The long hot summer of 1976. It’s Friday night and Lucy and I are sat in the Junction Pub in Bradford surrounded by our friends. What we need is a nice cool swim, somebody says. There’s the outdoor pool at Manningham Park, somebody suggests. The evening moves on and soon it’s closing time. Are we going to the Nash somebody asks, (The International Club, on Lumb Lane)? Always a welcome regardless of colour, or sexual orientation, and never any trouble. I thought we were going swimming, somebody pipes up, and Fred (not his real name) has his car. Fred was from out of town, but a regular at the Junction, but did not drink much as he had to drive home. He wanted to be part of the group but was too reserved, and though we made him welcome, he was always the quiet one on the side-lines. So we all piled into his car, there must have been 6 or 8 of us, being totally irresponsible, but Fred couldn’t refuse. It wasn’t that far to Manningham.

We all piled out of the car, and into the park. Now all we had to do was to scale the walls. Impossible for us shorties. Still with the help of the ‘big boys’ we were all, girls included, hauled on to the top of the wall, before facing a terrifying drop down the other side. Maybe the amount of alcohol we had all consumed helped, and we all survived.

I don’t remember there being any Security Lighting or CCTV. We stripped off and jumped into the pool. There were Diving Boards, a Springboard, and a couple of slides. Everybody was enjoying themselves. I can’t remember how long we stayed, but eventually we decided we’d had enough. We didn’t have towels so we sat about drying off, before getting dressed. I was wearing a pair of jeans made with really heavy denim. I never wore jeans, still don’t, but a friend of mine who was going to Evening Classes for Sewing and Clothes Making made them for me. They were OK, but a bit heavy for summer. I was also wearing a pair of white Clogs. 

When we had all got dressed, somebody suggested they throw me back in. They soon caught me and holding my arms and legs, after a couple of swings, I was launched in the deep end. I’m told I sunk to the bottom, and everyone peered anxiously into the pool. Nothing! After what seemed an age, two white clogs floated to the surface, followed a short time later by my head. I was pulled from the pool soaking wet, the heavy wet denim full of water. When they all stopped laughing we climbed back over the wall and made our way back to the car. 

Surprisingly, I was allowed into the back of the car. So where to now? The clubs were closing, not that we’d be let in, dripping water everywhere. However, there was an ‘all night’ Café in Manningham, that would probably let us in. We sat there drinking tea and eating bacon sandwiches till dawn broke and everyone made their way home. There was a pool of water under the table where I had been sat, but nothing was said. My jeans were still wet when Lucy and I caught a bus into Bradford Centre, where we caught the bus to Leeds. I sat upstairs on the front seat, trying to dry out my clothes as the sun streamed in through the front window.

It had been just another night out in Bradford.

But now it was Saturday and Lucy and I had to plan our Saturday night out in Leeds. No mobile phones, no Social Media. No need. Everybody always met in the Viaduct, then round to The Peel on Boar Lane, and finish the night in Charlie’s; oh we all loved Charlie’s…