It seems to be a most unlikely setting for a miracle: St James Street, Mill Hill, a small cul-de-sac of about half a dozen houses.

At one end was ‘the spare land’ where children played and at the other a Co-op store.

In the middle was the Working Men’s Club with the solitary gas lamp outside it.

Opposite the club was No 5 where the miracle happened.

In 1958 a young mother lay dying. Joan Matthewman, mother of two children not yet old enough for school, had been given six months to live.

Joan was my sister.

Only a short time before, Joan and her husband Bill, a plumber, had gone to live with my widowed mother, Elsie Earnshaw in St James Street.

When a swelling first appeared on Joan’s left shoulder it was thought to be rheumatism.

Then, when it was too late, everyone seemed to realise that it was much more serious.

The lump on her shoulder grew immense. It reached the size of a football and her left arm and hand were partially paralysed.

But what is a miracle?

Thinking about it, I remembered my years at St Peter’s Infant and Junior Schools, Blackburn which Joan and I had both attended.

It was a gaunt granite building, blackened by soot, school on the ground floor, church above, the Victorian Gothic structure soaring above the surrounding terraced houses.

The headmistress was a nun called Sister Loyola, who always told us that faith could move mountains.

One of the young priests who was always popping into school was Father Loran.

He had a doctorate in theology.

But Father Loran was a man of many talents. If he had he not been a priest could have been a writer, drama producer or football manager.

His plays and pantomimes were a byword for miles around.

His talent for football team management and tactics produced a school team that was unbeatable.

His appearance during any lesson was welcomed by both pupils and teachers.

Many a mathematics class was suddenly interrupted by his appearance.

The blackboard would be wiped clean and arithmetic and spelling tests replaced by chalked football positional play and tactics.

In the last months of 1959 I was walking around London and happened to visit Westminster Cathedral.

In a side chapel I saw people kneeling by the preserved body of the then Blessed John Southworth.

The name rang a distant bell. I found he was one of the Southworths of Samlesbury, lords of the manor of Samlesbury from the Norman Conquest until the Reformation.

I also discovered that the parish priests of 4,222 Roman Catholic churches in England and Wales were that day calling on their congregations to pray for two miracles.

If they happened, it would be taken as a sign that 40 English martyrs, including John Southworth, who were put to death during the Reformation, could be declared saints.

Also among them were two other local priests, Blessed John Plessington, whose family home was the Elizabethan manor house at Pleasington and who was hanged drawn and quartered in 1679.

Edmund Arrowsmith worked as a priest a few miles outside of Blackburn, in the Brindle and Hoghton district.

He was arrested near Hoghton Tower after being betrayed by a couple called Holden who lived at the Blue Anchor Inn.

I later, learned after moving to Hoghton that I was descended on my mother’s side from the Crooks family, who he had helped in the capture of Fr Arrowsmith as he attempted to fee the scene.