Smile Though Your Heart Is Breaking. Pauline Prescott

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      Despite her disapproval, his mother put on a good show and kindly offered to host our engagement party in her large garden, usually used for Labour fundraisers. John filmed the whole thing on a state-of-the-art 8-mm cine camera he’d brought back from the States. No one had ever seen such a thing before. All the Quaintways Girls were there, of course, many of whom had also recently got engaged so we were excited about each other’s forthcoming weddings. Some of John’s ‘Brit boys’ from the Britannic came, as well as friends and colleagues from hotels and the other places he’d worked. It was a lovely do, and his mother even offered to make our bridesmaids’ dresses and my going-away outfit, which was very sweet of her. She was a fabulous dressmaker and I was lucky to have her.

      Throughout our long engagement John continued to be very active in the National Union of Seamen, which pretty much began to take over his life. Furious at what he called the ‘cosy’ relationship between the ship owners and the union bosses, which he claimed led to poor pay and conditions, he regularly attended marches and strikes or spoke at rallies addressed by leading union officials. He put so much effort and research into his speeches and would practise them over and over until he – and I – knew them off by heart.

      I wasn’t that interested in politics, even though my family were always strong Labour people. For John, I was more of a sounding board. Mostly, I made endless mugs of tea and coffee when his union friends came round. I have to admit that sometimes I fell asleep waiting for them to finish their heated late-night debates. What I did come to appreciate, though, was that John had made enemies at the top of the NUS by becoming an unofficial shop steward. I didn’t realize how serious that might be at the time; I just loved the maverick side of him that fought so passionately for what he believed in regardless of the consequences.

      Knowing that politics was a side of his life that I didn’t really understand, despite how much it meant to him, I decided to go to a rally to hear him speak. This particular one was held at the Roodee racecourse in Chester. A huge crowd had gathered, some sitting in the tiered stands, the rest forming a large circle. People stepped up and spoke into a microphone in the middle of the circle if they felt like it or until they were booed off. John, who was far younger than most of the men around him, had to push his way through a huge crowd of hecklers to take his turn. I held my breath as he began falteringly. I knew how nervous he was. After a few minutes, though, he got into his stride and became more and more impassioned, delivering each sentence with conviction and flair. I was so proud of him, I could have burst.