This cropped up on a random play earlier. A big international hit in 1962, apparently. Quite a nice tune, but blimey those lyrics and the sickly singing style. Pass me the sick-bucket. The poor sad soft bugger will not be seeing his teen sweetheart for a whole summer of unalloyed misery. Woe is him.
“Yes, it’s going to be a long lonely summer, but darling I promise you this. I’ll send you all my love every day in a letter. And seal it with a kiss.”
In early-’60s suburban white America you could get away with such drippiness. In Doncaster or Huddersfield I feel expressing such utter wetness would have been seen as good reason to get yourself a kicking.
