We had hoped to be finished by midnight, but no, all through that night my Mother, sister and I feverishly packed mountains of our belongings into suitcases, trunks, tea chests and boxes. It was a marathon task and was only completed by 8 a.m.

With weary bones and sighs of relief we made a welcome cup of tea and breakfasted. "The vans will be here soon" said Mother. "We'd better pack the car now."

It was one of those slightly antiquated 'bootless' models of the Thirties, so into the back we put at least two hundred books, the dog, lots of other odds and ends including two brooms and the cat with her family of three kittens.

The removal men arrived and with seemingly no trouble packed their vans to capacity and closed the doors. "See you there, ladies," said one and with creaks and groans they set off.

We had been extremely happy in that old house but spared little time in bidding it farewell. Empty as it was we could no longer call it home.

My sister somehow squeezed herself into the rear seat and Mother sat beside me, her lap heaped high with precious knick-knacks which she had flatly refused to send in the van. The animals had settled down so with a crunching of gears we drove away on the start of our long journey.

The sun was shining, it was June, and I was very excited at the prospect of a different home, so was Barbara, but as we left the town behind I noticed Mother looking sad and wistful.

In less than an hour we reached our first stop, the Mersey Tunnel. The 'Toll' man took one look, grinned from ear to ear and said - "Going somewhere. Miss?" It couldn't have been more obvious - my sister giggled - and with that we all laughed and set off again.

We rolled on through the Wirral and Cheshire, past green fields and sweet smelling clover meadows across the River Dee and on into Wales. Following the coast road we passed through many picturesque villages each one nestling comfortably between the mountains on our left and the sandy marshes on the other side.

Mother was directing me and presently she said "Left here." I obeyed and saw the road winding up and up as far as the eye could see - never had I driven up a mountain before, to tell the truth my driving test was only a few weeks behind me so I silently prayed that with all the extra weight behind the car would made the grade. Third gear - second gear - now down to bottom - we ground our way slowly but strongly up the hill between high dense trees on one side and a near ravine on the other, until suddenly rounding a bend the town appeared.

There was no alternative but to stop. The roadway was filled with animals - cows and sheep were milling about being unloaded from tremendous trucks, and leather-gaitered farmers carrying sticks were herding them into pens in a big livestock market just off the road.

The back entrance to our hotel was opposite this scene of activity and directly it was possible I edged the car in through the gateway and found we were in an oddly shaped yard bordered by lock-up garages and dilapidated stables.

We climbed out stiffly and surveyed the great grey house with it's rows of dingy windows which was to be our new home. Father, who had been there for two days in order to take over the licence, came out to escort us in and introduce us to the outgoing proprietors

The inside looked gloomy and neglected but Barbara and I set off to explore it. There were lots of bedrooms, several dark passages, and way up at the top we discovered a winding staircase festooned with cobwebs and leading up to the spookiest attic you ever saw. We didn't spend much time up there I can tell you, but hurried back to the kitchen where we found Mother busily making plans to re-organise the entire establishment.

The furniture vans arrived about then and the unpacking was completed in just a few hours - mind you, it was weeks before everything was sorted out to Mother's satisfaction. After that it really was 'Home' and as you will hear there's never a dull moment in an hotel.

For several years I was what is politely known as 'family help' in the business. This comprised the duties of receptionist - barmaid - blackout supervisor - cleaner (when staff was short) - and general factotum.

It was a full life with plenty of fun to balance the hard work. Bed at midnight and up at 10 a.m. is a habit I've found hard to lose. The bar custom was full of characters, some of them delightful and all of them regulars.

'Jack the Gas' for instance who boasted justifiably that he knew to within inches the whereabouts of every gas and water pipe in the town. No-one believed that St Winefride's Miraculous Well was artificially fed from the water mains.

Then there was 'Joe the Watercress' a gentle white haired old man, rarely seen without a wicker skip on his back, who could charm a noisy crowd to silence with his tales of men of the hills. And to mention just one more - 'Little Willie" who played the spoons and passably imitated the famous bands of the day with just vocal noises.

It must be difficult, if not impossible, to find a nation with a greater capacity for simple enjoyment.

My Mother and sister together with paid help looked after the Residential side of the business most efficiently but the same could hardly be said of the 'Public Side'. True, trade was good in spite of the Austerity Beer, and the shortage of spirits and cigarettes, but my Father's tendency to 'treat' too frequently, plus his own weakness for 'hitting the bottle', played havoc with the profits as well as killing him in early middle-age.

At this time my younger brother was away at college, and Roger was in the Royal Navy busy sweeping mines in the North Sea. Their visits home were excellent excuses for celebrations, and what better place could there be for revelry than an hotel.

Sunday was a 'closed day' so we had the place more or less to ourselves. Mother organised wonderful parties for us, with all manner of games from 'Sardines' to 'Postmans Knock'. 'The Hunt' was always a riot - you know the sort of thing - a toothbrush in the sitting room - a pan lid in the bathroom - a bottle of Stout in the kitchen, and so-on until the final clue led the winner to a handsome prize.

Rarely fewer than a dozen of us took part, so I can safely say that the noise and pandemonium is best left to the imagination.

It's not surprising that now that my own children are growing up, I want them to have as happy a time as I had. Already we have had several 'Teen' parties, and even as I write I'm gathering courage and resources for the next.