Sharon Coyle was a roly-poly not so little girl.
Big for her age (5), in fact easily the biggest in the class (including boys).
She had a round moon sort of face framed by mousy brown ringlets, and piggy little eyes.
She wasn't pretty. She wasn't clever. She wasn't funny. 
 
I didnt fancy her at all, nor I am certain, she me.
But for some reason, for the first year or so of my school days we became pretty much inseperable friends.
 
During class we had to sit apart, but each break and lunch time we would quickly seek each other out, and then head over to our corner of the playground.

As I recall we didnt do very much once we got there, other than stand & watch the other kids running around playing. We were just comfortably 'hanging out'. The biggest girl in the lower infants with one of the smallest boys. I guess we made an 'interesting pair'.
 
A pyschoanalyst could probably read all sorts of freudian stuff into it;
 
'Clearly Myles you were an insecure child in what you perceived to be an unfamiliar hostile environment/situation seeking maternal security in the form of a chubby girl who could offer you some form of care and protection..' or such like.
 
I have no idea, but I dont think that was it at all. We just kind of liked one another, and in the hulaballoo of the playground I think the fact that neither of us felt compelled to join in us gave us some sort of solidarity. And of course neither of us had any idea that there was anything 'wrong' with our relationship.
 
But one day that all changed.
The Dinner Ladies had had enough.
 
Miss Whitfield, was a scrawny spinster bat of a woman with owl glasses and a hairnet. She had long pointy jabby fingers, which she used for just that. She would jab you into line. Her sidekick was Mrs Pemberton, who was as wide as her partner was tall, but basically nice. I suppose they were a kind of good cop/bad cop combination as dinner lady partnerships go.
 
So Sharon Coyle and I, were sitting in our usual corner doing our usual watching everyone else run about stuff. 
The next thing Miss Whitfield was quite literally in my face. And jabbing me;
 
'Why are you two always sat here?'
You should be playing with the boys'
 
Then she turned to Sharon, and jabbed her.
'And you should go and play with the girls..' 
 
We looked at each other, and then up at Miss Whitfield. Who looked back at both of us for a few more seconds.
before jabbing me again. "Go on! Off you go!"
 
I stood up. 
 
Mrs Pemberton was hovering behind Miss Whitfield, and gave me a sort of half encouraging smile.
 
"The boys are playing football"
 
 
 
 

So I went and played football with the boys. 

Reluctantly at first. Running around aimlessly and kicking the ball anywhere and to everyone, much to the disgust of team captains 'Sooty', and 'Doddy' Soon though I realised the strategically placed piles of school bags at opposite end of the playground were these things called goals, between which you had to kick the ball, & so I 'upped' my game. 
 
But although I threw myself into tackles, with gusto, I hadn't quite understood the concept of opposing teams. And so my first on target shot was a rather spectacular 'own' goal. This time Sooty's disgust manifested itself as a punch. I punched him back, and a fight ensued. Two 5 year olds going at it hammer and tongs before the Dinner Ladies stepped in to separate us. At that point I suppose they may have wished they hadn't intervened in the battle of the sexes, and left Sharon Coyle and I to continue enjoying our comfortable companionship!
 
But I think we may well have gone our separate ways soon anyway. Shortly after that fight, Jennifer Delaney joined the school, lit up my little life, and then broke my heart in a way I couldn't ever have imagined.
 
From the start she was different. Pretty, yes certainly; A bob of straight light brown hair set in two symmetrical pony tails.
Clear green eyes, freckled face, and a very cute snub nose. But she wasnt as pretty or cute as say Kerry Macdonald (of whom more later probably).
No, what really set Jennifer Delaney apart from all other girls was her voice. She had the sweetest lightest lilting Scottish accent, which I swear the first time I heard it made my ears feel tingly inside.
 
I would ask her questions just to hear her speak.
 
Pretty soon I found out where she lived and was biking round to her house after school, just so I could hear her speak some more.
Ironically I was joined in this pursuit by 'Sooty'. But our rivalry for her attentions actually meant the fights of the football field were soon forgotten and we became friends. Actually I think she may have liked him more than me. He was a good looking little lad, sort of a mini version of Roger Daltry (lead singer with The Who) with a tousled mane of blonde hair, and sharp, dancing blue eyes. God only knows where he got his nickname from. He was as far from being Sooty as salt is from pepper. He was also as I mentioned earlier 'captain' of the football team, a fearless fighter, and seemingly popular, (although Im not sure in hindsight that this popularity wasn't somewhat enforced with his fists!) Anyway it seemed he was popular with Jennifer Delaney so I no harm in hitching a ride so to speak.
 
Actually neither of us were really that brave or fearless now that I think about it. Jennifer lived with her mum, dad and 2 younger sisters in the end house of cul-de-sac on a newish housing estate about a mile from mine. I found her house fairly easily because I recognised the beautiful brown Ford Cortina Mk 2 parked on the drive outside as being the same one I had seen them arriving/leaving in at  St John's church on Sundays. The first time I went round her dad was outside waxing & polishing it whilst smoking a cigarette which he never removed from his lips. He was quite a scary looking man. Thin with gaunt features. He eyed me suspiciously for a second or two, before carrying on buffing the bonnet. I just pretended I wanted to ride my bike around the turning circle of the cul de sac. I couldnt see Jennifer, I guess maybe she was playing in the back garden with her sisters. After a while her dad finished polishing, and turned to go inside. As he opened the front door I thought I heard a wisp of that lilting laugh, and I nearly off my bike trying to see beyond him and into the house. He turned and looked at me in the way that Clint Eastwood looks at the baddies in his films, the image completed with the cigarette in the corner of his mouth. He didnt say a word, although the message was quite clearly 'Go and ride yourself dizzy someplace else and Don't even think about touching my car buster.' 
 
So no way was I going to knock on the door.

I cycled around the cul de sac three more times ( Her dad was right I was starting to feel a bit dizzy) and went home.