Walking down the aisle of the beautiful church, on 31 October 1964, I felt like I could burst with happiness. My handsome groom, John, was waiting at the altar. My family were watching me, smiling.
But my joy at being a bride was touched with a little sadness. My father, Harold Hutson, wasn't there to give me away.
Dad, a soldier in the Indian army, had died suddenly from coronary heart disease twenty years earlier, in November 1944. My mum, Hermione, had been six months pregnant with me. The shock of Dad's sudden death had caused her to go into labour early and I'd been born three months premature, weighing just two and a half pounds, luckily I survived.
Psychic child
Growing up naturally psychic, I'd often felt Dad around…
