HOW I STRUCK GOLD WITH BOBBY

MY FIRST serious boyfriend was the man who eventually became my husband, Bobby Willis.

I saw him at a club called the Zodiac when I was 17, and I thought he must be a Swedish sailor, straight off the boats, because his hair was so blond and his skin so tanned. He was about as Swedish as I was — he was just back from a fortnight in Lloret de Mar, which had cost him £48 for a fortnight. I was impressed.

We talked all night and had the last dance together before he gave me a lift home in his car. There was no goodnight kiss, though — I may have been a terrible flirt but I wasn’t fast!

Bobby had a lovely smile and a great sense of humour, and he made me feel really special when he stood close to the stage, listening to me sing.

I was honest with him: ‘I’m not looking for marriage. I’m only 17, and my heart’s set on being a singer.’ That didn’t deter him — he was only too happy to ferry me to gigs around Liverpool in a ginormous old Crawford’s Biscuits van. I don’t think he paid more than a couple of quid for it.

It was at the Zodiac I got my first paying gig, with the Big Three. Many discerning fans reckoned they were the best band on Merseyside and I was so excited to be billed with them, as Swinging Priscilla.

That Saturday night, with Bobby holding my hand on stage, I conquered my nerves. It gave me confidence to know that he had a lovely singing voice himself and was used to performing.

He had even been approached by a record scout but he’d turned down any notion of a deal: Bobby didn’t want to be a star.

He enjoyed writing songs, though, and he was willing to do anything for me: ‘Every successful woman needs a good man behind her,’ he’d joke. And my parents loved him.

I was beginning to see I’d struck gold with Bobby.