August 6, 1962
Bangor Rest Day
It wasn’t much of a rest, but we did ease our cycling muscles by walking to the Menai Bridge and crossing over to Anglesey [Ynys Mon] taking in the view of Thomas Telford’s famous railway bridge. That’s the same Telford as in Shropshire by the way. On the Anglesey side, is the village with the longest name in Britain, Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantisiliogogogoch. I bought a platform ticket from the railway station. I later applied myself to learning its correct pronunciation. [I can’t sing or dance] I can still say it. The name was a 19th publicity stunt, which stuck.
During the walk back we both began to wish we’d chosen a more relaxing activity for the day, but as I remember, Bangor didn’t offer much in the way of excitement for the young teen. In our dormitory, as well as the boisterous Geordie lads, were two boys from Northampton, not at all skilled in shipyard banter, who, grammar school boys like us, were of a quieter disposition, less obviously obsessed with sex, booze and rock and roll. As for sex, that night, after hours, the boldest of the Geordie boys, went out of the dormitory and was back in a matter of minutes, claiming he had had sex with one of the girls out in the corridor. If he did, he did it mightily quickly, [always possible at that age]. “Mrs Warden's coming.” he said, once back by his bed, as he unrolled a recently filled condom. [“Me drops, me drops.”] I suspect these were more likely a result of self-stimulation, than tender embrace.
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