The university stayed closed for six weeks. Then, just as suddenly as it had closed, it was opened again. Back my parents took me to my residence. I was pleased to be on campus, of course, but dreaded to think too much about what might have been occurring behind the scenes to students or professors whom the government had thought political threats. We were still living in a police state with censorship in place. Ian Smith was still in power, but sanctions were beginning to bite, although, surreptitiously, certain countries such as South Africa, were managing to limit their effects.
I am not sure of what happened about our courses, and the material we had missed over those many weeks. Maybe the College came to an agreement with the University of London. I just don’t know. We simply carried on where we had left off. Life resumed on the campus with the usual student dances and social activities, though I didn’t always participate in them, mainly due to my constant awareness of the importance of keeping my head down and of studying. I did make friends, though, and even fell in love for a while with a third-year medical student who lived in Zambia. Our relationship didn’t last for very long before he ended it, possibly because I was very puritanical so wasn’t prepared to overstep boundaries which I would have considered wrong at that time. I was, however, asked out on dates by other men, so did go to plays, movies and various social events. It would have been considered unseemly for me to go out for an evening in Salisbury on my own, or even with a group of girlfriends. Females were expected to be accompanied by males.
So, this leaves just one more “memorable event” to note in my recollection of the Swinging Sixties. Our family watched every minute of this historic moment unfold on our small television screen. We were all five of us sitting in our living room, cheering like crazy and hoping against hope. No, it wasn’t man landing on the moon. That was to occur three years later, when I was at university. My special event of 1966 is inconsequential when compared with other historical events of the decade, but in 1966 what was virtually an impossible achievement became a reality: England beat Germany in football (soccer) and won the World Cup!
It is still incredible to me that I remember this game so well, but I do. Maybe this was because it was such a joyful event, or perhaps because it was the only occasion on which I recall my family watching a sporting event of any kind. We were all glued to that tiny screen cheering our hearts out as England beat Germany! I felt as if we had won another war, though this one had been played out on a football field.
The feeling of joy in such a momentous achievement was almost palpable in our family. We talked about it for days. We were over the moon, repeating to ourselves that England had beaten all those other football teams, including the talented Germans! Yes, I know that a football competition cannot be ranked on the same level as the killing of President Kennedy, or the Declaration of Independence. Nevertheless, I still find it impossible to omit winning the World Cup from my memorable events of the Swinging Sixties!
