A Night In Brighton (part 1 of 2)

Friday 28 November 1952


Our one night together in Brighton began as arranged, meeting in the concourse of London Bridge railway station, 5pm for the 17.15 train. I collected the first class tickets from the office. In a freezing pea-souper in London, you could barely see a hand in front of your face. I left my Croydon rented house half an hour early and waiting for her when she suddenly appeared out of the fog and kissed me on the cheek.

"Oh, your cheeks are cold, have you been waiting long?" she asked cheerfully, excited at the prospects of an outing.

Frieda's tall, slim, elegant, and very beautiful.

Me? I'm no oil painting, a slim six foot, well, everyone in London was slim after thirteen years of relentless war and eternal food rationing. I kept fit, clean-shaven and dressed well, as I'd sold men's clothing lines before the war and expected to be well turned out. Besides, I liked looking smart and comfortable in any strata of mixed company, with a full head of short, light brown hair, Brylcreemed and combed under my trilby, an odd grey hair showing I was just over 40. Born in 1911, I thought I was probably fifteen years older than the wife of a ser...

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Tony Spencer
Oct 11 2020

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