Introducing my darling Mr PB: a love story Part 1

Hello, lovelies (and a special hi to those who have just joined us on Planet Baby), now that you’ve met Sam, India and Joshua, it’s about time I introduced you to my darling husband, Mr PB. Want to hear how we met? I thought you might! Well, settle in, pull up your chair, go get a cuppa if you’d like, and let’s go. We both commenced studying at the University of Tasmania back in January 1990. Different degrees, different faculties. But Hobart being the small place it is, I started my Arts degree with his twin sister. So I knew vaguely about him.

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He started going out with an old friend of mine but I didn’t meet him until one cold winter night in August 1990. I had invited the two of them to my 20th birthday party at a Greek restaurant (the old Aegean for those Hobart locals). They appeared, I kissed my friend and greeted her. I then turned to Mr PB and was struck dumb. To my utter surprise (and extreme embarrassment), I then found myself thrusting out my hand to shake his and (cringe!) announcing my surname! Yes, my surname! Oh, I nearly died. I immediately blushed bright scarlet. Why had I done that? Well, I had just spent a year living in Germany and that’s how Germans introduce themselves to strangers! Why, oh, why, had I done that, of all things? The embarrassment! So un-Australian and so very formal. To his great credit, he calmly shook my hand and kissed me on the cheek just as I was able to stammer out my first name! He smiled. I looked into his eyes. That was it. Love at first sight.

Yes. It really was. Kaboom! My heart was racing. My palms were clammy. I was smitten. The whole Cupid's arrow thing. It really does happen.

But he was going out with my friend, so that was the end of it. I wasn’t going to interfere (I found out later that he had felt the same thing but didn’t know what to do about it). The party proceeded as planned. I didn’t tell a soul. They were a very tight couple for a few years. I, meanwhile, was single all the way through. Not in the ‘pining-for-Mr-PB’ style, just in the ‘not-able-to-find-anyone’ style. I had a large circle of friends, most of whom were partnered, and the two of them were often present. Mr PB and I became firm but platonic friends.

And then in the summer of 1993, they broke up, quite abruptly, taking people by surprise. I had spent Christmas 1992 in Germany with my host family from my exchange year in 1989 (which I mentioned here) and when I returned just before uni started in January 1993, had no idea what had happened. I found out a couple of weeks later, once uni started. It was all a bit awkward as his ex was studying with me and we had lots of mutual friends. You know what that’s like, when friends have to decide how they’re going to handle their relationships with each of the former couple. Mr PB stayed away from the Law School for a while and busied himself in his studies on another part of the campus.

Anyway, fast forward to 7 April 1993 and we were celebrating the start of the Easter holidays at the Law School with a ‘barrel’ (I think that used to refer to the barrel of beer which would be consumed by the thirsty students but now, in these days of canned beer, the old term had stuck to describe a regular faculty gathering over alcoholic drinks). I was there with my sister and some friends. Mr PB appeared with a mutual male friend. I told Mr PB I still considered him my friend despite their breakup. He was really touched. What occurred over the ensuing few hours will remain forever shrouded in mystery. However, put it this way, by the end of the evening, we were together. An item. A couple. I couldn’t believe my luck. Neither could he.

Pure happiness

And then the next day, he flew interstate for Easter. It was all like a dream. Had it really happened? I wasn’t sure what was going on. Then he returned a few days later and we took my dog, Robbie, for a very long walk. And talked. And talked. And talked. If only Robbie could speak, he would have had a pretty tale to tell! By the end of the walk, any concerns either of us had harboured were gone. It was real. We were together.

News travelled pretty quickly in little Hobart Town. Our friends were delighted. His ex and I coped with the change in our circumstances. I was euphoric. My family was fascinated. You see, I’d never had a serious boyfriend before that. There had been crushes and friendships which petered out but that was it. Nada. And now, it was the real deal. Within a few months, we were dreamily writing down a list of children’s names. Many months passed. We were inseparable. Then in September 1994, Mr PB applied for a Rotary Ambassadorial Scholarship to study in the UK for a year for a Masters degree. I encouraged him, thinking it would be a fabulous opportunity. He won it. He was ecstatic. I was delighted for him. Then the reality dawned. We would be apart. For a whole year. I wept. Privately.

The planning and packing commenced apace. Soon, all too soon, we were sharing our last meal together. We wept inconsolably in the taxi home, holding hands. The next morning, I drove him to the airport and waved away the love of my life. I attended a Law School cocktail party that night where our friends consoled me. How would I cope? Don’t forget that then, the internet was in its infancy (it’s quite unbelievable now, isn’t it?). No one had a mobile phone. So no SMS. No quick calls on the move - you had to sit down at a telephone plugged into the wall. Overseas telephone calls were expensive – about $20 an hour. People used to write letters with stamps, the old-fashioned way. And then wait a week for them to arrive at their destination. And then a week or two for a reply. It sounds positively quaint now! We helped keep Australia Post in business.

I busied myself in the final tiring and stressful months of completing my law degree. I spent countless hours at the computer laboratory (we didn’t have a PC at home as they were so rare and expensive) around midnight, sitting there tapping out e-mails to Mr PB on a good old Macintosh Classic – remember them?! And to think it was state of the art back then!

We would arrange it with the time difference so that he would be there e-mailing me that morning his time and we would attempt to have a ‘real-time’ e-mail conversation. Unfortunately, the web being in its infancy (we had the WebCrawler search engine - imagine a world without Google!), the satellite connections were patchy and often dropped out. That meant e-mails didn’t appear in response and I suspected he had slept in while at the same time, he thought I hadn’t bothered to turn up. Only the next day when the e-mails finally flooded in did we realise what had happened! I do wish I could print out those e-mails now – they’re on an old disk which I’m sure is quite incompatible with any retrieval method. Sigh.

We wrote to each other every week, without fail. They were letters of longing, of yearning and of missing. I treasure those handwritten missives I received from him, now safely bundled up together. My letters to him are somewhere, probably in the shed – we should reunite them and read them together for a giggle! I worked my part-time jobs and saved prodigiously. The result? Let's just say it involved a breathless reunion at Heathrow Airport in December 1994. And that, my friends, is the next instalment!

* Rewound at Weekend Rewind at Life in a Pink Fibro on 26 February 2011.