An era of romance and mivvis

East Fife Mail, June 3, 1992

I promised myself in my younger days that I would never use two particular phrases. The first was “In my day”. This surfaces in such usage as: “In my day 50p was 10 shillings and that could buy you a brand new Hillman Imp, a house in Lundin Links, a pair of sensible shoes with animal tracks on the sole and a compass in the heel, 14 trillion gobstoppers AND a weekend break in Rothesay, AND you would still have enough in your pocket for the rest of the week.”

The other phrase which I vowed to censor was “You used to”, as in “You used to be able to take 10 shillings, buy a brand new Hillman Imp ...”

Needless to say both these well-intentioned resolutions fell by the wayside as did the vow never to nod my head in one of those infuriating parental “I told you so” ways, which always make you look like one of these toy dogs which in my day, you used to get peering out of the rear windscreen of brand new Hillman Imps ...

However, I must concede that things were better in my day. Now that summer is here, the birds, bees and hormones are in full flow and romance is in the air. What are the options now for dating, a rave, the disco?

Now, in my day, a date really was a date. It was that era of classic romanticism wedged between `courting' and `pulling'. An era which gave such glorious terminology to colour the feelings of the heart: “Are you winchin'?”, “Didjeget yersel' fixed last nicht?”, and, of course, “Jings, yerjokin', she's naw really gangin' oot wi' him, isshe?”

A date, if you were lucky enough to be “gangin' oot wi' a bird”, usually entailed meeting her off the bus and heading straight for the chummy seats at the back of the Troxy or Regent.

Midway through the opening feature - you used to get double value at the flicks in my day! - you could put on an affected yawn, stretch out that arm then plonk it down on the lass' unsuspecting shoulder.

If, after a few seconds, she didn't wrestle away from you then you were on the point of declaring all-out winching. The next stage in the ritual came after the `B' picture when you removed your numb arm as the lights went up and the ice cream lady came round. With dry throat and parched lips, you would gaze longingly into her misty eyes and gently whisper: “Whatje fancy? A Zoom, Stingray or a Fab 208.”

Then you could unleash a wave of tenderness which would make a girl swoon with delight, a phrase which showed you to be caring and generous (due to the cost this suggestion might incur): “Or d'ye want a mivvi?”.

From there you and your `winch' could head in one of two directions. True love could blossom and I wonder how many souls think back to those days of innocence. A wintry Levenmouth night, a roaring fire and the damper in, Radio Luxembourg crackling away on the tranny, you reeking of Old Spice and she of Aqua Manda. That tender moment when she would gaze longingly into your eye and utter these three words you longed to hear “Get tore in”.

Of course, more often than not, that first date at the pictures was also the last or, at best, the first of a short series, culminating in “I dinnae fancy you onymare”, Ah'm finishin' wi' you” or the fist in the velvet glove, “I dinnae want to get serious, y'ken”. It was all part of growing up and things only became more complicated as you became more adult, were introduced to alcohol and ended up heading for the Raith at the weekend.

If I had to choose my perfect evening , it would have to be Leven Prom in the summer, a game of putting, an ice drink in the coolness of Doriano's hut and a walk down on the sand by the edge of water where laughter and trust came as easily as the promises, only for time quickly to carry them all away with the tide.