Of the remainder of Coronation Day, my memories are very patchy. It was a very long day for a seven year old, and we must have divided our time between watching the TV, eating our coronation tea, and playing games in the garden. I can recall very little of the ceremony in Westminster Abbey, or the procession in the rain afterwards.

The only scene that caught my attention – and the rest of the nation – was Queen Salote of Tonga, who wasn’t going to let a little London downpour spoil her big day. She’s come half way round the world for this, waving at the crowds from the open top carriage she was sharing with a lesser known sultan. Had it been a perfect English summer’s day, of course, and had the rest of the world’s royalty NOT been snug and dry with their car hoods up, she’d have got no more attention than them, and possibly less. As it was, it’s fair to say that she was a talking point for days afterwards – and few accounts of Coronation Day even now fail to give her a mention. Songs were written about her.

Gradually the other guests at the party must said their goodbyes and drifted homewards some time during the evening. By the time night fell only we close family remained. I don’t know whose idea it was that the children would love to see the Coronation firework displays, but it was dark and we older cousins were probably “hyper” though in 1953 the term hadn’t been invented,

All I can remember was that we piled into the Humber and set off for town. I can’t remember who was on the back seat with me, but it probably included Grahame, Peter and Pam. Alan who was several years older, would have been in the front passenger seat. I don’t think any adults apart from Uncle Emlyn were in the car. No rear selt belts – or front ones come to that, so basically you could and did squash as many children as you wanted into the back of a car.

I can’t recall the route we took into town – probably following the 73 bus route to Penny Lane and past Sefton Park – but we seemed to drive around for hours, and it felt as though the fireworks were continuous. There were people out partying on the streets; copious volumes of alcohol must have fuelled the partygoers but we wouldn’t have been aware of that. It felt like daytime. I remember looking at the clock on the dashboard and it read 2.30 a.m., the latest I remembered being awake in my life.

For Uncle Emlyn the all-night firework party might have brought back memories of one eight years earlier – for VE Day. Although as RAF ground crew it’s doubtful he was back in Liverpool at that time.

So at some point in the small hours some very tired children would have fallen asleep and somehow taken home to bed (though in which order I’ve no idea). Coronation Day was over.