The other day, while I was wasting time on Facebook, I decided to see if I could find any of my old University classmates. I plugged in the name of my University and the year I started there and came up with about one hundred and fifty names. I knew only one of them and my acquaintance with him was very brief. But seeing him again brought back some good memories.
I met him at a camp for a Christian group I’d joined. I’m not sure why he was there, because I’d never seen him at any of the meetings and I never saw him at any afterwards, but he seemed to be fairly keen on a pretty little redhead, so I guess she was the attraction. What I do know about him, though, was that he played classical guitar and the moment I heard him play, I fell in love ( – with the guitar folks, with the guitar. What chance did I have against a pretty little redhead anyway?)
The thing is, though, that he was the one who showed me how to play classical guitar. He must have spent a whole hour, that Saturday afternoon, showing me how to hold it properly, how to do the fingering and explaining what the strange letters on classical guitar music meant. My one and only guitar lesson, completely free, from a charming Englishman with the bluest, blue eyes you ever saw.
I wouldn’t have recognised him from his photo. His blond hair (what’s left of it) is now snow white and he has a beard, which he didn’t have before, and rather more wrinkles than in those days. But those gorgeous, blue eyes are still the same.
I wonder if he ever got anywhere with the pretty little redhead?