My Mother was a born match-maker in the very best sense of the word. She could spot an eligible male at fifty yards and a 'Rake' a mile away. It was an uncanny gift, but thanks to her judgement I've several times been saved from the proverbial 'fate worse than death'. She it was who introduced me to Ron - 'such a nice, quiet, goodlooking young man and he does seem lonely.'

Our friendship flourished in spite of Father's demand to 'see his credentials' etc., and the time soon came for me to travel south to meet his people. The train journey seemed endless and Ron spent the most part of it reassuring me that all would be well.

The walk from the country station to their home in my smartest highheeled shoes was a real ordeal - Ron had wisely omitted to describe that mile of rough road. We arrived to find the door open and his parents beaming a welcome to surpass all welcomes. They had kept watch for our approach and my homely face must have been approved. (She was never homely - she was lovely).

Our stay lasted for one glorious week during which we became engaged. Simply everything was laid on for our comfort and happiness - even the weather was kind. His Mother and Father treated me like a daughter rather than a prospective daughter-in-law. By the end of the week I knew that I'd chosen rightly, tho' shouldn't my Mother have most of the credit?

Such joy as we knew was short-lived. We returned to my home to find that Ron was to be posted overseas within ten days. It was a shattering blow especially as his final week on home soil was to be spent at some Inland Security Camp (Waterloo Square, Nottingham) completely in-communicado.

We did discuss a hurried wedding but decided that parting 'Engaged', hard as it was would not be so heart-breaking as parting after a 24-hour honeymoon. We talked optimistically of a six months separation - how could it possibly be longer?

The final morning came, the petrol tank was empty, so Ron rode my brother's bicycle the two miles to the railway station with me balanced precariously on the crossbar. As six in the morning there were few people astir to witness my tears as I rode slowly home, not to six months without my beloved but to two and a half years.

Almost before the train was out of earshot, deep Depression, and his brother Despair gripped me and wouldn't let go, and during the days following,inconsolable I went from bad to worse, finally to be put to bed with an undiagnosable complaint which I now know to be plain 'love-sickness'. At the age of twenty, life to me was intensely cruel and hardly worth living.

Mother, who no sooner thought than acted, arranged to have me taken to my sister Barbara's new home. Barbara had been married just a few weeks to Lindsay and was still in the throes of settling in. Lindsay farmed 300 of the wildest acres in Snowdonia.

The change effected the cure, and within a fortnight I was fit again helping with hay-making, house decorating and everything else. I love my sister dearly and was reluctant to leave the peace of her little world, but all good things must come to an end and going home was just a stepping stone to the R.A.F. Those years in uniform usefully filled my time, whilst waiting for Ron's return.