Geoffrey Hayes: Commerce student 1960 -1962, Currently volunteer Presenter / Programmer for 3MBS (http://www.3mbs.org.au/):
In Katherine Smith's article (Voice, v.5 (2) 11th May, 2009) she encouraged former users of the Library to upload their memories of romance within that institution. This response may be of no interest to anybody else but the process of recording it provides some therapeutic consolation.
Ms Smith accidentally pressed a sensitive button belonging to this ageing bachelor who used the Baillieu Library as a full-time Commerce student from 1960 to 1962. In March 1960 I was a timid and unsophisticated eighteen year old fresher, having completing a well rounded secondary education at a leading boys' school. My two oldest sisters were already second year Arts students at The University of Melbourne and sometimes we travelled to the campus at Parkville together.
One day during the autumn of 1960 I entered the Baillieu Library foyer and deposited my surplus baggage with staff in charge of the cloak room. I walked through to the reading rooms and seated myself at a vacant desk with a shiny new cream coloured laminex top. Several moments later the student next to me was gently approached by a friend from behind. I turned around and saw a petite black-haired lass about my age with large brown eyes and a pair of cute dimples on either side of her shapely lips. I thought she looked rather special. Another day as I approached the Library I saw her a second time from behind and noticed that her hair was tied back neatly in a bun. By the time I had seen her on the third occasion I was absolutely smitten.
Rich coloured clothes suited her, such as a dark green or bright blue top with a black skirt or slacks. She was always modestly well groomed with a quiet and dignified bearing. Usually I saw her in the Baillieu Library or nearby. I never stalked her, but we must have passed by each other at least once a week for three academic years. Each time I walked past her I tried to appear nonchalant but my heart never failed to soar. I was her unintentional captive. One day I was impressed when she was engaged at length in a warm conversation with an obviously disabled student. Another time I heard someone call her Yvonne. Let me continue to give her that name. One bright spring afternoon when I was in the Library struggling to master the dry concepts of cost-accounting I noticed a daisy-chain was dangling all the way from a rail above the next level right down to the floor on my own level. Yvonne was seated at a table a few seats away from the impromptu decoration. I thought how romantic it would have been to remove a small portion and offer to tie it gently around her neck. I failed to make much progress with cost accounting after that. To me the season was always springtime when she appeared.
My mother used to tell me it was improper to talk to a stranger before an introduction. In those days the nice young ladies I met at square dancing each Friday evening did not otherwise interest me. Instead I tried to imagine how I could negotiate an introduction with this gorgeous young woman. Maybe my sisters could befriend her through shared tutorials or lectures and then introduce her to me. My forlorn hope was compounded by a perception that raising the subject of my romantic aspirations with them was taboo.
One day when I was returning a book to a trolley Yvonne arrived there simultaneously. So I bit the bullet and tried to offer her a greeting. As I blushed profusely I mumbled something about a nice day but my voice disengaged. She smiled sweetly. If I had been measured at that moment by an ecstasy meter the needle would have shot off the scale. But the encounter was transitory. Months later I was eating lunch alone while seated on the lawn near the Library. She arrived to sit nearby. My great regret since that moment is that I had failed to take advantage of that ideal opportunity to introduce myself a second time. One evening after study I was waiting to catch a tram home. She was the only other person at the sheltered tram stop. In the dim light where there were no other people around I kept my distance for fear of alarming her.
During my third year when I was a resident at Ormond College thoughts of her at night continued to cause insomnia. So I tried a remedy one evening before retiring. I ran forty laps wide of the boundary line around the main oval. The experiment was a total failure. Shortly before my final exams Yvonne almost walked into me from another direction in Union House. I asked her awkwardly whether she would be willing to share a coffee with me in the cafeteria. She said that she didn't even know me and walked off.
A few years ago I attended a dinner party. To amuse us our host asked each guest to nominate a person past or present whom they would most like to meet. Others nominated heroes, royalty, film stars, politicians, leading churchmen, and so forth. I nominated Yvonne.
After an absence of forty five years I had an appointment inside the Baillieu Library. The surroundings looked similar in some respects but more buildings had replaced open spaces. The adjacent lawn had shrunk and its embankment was steeper. The Library had been extended northwards. In the foyer the cloak room had disappeared. The entrance to the reading-rooms contained new security booms. There were more partitions between shelves and staircases, but the staircases look similar. Memories of the former object of my desire flooded back. I felt a bit creepy before settling down to concentrate during my appointment.
I sometimes wonder what has become of Yvonne. Why have I never seen her since 1963? Did she move to live far away or come to grief? Has she enjoyed a successful career? Is she a doting grandmother? Has the passage of time lined her fresh face or turned her hair grey? Would I recognize her now? I hope she remains beautiful, and is happy, healthy and fulfilled.
Why have written this down? Why did Shakespeare write sonnets or Sibelius compose Rakastava?