The Amazing Story of Jane Doe

The Woman Who Never Was

CHAPTER ONE

REUNION

I have chosen to begin my story in October of 1967, when I was forty-four years old. For me, this was when my life began. Until that point, I had merely existed, suffering years of torment in the forms of derision, belittlement, physical and mental abuse and duplicity.

But now I was about to embark on a very different journey through life with a warm, caring, human being. For the first time in my life, approaching middle age, I was about to experience true love, something which had been denied me throughout my childhood and all the ensuing years.

It was in the Mecca Bingo Hall during the Indian summer of 1967 that my life began to change. Just before the interval, a group of high-spirited women sitting nearby were making their presence felt. Glancing across at them, I noticed a dark haired man sitting in their midst. Maybe it was the hair, or perhaps his mischievous smile, but I instantly recognised him, even though it must have been at least twenty years since we last met. Catching his eye, I waved and, perhaps boldly for me, beckoned to him. It looked as though they were all sharing a very funny joke, but I could see that he knew who I was and, excusing himself from the merrymakers, he left their chatter and a couple of strides brought him across the aisle to where I sat. He was smartly dressed and his tall, slim frame moved in a relaxed and easy manner.

“You're Cyril, aren't you?”, I asked him.

“Yes, that's right.” It’s Barbara, isn’t it? I would know you anywhere, even after……what, twenty odd years, is it?”

I smiled, recollecting our younger days. “I recognised you straight away, even though you were twins.”

Cyril Clements shook my hand warmly and sat down next to me and we chatted for some time about the days when, as school friends, his sister, Eileen and I would bath the young twin boys and put them to bed. To me, it was amazing to meet up with him again and it gave me a lovely warm feeling. Cyril told me that he liked to be known as Clem. He revealed that he had recently left his wife after fourteen years of marriage. They had not been getting on very well and, in any case, Marlene was being unfaithful to him. He’d had enough of her antics and left her to get on with it.

I told him that I had been married to George Worrall for twenty-two years and he was surprised to learn that we'd had six children - Shirley, George, Bonny, Tina, Carol and Mandy the youngest, who was just five years old. Clem told me he wouldn't have guessed that I was a mother of six because I looked too slim and attractive. My innate modesty prevented me from displaying any pride or vanity, but I will admit that I felt secretly flattered by his comments. My husband was not particularly demonstrative or complimentary and it did feel good to be noticed and appreciated again. I was well aware that, being petite, with blue eyes and naturally blonde hair, I could still turn men's heads. This was not something I exploited but, as any woman knows, it was reassuring to have confirmation of my attractiveness and Clem boosted my confidence considerably that night.

We went out for a drink in the popular Curzon Arms during the interval and when we returned, I collected three bingo cards for Clem. His luck was in and he won £100. This unexpected good fortune seemed to me to augur well for the future and, indeed, I now look back on that meeting as something that was not down to mere coincidence, or chance, but had been securely woven into the gossamer threads that made up our destiny. That weekend was to set the seal on a long and loving relationship that neither of us could have even dreamt about.

When, reluctantly, we parted company at the end of that evening, we had already established a relaxed and close friendship and we felt happy in each other’s company. Clem is a very sensitive man and before we said goodnight, he asked me if something was wrong.

“No”, I replied. “Why do you ask?”

He told me then that he had noticed a sadness in my eyes (the windows of the soul), that he could detect a terrible hurt deep within me. At first, I tried to shrug it off as nothing, but it was no use trying to pull the wool over his eyes. I knew that this man was no fool. I also felt instinctively that I could trust him with the innermost secrets that I guarded so closely. Secrets that disturbed my peace of mind.

In fact, as will be revealed during our journey through these chapters, I did have monumental difficulties to grapple with, but the big worry of the moment was that Bonny, my fifteen year old daughter, had run away with a friend to go and work in a pencil factory in Kings Lynn. When I told Clem about this, he gently took my hand and said he would help me to go and look for them.

Next morning, Saturday, my husband took me to the bus station and found out which bus I needed to take me to Kings Lynn. Clem had arranged to wait for me so that George wouldn't see him. Eventually I persuaded George not to wait any longer and as soon as he was out of sight, Clem came to me and led the way to his car, hired for the occasion. He was a patient, practical man and I felt safe with him at my side.

Our journey to Norfolk was pleasant enough and we chattered happily together, relaxed in each other’s company. Once in the town of Kings Lynn, a few enquiries soon led us to where the runaways were staying. It was a decent, clean house and Bonny and her friend Lesley had come to no harm and in fact seemed to be doing alright for themselves. They had their heads screwed on and gave me no reason to worry about them and, in any case, if I had insisted on them coming back with us then, they would only be off somewhere else in a very short time.

We all spent some time together quite cheerfully and finished up on Hunstanton beach which, I remember, was teeming with mussels. We bought ice creams – the expensive kind with Cadbury’s flake in the top - and sat on a bench enjoying them in the early autumn sunshine before saying our goodbyes and heading back home. I looked in my purse and gave the girls some pocket money, then kissed them goodbye with the customary motherly advice to take care of themselves and keep out of trouble.

This day out had given Clem and me the opportunity to get to know each other better. We felt at ease and comfortable. About half way home, Clem suddenly said,

“Barbara, it's been a long day. What do you think of stopping for bed and breakfast somewhere?” I told him that if he thought it was a good idea, it was fine with me, thinking to myself that I would be happier in Clem's company than going back home to George. I knew he would see to the kids, I had no worries there - he may not have been an adoring husband but he was a responsible father.

About a mile or so further on, we spotted a Bed & Board sign and Clem left me in the car whilst he went to make enquiries. He soon came back, and spoke to me through the open car window.

“They can put us up, but they've only a double room. I did ask for two singles, or even a twin-bedded, but the only room available has got a double bed.” He looked into my eyes. “What do you think?”

Without any hesitation, I said, “Well let's go and see about it!” I seemed to have shed my inhibitions. I felt emboldened, somehow, and wanted to seize every opportunity. There may not be many more. I felt that our relationship had taken on another dimension. I also knew that I was falling in love with Clem, and the idea of having to share a double bed with him was not only perfectly acceptable, but also very natural. Nobody else mattered to me at that moment.

That night was so special and I treasure the memory of it to this day. I didn't say anything to Clem at the time - I suppose I was a little afraid of scaring him off, after all I was a married woman with responsibilities - but I realised then that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him. I hoped and wished with all my heart that he felt the same and sensed that he did, but I was too afraid of spoiling the dream to mention anything about it.

After breakfast we settled the bill, Clem left a ten shilling note on the dressing table, (which was a princely sum for a tip in 1967), and we made our way back to Nottingham. I was a reluctant traveller that day, in no hurry to break the spell. With the dawn, a few mist patches had settled across the Norfolk flat and there was a nip in the air first thing, but it promised to be another warm autumn day. By the time we reached Clem’s flat, it was indeed gloriously sunny.

“It seems a shame to stay indoors on a day like this, Barbara, we ought to make the most of it”. Clem was looking up at the near cloudless sky. “I’ve had an idea”. Then he told me that he would like to take me to a special place as a treat, to round off our weekend together. Well, Clem had the hire of the car until the following morning and George would presume that I had stayed on in Kings Lynn. I could see no harm in our spending the rest of the day together, and I have to confess that I needed no persuading at all. Then I played guessing games, trying to imagine where this delightful place was, until I was unable to contain my curiosity any longer.

“Come on, where exactly are you taking me?” I asked, as we set off again, this time in a southerly direction. His captivating smile lit up his face. He was very relaxed and clearly also enjoying the moment.

“To the Derbyshire Dales - you'll love it”, he replied.

Love it? That day was the most magical in my entire life. We visited Monsall Dale. As a child, I had roamed the countryside at random in a caravan with a gypsy family, but I had never been encouraged to observe and appreciate the real beauty of the countryside, and this dream of a place literally took my breath away. We were bathed in golden autumn sunshine, the water seemed to sing and laugh with us as it flowed past, carefree, sparkling like diamonds in the sunlight – a kind of be-jewelled sonata. I was simply overwhelmed, not only by the beauty of the place, but also by the day itself. Words could not express my feelings and as I held Clem's hand, tears of happiness rolled down my face. It was one of those exquisite, dream-like moments that make you pinch yourself; that you wish would go on for ever. I will never forget it, because I know that it influenced my decision to do what I did the following day.

But that day in the dales had been perfect. We left before darkness fell and had a meal in a friendly pub on the way back. Then we rounded off the day at the bingo hall and afterwards Clem took me as close to my home on the Broxtowe Estate as he dared, taking care that we were not seen together. As we kissed goodnight, I felt no guilt or remorse about the fact that I had fallen deeply in love with Clem. I knew only that I wanted to be with him always.

That night found me restless and sleepless. I considered my present existence. I was just being taken for granted. I was always there to cook, clean, wash, fulfil marital obligations, etc. But where was the zest in my life? What was there for me to look forward to? I rarely received even a word of thanks from any of the family. They only missed me if I wasn't there to soothe a bruise or patch a knee. They expected food to be on the table and beds made. My enchanting day out with Clem had made me realise what I had been missing - and what I wanted more of. Then there was the shameful secret I was hiding from them all. Sooner or later that would have to be faced and dealt with; the burden of it was becoming intolerable.

I must have dozed a bit. When I awoke the house was busy with Monday morning activities. Work, school, nursery. Sandwiches, shoelaces, hair ribbons. The clatter and rattle of family life. My head was spinning, bursting with thoughts that would not go away. When everyone had left and the house became quiet again, I finally made my decision.

Getting up from the kitchen table, I rinsed the breakfast dishes under the hot tap and left them to drain. Then I went upstairs and gathered a few items of clothing together and some personal bits and pieces. It took me only a few minutes. Hastily tearing a page from the back of a school exercise book, I found a pen and scribbled a note.

“I’m leaving. I’ve had enough. Don’t come looking for me. Barbara.”

Taking my door key from my purse, I laid it on the kitchen table on top of the note. Then without a backward glance, I went out into the street, pulled the door secure behind me and walked to the bus stop.

As the bus threaded its way through the busy streets on that Monday morning, I sat staring out through the windows at the people going about their daily business. How many of them had to live with unwholesome mysteries that would not let them rest? I had no idea where I would be in a few hours time. In a flat, hostel..... on the streets? I had just made myself homeless but I knew that wherever I ended up, these skeletons of the past would never stop rattling and leave me in peace.

My stop came at last and, leaving the muggy, smoky atmosphere of the bus, I stepped onto the pavement and inhaled the cool, fresh air. “Here goes, Barbara”, I told myself as I made my way to number 72, Stratford Road. I had no idea what kind of reception I was going to get, but it was a risk I had to take.

Clem's Indian landlord answered my knock on the door. We had already met a couple of times and he knew that Clem and I were close friends so he was quite happy to let me in. It was a little after midday and the quiet street was soaking up the best of the autumn sunshine before the weather broke.

“Clem will be still at work”, he pointed out.

“Yes”, I agreed. “I know he won't be home until later but I'm sure he won't mind if I wait for him.”

The landlord, with a dazzling white smile showed me up to Clem's flat.

Smell my wife’s most delicious curry”, he grinned. “It will give you very good appetite, yes?”

The tiny flat was directly above the Indian couple’s home and I remembered Clem remarking that it was impossible to avoid the smell of their cooking, but, as I am well qualified to testify, there are worse things in life to contend with and it was not a problem to me at all. Thinking about food, however, I knew that Clem often made do with fish and chips for supper. After a tiring day cleaning windows, he was usually hungry and understandably had little inclination to start cooking himself a meal. An idea came into my mind. I went downstairs again and found the landlord busily sweeping leaves away from the front door.

“I'd like to do a bit of shopping”, I told him. “Will you be here to let me in again?”

“Oh, yes, yes”. Pausing in his work, he displayed again his very white, even teeth. His smile really was captivating. “I'll be here, my dear. You will find some very good shops down there just round the corner past the trees”, he waved his broom cheerily towards the end of the street and continued with his sweeping, still smiling serenely.

When I returned to the flat, I emptied the contents of my shopping bag onto the table. A large lamb chop, carrots and peas and a few new potatoes would make a tasty, nourishing meal for a hardworking man.

I made myself a cup of tea and sat down for a few minutes to drink it before I set about tidying the flat up. Clem kept everything clean, there were no dirty dishes or unwashed laundry strewn about, but it lacked a woman's touch and I enjoyed going round busily tidying up, straightening covers and cushions and putting newspapers away.

Clem usually came home from work around 4.30. At the time he had the contract to clean all the windows at the Loughborough College of Technology. I thought of him coming in tired and hungry, and tried to visualise his face when he realised what was happening. I desperately hoped he would approve. I was counting on staying here at the flat with him now that I had burnt my boats at home. He may not want me here, of course. He had showered me with love and affection since we had met up again, but that was no guarantee that he wanted me living in........

With a shrug, I told myself there was a meal to be prepared and I looked out the saucepans and utensils I would need and busied my hands and mind with the job in hand.

A little before five o’clock, I heard voices below, then footsteps on the stairs and looked towards the door with bated breath, as Clem's key turned in the lock. My heart fell with a sickening thud into my boots when the door was violently swung open and I saw his face wearing an expression like thunder. It was plain that he was furious.

“What the..................!.” He stopped dead. His expression changed from fury to surprise. “Barbara! What the hell are you doing here? Have you been chucked out?”

He held his arms out to me and I rushed into them, colander and all.

“I've come to look after you if you'll have me”, I told him.

“Oh, Barbara, there’s nothing I want more”. Clem hugged and kissed me and my deep sigh was a mixture of relief and great contentment. His initial anger had been due to the fact that his landlord had told him a woman was waiting for him in his flat and he instantly thought that his wife, Marlene, had traced him and was about to cause trouble for him.

I was on cloud nine. I had come to the end of the old winding road and was about to set off on a new journey. One which was to prove difficult and hazardous at times but which I would be able to face now that I had my soul mate at my side. Without his love and support, I know I could not have coped with the immense difficulties which were heading my way – problems relating to my birth, waiting to blight my life at every turn.