The Tale of the Silver Ring

There are many rings in my jewellery box and each has a story. My rings are sentimental it seems. Or rather, I am sentimental about my rings.


One belonged first to my grandmother as her engagement ring, then to my mum and finally to me, as my engagement ring too.

One was found on a walk, it is kept as a reminder of how random treasure turns up in unexpected places.

Two were gifts from my mum – wonderful expressions of who she thinks I am (she is right you know!)

One is a treasure found in Portobello market – a 1930’s marvel of romance.


There is one which is battered and tarnished.


A wee silver heart built into its band. The heart is inscribed – W C.

Yes – you can laugh – I did.

This wee heart – it is the memory of my first real love.


I recognised him instantly.

Previously I had been curious about him. A friend of my best friend’s boyfriend, discussed in passing, I was sure I would like him when eventually I met him.

Then one evening he walked past, jumped up, slapping a rafter as he did, and in that instance I knew him and was simultaneously smitten with the silliest school girl crush EVER.


I plotted and schemed.

My friend and I hatched plan after plan to bring us together in a way that was not completely obvious and therefore hideously embarrassing.

Those plans were never to be – I was going to ask him to teach me the guitar, then my guitar was stolen. Her boyfriend would bring him around and I’d conveniently be there, but then another friend would come instead… and so on.

All the while, when we were in public situations I would avoid him like the plague, no doubt blushing furiously if/ when he spoke to me.


Then one night, a movie night at another friend’s house, somehow we were sitting together. I was probably going blue from holding my breath with nerves.

At some point he simply reached over and took my hand.

That was it – we were a couple.


I already knew, from hanging out with him that he was a good man, but being his girlfriend taught me just how much.

I was welcomed into his family, made to feel much loved.

He listened to me and truly took care to show that he cared.


That ring was the first birthday present I received from him.


All too soon he was away to another country to study chiropractic at university.

The distance and the fickleness of youth did their thing, whispering that really it should no longer be, and we broke up deciding that it was for the best.

You know… considering…


I will never forget that love, with its passion and its care. It had its ups and downs of course and its fair share of humdingers, but always I knew that I loved him and that he loved me.


The purpose of this story tonight however, is not a chug chug down memory lane to reminisce about lost love, but to remind me that I did once have that love that I search for now.

You know – the one with passion, care and the secure knowledge that this is one I can and want to give my heart to 100%.


If I have had it once already then there is no good reason why I shan’t have it again, and that I am not so foolish after all, for looking for it.

One Response

  1. Never ever stop believing! 🙂 magic can happen at any time! Trust me! I know!!!

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