Coming of age 1969
In September 1969 I turned 21 years old. I could already legally smoke, drink, marry, have children, or be called up to fight for my country. Or, although extremely unlikely, I could even be killed by my country. I was liable for any crimes I might have committed and, although capital punishment for murder had been suspended, it would not be abolished until December 1969.
Despite having these responsibilities, I was still considered too young to choose who would represent me in parliament or the local council. They lowered the voting age to 18 in 1970 but it was too late for me. I was finally able to vote in the general election held during that year which saw the defeat of Harold Wilson and a surprise victory for the Conservatives under Edward Heath.
I was living in Leeds, waiting for the new university term to start. I had spent some of the summer earning the money to take me to Italy with my girlfriend, Gill. We flew out to Rome and hitch-hiked back to England via Perugia, Florence, Milan, Switzerland, Germany, and Belgium, returning penniless.
Not having money was not a problem. My rent was one pound and ten shillings a week and I was waiting for my student maintenance cheque for £128 which would see me through to Christmas. I had few possessions and no aspirations. I had grown into my environment in Leeds, met new friends, particularly Gill who made me feel comfortable. I was trying to put aside the confusion and loneliness of leaving home and going to London. A tiny terraced house in Beamsley Mount, Leeds became a haven, despite its lack of plumbing.
Gill bought me a present for my twenty-first. A rather fine art-deco statuette of a young woman, reclining, clad in something diaphanous. It was an unlikely but perfect gift which I still own. Whilst it represented an incongruous ideal beauty among the cobbled streets and back-to-backs, it had a kitsch appeal. Something that I could enjoy for its own sake, given to me by someone who accepted me for whatever I was.