LIFE is so strange — sometimes what turns out to be a big event in your life, usually happens accidentally.

When I was about 17, or 18, our night out was going dancing, in my case it was ‘up Tony’s’.

Mind you, the choice of night spots was somewhat limited. There was the Emporium, which was over the Co-op, and a posh one up Preston New Road, which I think was called Park Gates, but my choice was Tony’s.

We girls usually stood in groups looking animated, laughing and giggling, pretending to be chatting but, in reality, we were eyeing the young men who also stood in groups on the other side of the room.

These young men were either too young for the services, or home on leave.

So we acted very surprised, when a tap on the arm indicated that one of those gentlemen had plucked up the courage to cross the room and ask you for a dance and, if it was the last waltz, there was a very good chance he was going to ask if he could walk you home.

This was always a problem for me as I lived up Green Lane, a brand new corporation housing estate, which was a good four-mile walk from Blackburn town centre.

The other option was a taxi, but in those far off days they were the sort of luxuries that none of us could afford, so if the gentleman did walk you home, it was odds on he was keen, very keen.

My father would always wait up for me in order to make sure we didn’t dally too long over our goodbyes.

Every so often, Eddy McGarrie’s Band would be playing for dancing at King George’s Hall, so it was an absolute ‘must’ that we all went there on those nights.

Clothes were an everlasting problem as money was short and clothes were still rationed by coupons, so my mum made me dirndl skirts, which were really just a long piece of fabric gathered on to a stiff waist band, but when you are young, does it matter?, Indeed, at that age does anything matter?

No, not one little bit.