Allison Woods, 66, shares her true life story:
Shrouded in the darkness of my parents’ verandah, my boyfriend, Paul, pulled me close.
I stood up on tippy toes to kiss him, then giggled.
“Shhhh!” he said, grinning. “Your parents will hear.”
I quietly whispered goodnight and snuck in through the front door.
Mum and Dad were waiting for me in the living room with disapproving stares.
“He’s too old for you,” Dad said. “You’re not to go off with him in his Holden anymore.”
I nodded sheepishly and hurried off to my bedroom.
I’d met Paul, 18, six months earlier.
He was a mate of my brother, Lindsay’s and they were doing their apprenticeships together.
I was only 15, but I fell for him instantly.
He was over six-foot tall and was very manly looking, but he had the kindest of smiles.
After six blissful months of sneaking round with him, I invited him over for dinner with my parents.
Dad ushered the poor bloke into the kitchen and grilled him about his intentions.
Afterwards, Dad forbade me from seeing him.
I was too timid to disobey, so we split up.
Me at 15.
For weeks, I cried myself to sleep, convinced Paul would forever be the one that got away.
I kept myself busy with a secretarial course and, years later, fell in love again with a man named Laurie.
We married and had two kids, Bronwyn and… Paul!
I didn’t dare admit it to Laurie, but once my son was old enough I told him where his name came from.
“As a teenager I loved two men named Paul,” I whispered. “One was in The Beatles, the other was my first serious boyfriend.”
He found it hilarious.
My uncle knew Paul through the fishing club in Camden and stayed in touch with him over the years.
I often asked them how he was doing.
“He’s married and has two kids, like you,” he said.
Part of me was still sad, but at least Paul was happy.
I couldn’t say the same for my own marriage.
After 10 years together Laurie and I divorced.
I stayed single for a few years, focusing on my kids, before I met another man, Dick.
He was short, but what he lacked in stature, he made up for in personality.
He was truly larger than life!
We got married and stayed together for 35 wonderful years before he went in for a routine operation to remove stones in his bile duct.
After complications and an infection he died suddenly.
Paul in the 70’s.
I was in shock, but before I’d even had a chance to recover, I lost my son, Paul, to brain cancer.
Deep in mourning, I kept myself busy by volunteering for Meals on Wheels and holding weekly bake sales for the Red Cross.
One afternoon I was having tea with my uncle and casually asked after my long-lost ex.
“Poor bloke’s split with his wife,” he answered.
Then he offered to invite us both over for dinner.
Shocked, I shook my head quickly.
I’d not long lost Dick and, anyway, Paul wouldn’t be interested.
He’d probably forgotten all about his mate’s silly young sister.
A year later, a family friend passed away and I attended the funeral.
I was sitting on a lounge during the wake when a man with thinning white hair walked by and smiled.
I smiled back so as not to be rude.
“You don’t remember me, do you?” he asked with a familiar twinkle in his eye.
I shook my head.
“I’m Paul Woods.”
My mouth dropped open in shock and I jumped up and wrapped my arms around him.
I was so flustered I even gave him a big kiss on the lips.
It was mortifying but he didn’t seem to mind.
He had such a kind smile.
He’d put on a few kilos over the years and lost some hair on top, but his smile was just as kind.
“What have you been up to for the past 50 years?” I asked, inviting him to sit with me.
Just like that, we fell back into our effortless conversations.
It was as if we’d never been apart. We exchanged numbers and I felt like a giddy teenager again
One night we stayed up till morning, sending text messages back and forth.
The next time I saw him, he looked at me gravely.
“I don’t want to lose you again,” he confessed.
We kissed and then he moved in.
At 66, I was far too old for my parents to disapprove, but I still wanted them to be happy for us.
When I told them, Dad chuckled.
“I knew he wouldn’t stay away forever,” he said.
A month later, Paul and I attended Mum and Dad’s 70th wedding anniversary.
After the speeches Paul pulled me up on stage.
“I’m supposed to get down on one knee but I can’t do that anymore,” he joked. “I need you in my life, Allison. Will you marry me?”
Our wedding day was perfect.
Heart racing with joy, I barely let him finish his question before I shouted, “Yes!”
“Paul asked for my permission a week ago,” Dad confessed. “I told him you should get married tonight.”
I was thrilled to have their blessings.”You’re perfect together,” he said, pulling me in for a hug. “Just don’t go hooning in any Holdens!”
Five months later Dad, 93, walked me down the aisle.
Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes as he gave me away.
Then my groom squeezed my hands.
“After a lifetime apart, we’ve finally found each other,” he said, smiling, as the celebrant made me the happiest woman in the world.
Dad walked me down the isle.
Now Paul and I have bought a caravan and we’re going to drive off into the sunset together.
We lost 50 years, but I’ll make sure we don’t miss another minute.
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