It was Friday, the 28th of September 1956, and Tu Carpenter and I were walking along Hasting’s seafront when we decided to see if anyone was fishing on the end of the pier. This meant walking past the pier ballroom. As we approached we heard music, the ballroom door was open so we decided to take a look - Tu looked at the dancers, I looked at the young girl standing outside looking in; she was beautiful – I couldn’t take my eyes off her. After a while, she turned and walked away, I turned to follow, Tu caught up, pushing his bike, asking where we were going. I had no idea.

I remember she turned as we walked along the seafront, and saw us – Tu grinned and said “wow”. She walked on, past the memorial, stopping at the bus stop outside Moseleys. The bus came and she got on, so did I – Tu didn’t. I asked where she was going and paid her bus fare.

I was a 17-year-old introvert: shy, naïve, blushed easily, and had never had a girlfriend, so how I managed to find the courage to get on the bus and sit next to this beautiful young girl is a mystery. But I did. Why she let me is also a mystery, but she did. I had no idea what I was letting myself in for.

Val lived in Parker Road; I had never been there before. We got off the bus and walked up the hill, past her house, to Donkey Island. I don’t think it was late, but it was dark. We talked, and it was immediately obvious that she was gentle, unassuming, thoughtful, open, honest, and caring. A truly beautiful person. I remember my emotions were all over the place. She promised to meet me the next day, and I ran all the way home, full of joy, full of hope, full of optimism - full of feelings I had never experienced before. Feelings that remained with me every day of our life together.

Val loved life, she taught me how to love and to be loved, and she gave her love completely and unconditionally. She lit up my life and gave me a purpose. She was my guiding star, and I will love her forever.