Yes indeed, 40 years ago, on a sunny September day at Colne Parish Church, my 19-year-old beautiful bride, Ruth Burnett, and a 25-year-old Geoffrey Ralph Crambie were married within those ancient hallowed walls.

We met in June, 1964 at the bowling green and tennis courts pavilion in Colne and, throughout our courting years, had many happy days whether it was strolling in the sun down the lane at "Shirtneck Harry" or watching the latest top-10 pop stars at the "Imp".

By early 1968, we, now happily engaged, bought our home for just £1,500 at 18 Lancaster Street, Colne, and after moving in on September 28th, 1968 (we couldn't afford a honeymoon!), we are both still happy to be here, 40 years on.

On arriving at our new home after our wedding reception at the King's Head Hotel, we found our new bed (from Corts of Nelson) was full of hundreds of dried peas, put there by two of Ruth's six brothers, Norman and Raymond! We were both happily working, Ruth at Coloroll in Nelson and me at Milson Knitwear in Colne; our monthly mortgage was just £9 9s (£9.45). However, this was all relative for my weekly wage was £9 7s (£9.35) for a 48-hour week.

By July, 1969, our son, Shaun, had arrived and in this week's picture, is our happy trio outside our house on his homecoming from the Christiana Hartley Maternity Home in Colne.

Our daughter, Janette, was born in September, 1972 and our happy home echoed to the sound of laughter. When still small, Janette had a terrible attack of croup and we had to send for our family doctor who, that evening, was at a dinner party. No problem for Dr John Eadie, who came with full dress suit and dickie bow, via his speedy sports car, asking as he swept through the door: "Can we boil lots of water, we need steam for the little girl and I'll have a whisky, please". He saved our Janette from being very ill indeed that night.

Our window cleaner was genial Albert Forrester, who frequently had all four of our family laughing at his repertoire of jokes.

Our milkman was amicable Harry Waite, whose son David now brings the milk, often stopping to tell marvellous anecdotes of the farm.

Our newspapers were delivered by erudite George Holden, who when you went to pay for the papers, would give a scathing treatise on the Government of the day.

Our chimney was swept by firstly jovial Rennie Green and then cordial Edward Rowan, both of whom always ended up looking like Al Jolson.

Our shopping was always in town (no superstores then) and the Co-op, Gallons, Maypole, John Scotts, Lionel Foulgers, Winston Smiths, Alfred Pilkingtons, George Wraws, Woolworths and not forgetting Haworths, confectioners at 42 Albert Road for the best custards of all time, were where our hard-earned money went every week.

Best of all, back in the Sixties, no deadly council tax, but a fairer rates which, for our house, was just £67 a year!

Now, 40 years on, our home, once again, as in 1968, has just the two of us (although grandson Nathan calls most days) and I'm so proud to say on our ruby wedding: "Dear Ruth, we've shared so much together, my love is yours always."