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Every Sunday, my friend Beatrice Hart and I used to walk up and down the promenade at Plymouth Hoe — almost a mile each way as it seemed to me then.
We were in our early 20s and the purpose of the walk was to eye up the troops — sailors, airmen, soldiers, we saw the lot.
One day, I was walking, found I couldn’t move my foot and realised my knickers were round my ankles! I picked them up quickly and we went into the nearest ladies’ toilet, found a safety pin to join up the snapped elastic and we came out, thinking no-one had noticed anything.
Then a sailor, waiting outside the loo with some friends, said: “Are you all fixed up now, then?” I said: “Yes, all right. Why?”
It turned out that they were walking behind us, saw my knickers fall, saw what I did and followed us to the toilet.
We continued our walk after that!

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