If my Mum had had her way, she would have been a Sixties pop star - back combed beehive hair style, loads of mascara, white leather knee boots, the lot.

 As things turned out, she married Dad and settled for being village postmistress at Skelthorne instead. Which, as she always said, probably turned out the more successful long term project!

 But old ambitions and daydreams die hard. So rather than being an international star belting out pop numbers at festivals and football stadiums, she sings as a hobby, entertaining local folk to raise money for charity- I think everyone for miles around must have heard of Polly‘s Pop Parade. And even though she is my Mum, I have to admit she’s rather good!

 Of course, the heart of that Sixties dolly bird remains, even as she heads past her fifty-fifth birthday. And she still prefers to be called Polly (“a hippy flower child at heart,”  Dad jokes) rather than her real name, Pauline.

So perhaps that explains how my brother and me were named after pop stars. He’s Craig  (after Craig Douglas) Paul (as in McCartney) Bradley, and I’m Helen (after Shapiro) Francoise. I often wonder if anyone other than my Mum remembers Francoise Hardy!

Craig and I joke it could have been much harder to live with: we might have been named Shane Elvis, or Dusty Petula, for example. We would have coped - even though Craig and me are much quieter than our extrovert Mum!

 

Our earliest memories include accompanying Mum to concerts and looking after her handbag, microphone and backing tapes - we’ve always called ourselves the youngest road managers in the business - so appearing in public has never worried us either.

We know all about it!

 

Perhaps that’s why neither of us ever went through that awful teenage phase of being star struck, and never been  impressed by spotlights, glamour and a ritzy image. Our most popular venues might be Andersley Village Hall, or Rodwell Working Men’s Club, but it’s good fun, and in a good cause. Mum raises lots of money for local charities, and working in the post office means she meets an awful lot of people to sell her tickets t

She’s all charm and energy, our Mum. And quite unlike our quiet, retiring dad. People often ask how such opposites were attracted in the first place - and have stayed attracted after all these years. But that’s easy to answer - both have hearts of gold, a great sense of humour, and tolerant natures. So if Dad’s weak spot is that he can be a wee bit too easy going for his own good, Mum’s is that she works a bit too hard protecting her children. Which, of course, is Craig and me - and even though we are twenty seven and twenty five now, being grown up makes no difference at all! We  think we are old enough to know our own minds, and make our own judgments. But not as far as Mum is concerned…….

Craig runs his own gardening business - one man and his mower, I call it - and has always intended settling down with Nicola Grant. They have been sweethearts since infant school! And they are going to get married as soon as they’ve renovated their cottage on Chapel Lane. So that’s Craig sorted.Which leaves only me for Mum to worry about. So she does!I love my Mum to bits, I really do. But she is such a fusspot, there are times when I could cheerfully throttle her, as the saying goes - and anyone with a Mum like mine will know exactly  how I feel! Just some of the time……

Not that she actually has any reason to worry. I always enjoyed school, learnt lots of practical skills in the Guides, and in a quiet village like ours there’s no chance of mixing with what Mum calls ‘strange types.’ I’ve tried pointing out that she must have met a few strange types herself when trying to become a pop star. When she was much younger than I am now. But all she says to that is a haughty ’Exactly!’ As if she’s scored a point or two.

I’ve a good job in the offices at Horton’s Garage, the main car dealership in town. A reliable little car, a close knit group of friends I’ve had for years, and Mum knows them all.

So the only thing she can find to worry about are my boyfriends!

Of course, it goes without saying that - as far as Mum is concerned - not even one of my former boyfriends have ever been good enough for her little girl!

Steve - the very first, way back in the fourth year - was too studious, then Marcus was too sporty. Or was that spotty? Adrian was far too interested in motor cars, and Stuart was too tall. Then there was Carl, condemned as  ’a lad who’ll never grow up’ and as for Brian - well, I never did quite work out what she disliked about him, just that she sniffed whenever I mentioned his name!

Even Jeff - who I went out with for three years - never quite won her approval. But perhaps that was because he was a vegetarian. And although Clive, my last boyfriend, always made her laugh, Mum said that was because he never took life seriously enough!

I decided years ago I was never going to find a boyfriend Mum approved of, and it never bothered me, really. In fact it amused me more than anything. Until Chris Jackson came along

Chris came to Horton’s Garage as the new head mechanic. And there didn’t seem anything special about him at first. He wasn’t handsome. Slight, wiry and quite ordinary, really. The sort of guy you might not even notice at first glance….but then you’d find yourself drawn back for a second look, almost despite yourself. And then you’d notice the quiet conker coloured eyes, the wry smile, the sense of humour.

Well - that’s what I did. And before I knew it, I was falling head over heels in love with Chris Johnson. And he with me. And that, of course, was the problem. At last I had found someone I wanted - needed - my Mum (and Dad!) to meet and approve of. And I couldn’t bear it if Mum was going to be as dismissive as usual.

“When are we going to meet this new boyfriend, then?” Mum would ask regularly. Usually over breakfast.  “Erm….soon,” I would mutter.

 But, of course, the more I put off the evil day, the more interested Mum became. And the more worried.

“What’s wrong with this one, then?” she eventually asked, exasperated.

“Nothing!” I wailed.

“That sounds ominous,” answered Mum, with that unmistakable mother hen look in her eye.

 “Leave the poor girl alone, Poll,” said Dad. “You turn any conversation about Helen’s potential boyfriends into the Spanish Inquisition,” he joked. And Mum had the grace to grin then, shrug and change the subject. Because she knew he was right!

Nevertheless, I realised I wasn’t going to be able to put off the evil day much longer. Especially as Chris and me were getting closer and more in love as time went on.

 “I’d love to meet your family. You’ve told me so much about them,” Chris said, reasonably enough, one evening as we were sharing a meal at the Crown Inn.

“I’d love you to meet them too,” I agreed. Glumly. The prospect of this momentous milestone was starting to haunt me!  

“They won’t eat me, Helen!” Chris observed gently.

“You don’t know my mum!” I warned, trying to sound more lighthearted than I felt.

“She thinks every prospective boyfriend is Bluebeard, Casanova and Errol Flynn rolled into one!” Chris smiled and shook his head, at ease and relaxed, and absentmindedly began to sing softly along to the piped music coming into the dining room. And I was so absorbed with thoughts of my problem mum, that it took me a minute or two to realise this.

The music had changed from ‘Sweet Caroline’ to ’Joanna’ - all lushy romantic, Sixties style music. And I suddenly realised that the voice opposite me, softly singing along so absent mindedly, was rather good!

“Chris!” I squeaked. “That sounds terrific! Do you sing? Properly, I mean?” My lovely boyfriend wriggled on his chair a bit in embarrassment, but eventually admitted:

“Not any more. Not these days. But I used to be in Andersley Church Choir……”

“Brilliant!” I said. Because suddenly I was looking across at the Crown’s events board. And I had the germ of an idea……..

 

 

 

“You want us all to meet your Chris?” Mum, sounding puzzled, repeated the words of my invitation back to me over breakfast the next day. “Are you sure?”

“It’s about time, as you keep saying,” I pointed out. “And I thought a family meal together at the Crown would be a really nice way to get everyone together.”

 “Tuesday evening? At the Crown?” Dad confirmed.

 “That’s right,” I said. “Are you and Mum free?”

 I looked at Dad, and Dad looked back at me. He was in the Crown’s long alley skittles team, so went to the Crown more than any of us…..and might realise why Tuesday evening was a good time for us all to be there. With Chris.

His lips twitched as he held back a smile - I’m sure they did - and he gave me one of his long, twinkly Dad type looks over his mug of tea. But he didn’t say anything, other than:

“Absolutely! It’ll be good to meet your Chris at last,” he said warmly. “We’ll look forward to it. Won’t we, Poll?”

Mum nodded, and smiled, but still looked faintly puzzled. Nevertheless, she put my dirty plate into the washing up, and began to hum one of her favourite Sixties hits-

Raindrops Keep Falling On My Head.

 

We never, ever, go into the Crown through the smart restaurant entrance from the rose garden - but we did on Tuesday! I was determined! Chris was already there, waiting for us - Mum, Dad, Craig, Nicola and me - at a table for six, and almost unrecognizable with his springy fair hair smoothed down, and wearing a very smart suit.

Craig and Nicola were very relaxed, Dad very affable and Mum very quiet. She was busy trying to get the measure of Chris, and  - I knew - was not terribly impressed by her first impressions! Which made me even keener to give Chris the chance to shine, and make Mum see what I see in him. And why I love him!

There was a flurry of introductions, of ordering food, everyday chatter. Craig and Nicola could be depended upon to keep the conversation flowing, and Dad always had a store of funny stories, so everything was enjoyable and pleasant enough.

Except that Mum kept trying to give Chris the third degree, quizzing him on everything she could think of, from where his Mum went to school, to his work history, his hobbies and interests. “Cars, of course - or I wouldn’t enjoy my job,” Chris began. “I was always good at swimming, and I used to be in the church choir…….”

“Really?” said Mum, showing her first sign of proper interest.

“I like singing too……”

She was just about to start her regular lecture on Sixties pop music, when the waitress came and cleared the table, and we decided to move into the bar

“Oh! A karaoke evening!”

Mum beamed with what I could only describe as glee. We usually liked to keep her away from karaoke evenings - she did more than enough singing as it was - but there was a karaoke evening in the main bar of the Crown tonight. I had spotted the poster when I had been in there with Chris. But I hadn’t told her about this evening, because I had wanted it to be a surprise. And so, from the knowing look on his face, had Dad!

Half the village seemed to be in the Crown, and all of them wanted their turn at the Sixties karaoke session. Even Craig, who doesn’t normally sing, had a go at Twist And Shout. Dad showed him how to do it with his version of Jim Reeves’ Distant Drums……and I remembered that Dad used to sing too, once upon a time.

“You never told me your Dad could sing!” Chris whispered in my ear.

“He’s very modest,” I answered. “He prefers to leave the limelight to Mum.”

 And then Mum got up to join Dad. They sang These Boots Are Made For Walking, and everyone stamped and cheered! They were that good! Yet to me the best thing of all was seeing them, arms around each other, smiling as well as singing in perfect harmony. And, I thought, just as much in love as when they first met as teenagers.

Which was just what I wanted for the future for Chris and me, I realised suddenly.

And, just as suddenly, understood why Mum was so determined that only the best boyfriend for me was good enough for her!

I turned to Chris and grasped his hand tight, and - as if he read my thoughts - he leant towards me and kissed me gently on the cheek.

Mum saw it. From the little portable stage she  waved a hand and called his name.

“Come on, Chris! Get up and sing! It’s your turn now!”

Instead of modestly shaking his head and refusing, Chris knew exactly what to do. This was a test - and he wasn’t prepared to fail! He stood up. took the microphone from Mum. Dad said something, Chris smiled and nodded, and was suddenly alone on the stage.

The music began to Twenty Four Hours From Tulsa. Chris made a hesitant start in becoming Gene Pitney, but soon grew in confidence. He had a lovely voice that suited the song.

Next came The Last Waltz.  Chris stayed at the mike, and made a good job of imitating Englebert - very romantic! But he surprised us then all by tackling It’s Not Unusual! Tom Jones would have been proud of him, voice, dance moves and all!  And he was word perfect, too - hadn’t needed to look at the machine once!

Everyone called for more, but after all that poor Chris had had enough! Quite pink in the face, yet proud of himself, he handed the microphone to Stacey Jordan, in the middle of My Guy by the time Chris got back to his seat.

Craig and Nicola cheered and applauded, like everyone else. Dad slapped him on the back, and said ’well done!’ I went to hug him - but Mum got there first.

“That was wonderful, Chris! I didn’t realise you were so good!” she cried.

She kissed him on both cheeks, and he - naturally enough - kissed her back! I was astounded.

“I don’t believe it! A boyfriend she approves of!” I said softly to Dad.

“History repeats itself,” Dad said, grinning from ear to ear. “She didn’t like me much either: not until she heard me singing in a college Barbers Shop Quartet, that is!”

“So that’s why you never mentioned knowing about the karaoke tonight!” I exclaimed, understanding. Dad nodded.

“Your Mum might love her pop music from the days we were kids, but she’s got a heart of gold. And she really does believe that a song on your lips means music singing in your heart.”

“I know,” I said. And for a moment I wanted to cry. And you can call me sentimental if you like - I don’t care!

 “So I thought your plan to get her to know and love Chris was a good one. Because I could see you loved him to bits, even though I’d never met him before tonight. And if  you love him, then I knew we’d better love him too.”

I hugged my kind, sensible, lovely Dad until he was breathless. And then I did the same to my wonderful Chris.

“Your Mum’s invited me over for Sunday lunch. She says she’s got some music she thinks I’d like to borrow! She’s great!” he enthused quietly into my ear. “But I love you!”

He picked me up, spun me round and kissed me - in the pub, in front of everyone!

And I couldn’t have been happier.

Especially when I saw that Mum was grinning too. And that was an unheard of sign of approval as far as all my past boyfriends were concerned! I said as much.

“Does this mean I have at last found a boyfriend you approve of?” I asked, still not sure if I believed her reaction this time.

“Oh, it’s early days yet,” she warned me, mock serious. “But it’s not every day I find Gene Pitney, Englebert and Tom Jones all rolled into one! He‘s not my sound of the Sixties -” she cast Dad a loving look, and reached for his hand, laughed  and put her free arm around Chris and me - “but I think you two will make the perfect  pair!”

“What - like Peters and Lee, or Nina and Frederick?” Chris suggested.

“Oh, no! Just Helen and Chris, being themselves. I learnt a long time ago that being happy together is much more rewarding than being a pop star, or topping the charts.

And if you’re as happy for as long as your dad and me, you’ll be our number one!”

We all laughed then - one big happy family. The karaoke machine had moved on to Funny How Love Can Be. I didn’t think there could have been a more appropriate record!    

Like I said before - I love my Mum to bits. And there must be something about this old Sixties music. It’s cheerful, catchy and fun. And it gave my lovely Chris his chance to shine, to break the ice, to make that good first impression on the family.

So I’d better get that CD of Sixties hits back from him to return  to Mum’scollection. Before she realises it has even gone. Or that Chris had been learning all the songs as part of his Polly’s Pop Parade homework! 

I suspect he knew most of them already, anyway. He just wanted to do the right thing.

 

Now,  I just hope Mum doesn’t ask Chris if he takes bookings and wants to turn into a Sounds Of the Sixties singer too!

...Because he’s going to be too busy. Serenading me!