EIGHTEEN months after printer Leslie Chapples married Phyllis at Wheatley Lane Inghamite Church, followed by a meal for 17 at the Co-op cafe, he was off to war.

This is how he felt: "It was a sad farewell. As I prepared to leave, I took one final look around our cosy little home and wondered whether I would ever see it, or my darling wife, again.

"It was a glorious day, the sparrows were twittering, the sun shone, but my spirits were terribly low and would have been lower still, had I known then what lay before me."

A keen local historian, Leslie, of Burnley, wrote his memoirs before his death, and Looking Back delves once more into his past.

He wrote: "I heard the news that there was a state of war on the wireless at my parents' pub in Blackburn. It was a sombre day.

"I knew that eventually I would be called up unless I went to work on munitions, which I had no intention of doing.

"Eventually I registered at the Labour Exchange in the 25-year age group, where I met many familiar faces. I decided to try for the Navy but, as I wore glasses, they turned me down and I was enrolled instead in the Royal Corps of Signals.

"In July 1940 I was finally conscripted into the Army and told to report to Prestatyn in North Wales."

He continued: "My arrival at camp was like stepping into a bad dream. Khaki figures in hobnailed boots strode up and down barking orders and blowing whistles.

"The NCOs were an ill-tempered set of mechanised humanity and I found the whole experience nasty and upsetting.

"Living conditions were primitive but the food was adequate, if basic, but the general atmosphere of the camp was soulless."

What made it worse for Leslie was that he received no letters from home - and it eventually transpired that a rogue postman had been opening their mail, hoping to find money.

"After the training we were interviewed for trade classification and I had only one in mind, to become a teleprinter operator.

"Having completed the 16-week course on schedule, I began to realise I had made a foolish choice, as this job would bar me from any opportunity to achieve promotion.

"I was given an extra shilling for completing the course and this I sent home to my wife, who was trying to survive on nine shillings a week.

"In 1941 we knew we would soon be on our way and, on the third anniversary of my wedding, I collected my leave pass for my final week at home.

"Embarkation leave was bad on the newly-married man and as I waited at Burnley Central Station to return to my barracks, I felt suicidal, feeling that there was no way I could come out of this sorry situation alive."

Leslie went on: "The sword of Damocles finally fell and we were whisked to Birkenhead by train one cold March morning.

"Arriving the day after it had been heavily bombed, we marched through the rubble-strewn streets and the ARP wardens actually gave some of the lads bottles of beer that had been salvaged from the debris.

"By mid-afternoon we were walking up the gangplank of a 6,000 ton motor vessel, the SV Denbighshire, a Blue Funnel meat boat, built in Amsterdam. As I dropped my pack, rifle and kitbag, tears welled up in my eyes, as I realised my fate was completely out of my hands."