Boxing Day 1975

by Drew Payne

© Drew Payne 2009

We were all gathered around the TV that evening, as we always did on Boxing Day, to watch the holiday film. Mum sat with her knitting in her armchair, Dad with his unread newspaper across his lap in his armchair, my older brother Gary slouched at one end of the sofa and me at the other end. That year the film was One Million Years B.C., the nineteen-sixties dinosaur fantasy with Raquel Welch in a fur bikini. Even to my seven-year-old eyes the film was rubbish, the story thinner then Raquel’s costume. Gary, at fifteen, was loving every minute of it and Dad was also watching it intently.

“Look at the knockers on that,” Gary said, his eyes on Raquel.

“Don’t be crude,” Mum replied not even looking up from her knitting.

“But that Raquel Welch has a great set of melons.”

“And that’s all this film has got. It’s complete rubbish,” Mum said.

“They’ve got it quite realistic,” Dad said, shifting in his chair.

“For God’s sake! Dinosaurs and people never lived at the same time. I’ve helped our sons with their homework enough times to know that,” Mum said, putting her knitting down.

“It’s a harmless bit of fun.”

“No, it’s rubbish. There’s no story to it. You lot only want to watch it for that Raquel Welch.”

“Yeah, and she’s a bit of all right,” Gary said.

“You shouldn’t be thinking like that at fifteen.”

“I’m sixteen next month,” Gary protested.

“And don’t I know it.”

“The lad’s only showing a natural interest,” Dad added.

“You three are all the same.” Mum cast one of her looks over all of us.

But we weren’t the same; I didn’t see the point of Raquel Welch either. She may have been pretty, but she didn’t interest me. John Richardson, the actor playing her caveman boyfriend, was of far more interest.

He was ruggedly handsome, even under the thick beard and animal skin he wore, and his costume showed off only slightly less flesh then Raquel Welch’s bikini. He radiated a strong masculinity, strutting around the screen with his spear and fighting the dinosaurs. I couldn’t take my eyes off him. I rapidly lost interest in the film when ever he wasn’t on the screen. When he did appear I wanted to be the one he had to rescue from those dinosaurs, the one that he held in his arms.

It was the first time I had noticed how attractive a man could be and how uninterested in women I was physically. At the same moment I also knew that this realisation wouldn’t be welcomed by those around me. I couldn’t see Gary or Dad or even Mum being happy to hear this news. Boys were supposed to be interested in Raquel Welch and not John Richardson; it was there all around me. I knew to keep quiet.

“I should change the channel from this nonsense,” Mum said to the whole room.

“No Mum,” Gary protested. “It’s a really good film… Isn’t it?” He directed his last comment to me.

“It’s boring,” I replied. John Richardson hadn’t been on screen for nearly five minutes and my attention was rapidly slipping.

“What do you know, sissy!” Gary snapped and punched me on the arm.

“Hey,” I shouted back, and looked at Mum for support, but she’d returned to her knitting.

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