.)

Actually, I'm feeling really sick now - yuk! Awful evening - try to drink a weak cup of herbal tea and so to bed.

A ghastly night full of panic attacks, butterflies and deep despair, not to mention nightmares involving toilets, tape measures and kitchens.

Monday 7th october (2002)

Church clock starts chiming again at 6. (Many clocks in France chime each hour TWICE. The one at Chooz used to continue all through the night - quarter hours too - but after complaints it was silenced between the hours of 11 and 6) The school bus leaves at 7 to take the older children to Charleville and at 8.30 the square fills with cars as and pedestrians as parents bring the younger ones to the local school.

Jay goes for a run but I have a leisurely shower and then walk across to the shop for some toothpaste, biscuits and yoghurt. When Jay gets back we have a bowl of vanilla tea - water boiled in a saucepan as no kettle, and difficulty lighting gas with damp matches - and go into Givet.

We wander round the small town refreshing our memories of the quaint little streets, the river and the imposing Fort on the hilltop, do essential shoppng at the supermarket and check out train times to Charleville. They are not convenient so we go by car.

Re-explore Charleville, try lots of bars for coffee and go for a walk by the river before climbing the steep roads of Mt. Olympe. We have to kill time before we can go and see Claudine and J.Y. because they don't get home till 8. They have lots of info but we are both rather too tired to take it all in. Leave about 9.30 armed with lots of papers and a long list of things to do tomorrow.

I had arranged with friends to stay in their holiday home in a village north of Charleville (where they live). Most of her family live around the village square - one sister next to their holiday house, another in the corner and mum next to her.

6th October (cont)

The drive to C starts well apart from slight rain to welcome us to France, but we get lost in Maubeuge through a lack of clear signs and waste about half an hour. Neverheless we arrive at the house before dark only to find that M's door displays the sign 'Ne frappez pas - bébé dort'.

M holds the key but her husband, the said bébé, works nights and doesn't appreciate being woken when he's having a nap.

So, how do we get the key? We go to D's house. Her son answers and looks puzzled at the sight of two foreigners. Perhaps he doesn't recognise us. His dad comes and greets us warmly - four kisses for me and a handshake for Jay and we go back to M's house where he walks in and emerges a couple of minutes later with the keys to the garage. He seems in a hurry to get back home.

We go in and find the electricity is off. An array of buttons and switches on the wall mean nothing. We tentatively try a couple but to no avail. I go to the phonebox and ring J. (the owner). It's difficult to hear what he says as the traffic is noisy but then Jay comes to tell me that G (the bébé) has turned up so I tell J I'll ring him back.

G has disappeared by the time I get back but, at least, he has shown Jay which button to press. Light at last! The house has changed alot since my last visit - much more welcoming and homely. We unpack and then settle down with a bottle of wine - a special one saved from a shopping spree earlier. M comes in with some homemade soup and apologises that she can't stay, she's expecting visitors.

We go for a walk. It's good to stretch our legs.  We come back for a meal of soup and bruschetta - Jay does all the work - and then we have a fairly early night. Amazingly, I sleep like a log!

All's quiet on the Bear/Whale front - apart from the snores and there's nothing particularly interesting to report so it seems like a good time to look at my diary from four years ago:

Sunday 6th October

Ten to six - two of the cats start hissing and spitting. They'll wake the Bear, so I go downstairs and let them out. It's not light yet but I go back up and start packing a few necessities; lens solutions, glasses, toiletries etc. into a plastic bag. It crackles - I panic - listen at the bedroom door - all's well. Might as well get dressed - dare not run a bath or have a shower - and put my dressing gown on over my clothes - just in case he wakes up.

Creep downstairs with plastic bag - heart racing. It's too early to feed the cats. He's used to that noise but not at 20 past 6 on a Sunday. O.K. I'll write the note. For some reason I don't dare put the light on so hope it's legible:

'Dear 'Bear'

I didn't dare tell you in advance, but I'm gong to France with 'J'. I know you've been trying to be nice lately so I'm sorry to make you so cross. The sad thing is we will never come to terms with each other's feelings for my children. Take care - look after the cats,

love, S'

Now, where do I leave it? Hide it till I go. He might come downstairs! Feed the cats, make a coffee. It's getting light and I think I'm a bit calmer. Creep upstairs and rescue two more binbags - a cosy duvet cover and some other bedding - then back down, and feeling braver, take the roasting tins that the children left behind when they came to collect my clothes and sentimental items (at least, those he wouldn't miss) while Bear and I went into Norwich yesterday.

Goodness, five to seven already. I MUST go to the loo and hope it doesn't wake him. 7o'clock: I creep out of the house with everything crammed into the two plastic bags, handbag round my neck, the letter left by the phone.

My hands are trembling so I can't lock the door without clattering the keys. I walk down the drive keeping on the grass to avoid the crunch of the gravel but all I can hear is my heart pounding in my ears.

At last - out on the road and walking towards the bus-stop. The bags are heavier than I thought and my dressing gown belt is hanging out so I stop to sort it out.

Nearly five past seven and I'm at the bus-stop. Hope there isn't a bus due. I'd feel foolish if it stopped for me and I didn't get on. Hope Jay isn't late. There's a car coming - no, it's turning down by the Post Office. Please, please let the next one be Jay. Another one turns down Mill Road. I hear a third - is it?  Yes, what relief. I pile the bags into the back  and sink into the passenger seat.

'Hi Mum, how do you feel?' To be honest, I don't know - numb, relieved, afraid, excited - all and none of these things. The one thought filling my brain is 'I've done it. At last I've left him!'

Jay does a U turn and we, too, turn down Mill Road and set off for Dover. 'I told CC you'd ring her when I picked you up'. Fine, I fumble through my handbag for the mobile and dial the number. CC sounds more tense and nervous than I am but is pleased to hear the pick up went so easily.

The roads are reasonably clear and we arrive at the ferry terminal just before ten. A short wait before boarding and then France - here we come.

I'm surprised there are no overwhelming feelings of regret that this may be the last I see of England for a long time.