Speaking with friends the other day we found we all had the same problem with remembering where places lie in relation to one another. To what extent this is because of age,or in my case no longer driving, or memory, we have no way of knowing. But one thing is for sure - and I would be interested to know whether this applies to you too - sitting in my armchair I can recall almost any village in my home county of Lincolnshire. But ask me how to get from here to Northallerton 'in my head' and I would struggle. Put me behind the wheel of a car and I could obviously drive there but just doing the journey mentally is a different kettle of fish for me. How about you? Try it for me please.
In my teens (late forties, early fifties) really the only places for 'dates' was walks, swimming in the river (the Witham) in Summer, the pictures (cinema) or Saturday night dances - the Co-op Hall (posh and preferred by our parents) or the Drill Hall. The village Rector also ran Tuesday hops in the village hall but frankly most of us girls found the village boys a bit tame and wanted to go out into the big wide world(although in the end many of the village girls married village boys).
The method of travel into Lincoln was of course by bus - no boys had cars. And for bus read 'Lincolnshire Road Car'. They had green matching buses with gold lettering on the side and the buses lived in a garage on the High Street by the level crossing (wonder if it is still there?) As time for your bus drew near the bus would glide into place and you were expected to queue behind the rail. The Inspector in full, important uniform complete with peaked cap would step forward and announce the destination. I can hear him now as though it was yesterday:"Standing now is the 10.15 bus to Sleaford calling at Washingborough*, Heighington, Branston, Potterhanworth, Nocton, Dunston, Metheringham, Blankney, Skopwick, Digby, Dorrington, Ruskington, Sleaford I can still take you there and I haven't lived there for sixty years. But ask me to name the villages from here to Northallerton - sorry, can't do it. *my village
The last bus to Washingborough was that 10.15pm one. Miss that and it was walk the three miles home (judged by my parents as holding far too much temptation with a boy friend in the dark at that time) or go in and get the money for the taxi from my father when the taxi arrived at your door. That would often be docked from pocket money. The alternative - practised by us all - was to see the last quarter of an hour of every film before the rest - did rather spoil the story.
Memories are to a large extent flawed aren't they? Give any one event and every one who has been at it will give you a slightly different version of what went on - even the day after it happened, let alone fifty years after. I would love to know some of your earliest memories.