It was time to go back home to the US. My Memories of the Hullabaloos seemed to linger. It seems the guy on the far left of this photo is the one I imagine would have been exactly the kind of guy I would gravitate to at the pub and then being told who he was. This was as close to an English rock group as I would get to. My mother called his kind of eyes, bedroom eyes. Mom told me entirely too much about sexuality. I was more of a sister who was a listening ear for her. She had lost her husband as I imagine it during a time she could have had more romance, she didn’t. Somewhere in my teens, her talking to me stopped. Reality hit that she was telling me too much, so she would try to put reins on what she was saying. I shut down between all the talk. It was not what I wanted to hear from my mother, instinctually Her corporal punishment and enmeshing talk about men lingered and created fear of men for me. Was she trying to frighten me? I think she was looking back at what she missed and wanted to protect me. My late pubescence had so many implications for her. I grew three inches between the ages of 16 and 18. Also as another form of working at making me become regulated Doctors gave me the first form of birth control pills. They just made me sick even though I always complied with whatever my mother wanted and doctors. I never could take the pill after that. This became another form of how I was going to be controlled. Did she think I was going to get pregnant?
Now I was going back to live with my mother and leave the wonderful part of my stay in England. I don’t know who made the arrangements for my passage back across the Atlantic. I was supposed to stay longer and whatever dreamy experience of meeting the Beatles was to be lost. I took a train to London, staying there where I spent the night on the way to sail from Southampton, in the south of England. I remember walking around Trafalgar Square in London, surrounded by pigeons and people. No one helped me when I was off on a bigger ship. Once again I had to draw on my intrepid nature. It was on the RMS Caronia and would sail to Montreal Quebec, England to Canada in 5 days. It had taken me 7 days to get to Liverpool, I had a single bedroom with my own bathtub at the Bow of the Ship. It became off-season and my cabin was upgraded. There were rough waters and the crew had put ropes up between the isles. The only time I got sick was after the morning meal as I made my way to the bow of the ship and my cabin.
A handsome young crew member in a knit crew neck sweater caught me and he escorted me back to my room. Looking quite sickly in the face he no doubt felt sorry. I found out later that crew members loved to chat up young female passengers. I loved being saved and talked to as I was all by myself. After being caught and felt better my favorite part of the trip was to go to the back of the ship and watch the wake. This is where my new friend would find me and he often did.
