Standing next to my older brother Peter, 11, we looked up at our mum, Barbara, with big eyes.
‘Please can we camp in the garden tonight, Mum?’ Peter pleaded.
‘Go on then,’ Mum laughed as she played with our twin siblings, Robert and Sally, six.
‘Just stay in sight of the house!’ she said.
Elated, we ran to tell our friends the news.
It was a beautiful summer’s evening in August 1969.
We lived in the countryside in Mellor, Greater Manchester, and were good mates with the kids on our street.
Gathering our tent and sleeping bags, we headed down to the field at the bottom of our garden and set up camp.
‘Look what my mum’s given me,’ our friend, John*, 14, said, showing us a cooking stove fuelled…
