Who was my secret valentine?

Valentine’s Day can be a minefield. Yes, yes, it’s commercial nonsense. No, no, don’t waste your money. But heaven forfend that you should forget it.

As a child, 14 February was marked by my mother giving both me and my brother a chocolate heart or some such token. We probably wrote her cards occasionally. She and my dad exchanged cards too – if dad had remembered. I recall him buying flowers once or twice, probably after forgetting about the card.

By the time I reached secondary school, there was sometimes the odd frisson of excitement in the classroom or playground when notes would be passed – often via neutral parties – expressing heartfelt pleas. At least, that’s what I supposed they must express. I was much too shy to send one to whoever I had a crush on at the time; and it never occurred to me that I (square boy that I was) might be on the receiving end of anyone else’s amorous attention.

It was, therefore, with excruciating embarrassment that I arrived at morning registration on Valentine’s Day in year 11 to discover a chocolate heart on my desk. Had my mum stolen into school to leave it there as some sort of hideous joke? Was someone else taking the piss, setting me up to be laughed at? The other possibility, that a party unknown actually fancied me, was frankly an even more appalling prospect.

The desk was a long one, so I sat at the other end, hoping it was intended for someone else. But despite playing dumb, I could hear giggled whispers and felt myself reddening. My friend Graeme, who sat a couple of seats along, leant over: “It’s definitely for you.” I asked him as quietly as I could if it was some sort of joke. He shook his head. Evidently, he knew who the sender was too, but had been sworn to secrecy.

By now I knew I must be scarlet. I had never had any sort of dalliance with a girl, far less had a girlfriend, and I simply did not know how to cope with an anonymous valentine. I hurriedly put the heart into my rucksack and tried not to feel sick with anxiety.

Inevitably, half the people in my year seemed to know about this surprising turn of events and I was questioned about it in every lesson. I tried to shrug it off; and felt miserable.

After lunch we trooped back into our form room for afternoon registration, and there to my horror was another heart. This time I grabbed it before too many people could see, but of course sufficient eyes had borne witness to the red-wrapped chocolate, and my red, wracked face.

This is, you might hope, the point at which I reveal that the sender was my future wife – or that it was indeed my mother playing a hilarious practical joke.

In fact, though, that is precisely where the story ends. My acute embarrassment was so plain to see, that even a bunch of 16-year-olds decided that there was no sport to be had. And perhaps whoever sent the chocolates was so appalled at my apparent lack of interest and gratitude that they thought better of their feelings. Certainly, I did my best to forget it.

But of course, over the years, the awful memory of that day came to be replaced with a niggling irritation that my ungracious bashfulness had meant I never discovered who had been sweet enough – and brave enough – to make such a gesture. In my twenties I met up with some old school friends and I happened to ask them if they knew. One of them recalled the incident, but couldn’t place the person responsible. I don’t suppose now I shall ever find out. But if I do, I shall offer an apology for being quite such a plank about it.

This Valentine’s Day, my wife and I will create a treasure hunt of chocolate hearts for our children, who now regard it as a tradition that cannot be broken; we will give cards filled with loving messages to one another; and we will have affectionate phone calls with our respective mothers.

Yes, there is a lot of commercial twaddle that comes with the valentine’s territory. But on today of all days, for goodness sake tell the people you love how you feel. And if someone surprises you with an unexpected expression of admiration, think twice before turning a shy eye.