"The labyrinthine corridors of the Albert Hall...," says the radio voice, setting the scene for tonight's Prom concert.
I'm back through passages of time to when I, seven years old, in a white and turquoise damask frock my mother sewed, emerge from the tunnel when my turn comes, into the lines of boys and girls criss-crossing the arena, to drop with bows or curtseys, purses full of five whole pounds we've gathered, into cradles blue and pink respectively, before the royal person of the Queen's kid sister, Margaret.
a sparkling pack
of party princess wands—
by Diana Webb