The power of love!
Clare Gwynne had a blast from the past!
Monday 9th February 2009
Just one look at the familiar handwriting on the envelope, and it was as though I'd suddenly been transported back 17 years.
'It can't be,' I gasped to my mum, Margaret, in disbelief, as I tore the letter open.
I thought back to when I was 18, and had appeared on Gary Davies' Radio 1 show as a contestant on his Day-to-Day Challenge. I'd gone on air every day for a week to answer quiz questions for prizes, and got to pick which songs I wanted played.
After three days on the show, I'd even had some fanmail from a bloke called Paul Gwynne, 20, who lived in Falmouth, Cornwall. I'm really impressed by the songs you've picked, he'd written. I love The Power of Love, by Frankie Goes to Hollywood, too. I'd written back, and we'd soon become penpals. As well as liking the same music, Paul and I were both into motorbikes and were mad on Rugby Union. Soon, we were exchanging four or five letters a week, had swapped photos, and Paul had even written me a poem.
We'd never met up or anything. After all, Falmouth was over 450 miles away from my home in Wallsend, Tyne & Wear. But I loved getting those letters from Paul. He was really on my wavelength. Only, when I'd got together with a lad named James, he wasn't too happy about my friendship with Paul and things had fizzled out. By the time I split with James
a few months later, Paul and I had well and truly lost touch.I'd often wondered about him
over the years.
My job working with horses meant early mornings and early nights, so it didn't leave much time for a social life. Which is why, here I was, still single and living with Mum and my dad, David, as I held Paul's letter in my hand.
'My name is Paul Gwynne and, in the 1980s, I used to have a penfriend called Clare Ryans who lived at this address,' I read out loud. 'My parents have recently moved house themselves and they found a box in their attic full of items belonging to me, including dozens of letters written by Clare. It would be great to hear from her. I expect Clare is now married with a different surname and may have few memories of me, but what the hell, nothing ventured, etc!'
My stomach did an excited flip.
'Oh my goodness,' I gasped.
I was so excited, I actually took the letter with me to the stables and, that night, I sat down to write a reply. Dear Paul, guess who! I'm so pleased you got in touch. Of course I remember you… I'm not married and no kids, but I live in hope!'
Soon, the letters were flying back and forth, just as they had done all those years earlier.
Paul was single, working as a printer and mad on rock music. Our old connection was still there. A week or so later, presents started arriving at my house. A bouquet of flowers one day, a pitcher of Cornish cider another. Then, one night, the phone rang while I was upstairs in my room watching the telly.
'Hello!' a lovely deep voice said.
I knew who it was.
'Paul!' I gasped, before I started nervously babbling away.
We talked for hours and arranged for Paul to meet me in Durham a few weeks later. The next thing I knew, I was standing on the platform at Durham railway station, staring into the most gorgeous grey-blue eyes.
'You must be Paul,' I said.
'Clare,' he grinned, before giving me a big hug.
I was head over heels. And Paul? He never went home. We got on even better in person and he stayed with me, Mum and Dad, until May 2003, when we moved to Cornwall. We'd been there a few weeks when Paul got down on one knee.
'I can't live without you,' he said. 'Will you marry me?'
Needless to say, I said yes, and we married on 30 October 2004 at the North Shields Register Office. As we exchanged our vows, I could hardly believe that finally, I was going to spend the rest of my life with my old radio penpal.
Now, Paul and I are living in Cornwall with our two ferrets, Santa and Snowball, and our cats, Horace and Henrietta. I'm glad we didn't get together when I was 18, because I reckon
we both grew up in the years apart. It's only now we're both ready to share our hearts… and our record collections.