'I was reunited with my teenage sweetheart after 50 years - and fell in love with him again'
‘Are you the same Pen that I knew in ’68?’ I was absolutely stunned as I read the email, and could feel my heart thumping in my chest. It had been more than four decades since I’d seen my first love, Joss, but memories of him were still fresh in my mind: escaping my boarding school for weekends together, love poems pinned to my dorm room door, and the heartbreak when we’d finally called it a day after five years of trying to make it work. Even though I’d been married twice in the intervening years, I had kept love letters from Joss – I couldn’t part with them.
I was 16 when we met, studying for my French A level in Switzerland. Joss was hitch-hiking around Europe with an Oxford University drama group, and I was instantly smitten with this rather dashing 19-year-old. He gave me my first kiss – the memory of it still makes me wobbly at the knees.
Back in the UK, Joss sent a postcard saying, ‘When are you coming to see me?’ I began visiting him in Oxford, and he would drop me back to my all-girls boarding school in Wales in his old London taxi – much to the housemistress’s disapproval. Joss took me to museums and for nights at the theatre, which all seemed terribly glamorous. He was my first love and I was besotted.
In 1970, I was accepted at Oxford to read English. By this point, Joss had already graduated and moved to London, but he was still back and forth a lot. He came to my 21st birthday, but soon after the distance opened up between us. I adored him but I was tired of the way he flitted in and out of my life and decided to move on.
I married at 29 and went on to have three children. Joss and I kept in touch with the occasional letter, and I learnt that he too had married and had two children. But at some point, we drifted out of contact.
After my marriage fell apart in 1997, I thought I’d be on my own for the rest of my life. But I did meet someone else and remarried in 2003. Sadly, I lost him to heart failure seven years ago. It was a difficult period but after some time I settled into widowhood, juggling my job teaching dyslexic children with studying for a master’s and looking after my grandchildren.
A few years ago, I became close friends with a neighbour who has Parkinson’s. I began going along to events run by Parkinson’s UK and became secretary of their Oxford branch. Unbeknown to me, Joss had also been diagnosed with Parkinson’s, and last year he came across my name on the Parkinson’s UK site. In February 2019, I received that email from him. The following day we spoke on the phone for the first time – it was as if no time had passed. ‘I kept all your letters, too,’ he told me.
Three days later, Joss was in Oxford for a physics seminar and asked if he could call on me afterwards. Of course I said yes. Also widowed, he was still the man I remembered – full of charm. As it happened, I had tickets for a Monteverdi concert that night. So we spent the afternoon and evening together, and it felt wonderfully natural.
Over the next few months, we spoke regularly and met up for exhibitions, concerts and suppers out. It was a magical time. Meeting my children was effortless, and he turned out to be very good with the grandchildren.
When Covid-19 struck, I moved in with him so we could be together through lockdown. Despite all the frightening things happening in the world, it has been like our honeymoon. We’re deliriously happy, but naturally I’m wary of what the future might hold, as Parkinson’s is a progressive disease. Currently, the only symptoms he has are a tremor and fatigue, but I remind him to do his exercises and he sees a neurologist regularly.
Last month, Joss brought me a glass of champagne one morning and asked me to marry him. I’m thrilled we will get to spend the rest of our lives together. Of course, it’s tinged with sadness, as we wouldn’t be together now if we hadn’t both lost loved ones, but I’m so glad we’ve found new happiness together.
Support for anyone affected by Parkinson’s is available at parkinsons.org.uk or via the free, confidential helpline on 0800 800 0303
As told to Rosie Hopegood
