I first met Hilda back in the autumn of 1977 when she came to Liverpool to visit Lesley at the start of her studies at the university. On a night out with fellow hall of resident students now becoming friends, I happened to sit next to Hilda at the Philharmonic pub. We had a lovely conversation, and its warm, easy flow was in keeping with the beauty of the setting with its ornate wood panelling and tiles, stained glass windows, dazzling chandeliers and marbled loos (allowing a palatial pee in between pints). I remember thinking right then that I’d met a splendid person and, as things would have it, I had the great fortune of valuing her tender nature and sweet qualities over the coming years, as Lesley and I started going out that November.

I have so many fond memories of Hilda. We had great chats in the kitchen at the Ridgeway – she would send me off to work with tasty sandwiches when I was doing student holiday jobs during stays at No 46 – with subjects spanning the immense pride she took in her meals on wheels job, her love of painting and art, politics (her manifest care for others in daily life displaying the socialist principles I associated with Tony Benn) and her passion, which we shared, for football. We remember spending many an hour in the Ridgeway living room watching and discussing the 1982 World Cup matches together, sharing comments and jokes.

Hilda’s jolly outgoing character was always a source of fun. We laughed together once when, in response to Colby’s offer of “some bananas”, I picked up a few and put them in my bag, taking his words as an attempt to alleviate our food costs rather than an invitation post-supper to eat one on the spot. Colby gave me a stern, confused look before we all burst out laughing. As much as my dizzy role in the incident itself, it was Colby’s initial facial reaction to my misunderstanding that caused mirth. Behind Colby’s austere exterior, there always lay an equally soft, sweet person. Hilda and I would chuckle along with Lesley at his haggling skills which he deployed at Walthamstow and Altea markets alike. Hilda, like Colby, worked hard for everything achieved in her life. I was always struck by how much Hilda fitted in while making support for her family the core of everything she did.

Just before Hilda’s death, I was touched to receive in the post from Lesley a tea towel with a design based on one of Hilda’s paintings, which reminded me again of the creative side of her life. At home, on our dresser, I still have a pebble she gave me on which she’d painted an image of the church in Altea. I’ve treasured it over the years as a token of how wonderful it was to have known and loved Hilda.