We Pledge Ourselves The year 1959 was to prove an important one in our story. The family were all coping well, and our routine was running smoothly. I was happy with my life, and enjoyed being able to contribute to the domestic scene in little ways which were useful when mum was ill. Baby Gerard was now three, and I delighted in entertaining him for a large part of my day by singing to him or reading stories. My parents now felt ready for another holiday, and planned to have a couple of weeks at the coast. They seemed happy for me to make arrangements to go into hospital again, knowing that Sheila and I were still good company for each other, and feeling that perhaps Jack did not hold the same attraction for me now! I found many alterations at the hospital, and not all of them were structural. Sheila and I were on a big ward with the old ladies, whilst Jack and his pals were on the floor above us. However, we were all allowed to watch television together in the evenings. It was certainly not the pleasant situation we had all enjoyed before. But it was to prove to be the renewal of all those past wonderful feelings. Jack and I had a mutual interest in the game of chess. Insisting that we could not possibly concentrate on playing in the television room, he cleverly contrived to have us put in a smaller room which was otherwise vacated for the evening. There we set up our chess board, thankful to be alone and quiet. We spent several evenings in this way. We played a lot of chess, and did a great deal more talking. I am pleased to say that not all the moves were made on the chess board. Jack began to re-open what I had assumed was a closed door. He admitted to feeling the same about me, despite all his attempts to change things between us. "I know you haven't changed , so can we start again?" he asked. "Lets take what we have, and let the future take care of itself." I was now much more aware, and even slightly sceptical. I wondered just where this new gambit would lead us. I wanted to be persuaded, yet doubted whether I could be. So many mixed feelings tormented me. Sitting either side of our table, we could not even touch one another to be reassured. I made no definite promises, but those two weeks left me with much to think about. The stalemate position no longer existed for me. In our hearts, we were quietly happy. We had decided independently that we were meant for each other, but were still too wary to disclose our feelings fully. Our letters increased. The pen became the instrument of expressing our love. It mattered not how limited we were now. We would gratefully accept what we had, and without question. One person who was sympathetic to our cause was Trevor. He occasionally visited me, and would tell me of his own plans. His girlfriend, Freda, was also disabled. She lived forty miles from Norwich, and therefore Trevor could only get to see her fortnightly. When he knew about Jack, he offered to take me to see him, fully realising our problems. With no transport of our own, complicated arrangements included catching two buses, and another half-mile walk at the other end of the journey. Trevor had to lift me onto the bus, and then fold my portable wheelchair to carry that on as well. For a faster change- over, it was sometimes possible to perch me on a convenient wall nearby, and to have my chair folded in readiness when the bus arrived! Trevor's unselfish attitude over these fortnightly visits always impressed us. He would leave us sitting together, supposedly watching television, in the day-room, which was otherwise deserted by late afternoon, whilst he diplomatically disappeared to the floor below to sit and talk with Sheila! Jack and I enjoyed these meetings, which became our most important times together. We got as close to each other as our wheelchairs permitted, with no fear of prying eyes. We would sit with our heads together, and talk about what we would do if circumstances were different. Not that we were ever unhappy at the apparent hopelessness of our situation. The mutual warmth and strength of our companionship was a gift which many did not possess, and it could never be overshadowed in any way. It was wonderful enough in itself to have someone to share with, someone to confide in – someone to love. About this time, there was talk of a new purpose-built home for younger disabled people. In fact, it had been rumoured for about ten years, but now a site was secured near the city centre and building was well under way. On three occasions, Alec took Jack to see the work in progress. "I don't know if I'll be able to qualify," Jack told me. "I've heard that one must be able to work, and we've got to have an IQ test or something. Doubt whether I'll be one of the chosen few." He added in a more serious note. But fortunately for us, Jack was selected for the new home.