March 2011
I was twenty years old, working as a telephonist, on a very busy switchboard at West End Central Police Station.
I worked alongside Alfie, we always worked the same shifts together, 7am - 3pm and 3pm - 11pm.
Alfie and I had so much fun working there, I thought we would be there forever, but - things change. Alfie decided one day that he wanted to emigrate to Canada. His long term ambition was to join the Canadian Police Force, and, of course, become a Mountie eventually.
Alfie was distraught at leaving his beloved car behind, and made me promise to look after it. So I found myself the owner of an old battered yellow Mini, named Primrose - I had inherited my first car.
Alfie phoned regularly (no mobiles or texts in those days) to see how I was, but mostly I think he wanted to know how Primrose was! I had looked after Primrose really well; I even gave her a polish once.
A few months had gone by, when Alfie phoned me to say that he had just posted a letter with an air ticket to Canada in it for me.
My first concern was, what about Primrose? I couldn't take her with me!
My brother came to the rescue and promised he would look after Primrose - he did have a cynical look on his face though.
I had an excellent flight to Canada, I have lots of relatives living in Toronto and America, so decided to spend a year living in Canada, but still rang my brother to see if Primrose was ok. Alfie, meanwhile, was often sent away on various police courses, but we did manage to spend the last two weeks of my stay in Canada together.
Back home in the UK, I settled into a routine and time passed, during which time, dear Primrose conked out and died.
Alfie wrote that he wanted to return to the UK, but I had written that I wanted to stay permanently in Canada . . . oh dear!
Finally, Mother Nature took a hand and decided our future together.
Alfie is still in Canada and I am still in the UK.