From then on most of the daily party meetings seem to have been concerned with “What to do about Diana Spikes?” After a lot of consideration they decided I would be safer in than out.

Bernard Flood, son of the High Commissioner of Canada and a very beautiful young man, was deputed to approach me. I had, in fact, already decided that this would be the next step for me, as no-one else, not even the Labour Party, seemed to be taking Hitler seriously. But I let Bernard take me for a long walk round Oxford to try to persuade me into agreeing to join.

Actually, although tall and beautiful he was a very proper young man who would not ride a bike for fear of spoiling the crease in his trousers, so my eventual agreement had nothing to do with his charm.

I was asked to go to Peter Hewett’s rooms in Peck Quad in Christ church at four o’clock next day. I was playing in a netball match that afternoon and certainly had no time to go back and change my clothes, so I turned up, rather out of breath and glowing with health in my netball tunic.

There they were – half a dozen young men – lying back in armchairs, their long legs stretched out in front of them – and the most important was Peter.

“Would I join the Communist Party?” “It was a very serious matter, not to be taken lightly.” “It could be dangerous.” “Was I prepared to be shot for my beliefs?” “Was I prepared to work for the Party?” Finally I was admitted, on probation, subject to my attending weekly political education meetings and doing some research into political opinions in St Hughs. By the end of term there were four of us in college, Ruth Kaye, Sonia Mandlecorn, Peggy Tubb and myself.

We all decided to attend a Labour Club Saturday Hop in a church hall near Ruskin, the Trade Union College. Peter was there, looking important but not dancing. Sonia and I both fancied him and when a Ladies’ Excuse Me was announced Sonia said, “Bet you a shilling to the Daily Worker Fighting Fund I dance with Peter Hewett first” and we both started off decorously across the hall; but Sonia was waylaid by a small Jewish comrade so I got there first.

Peter was very reluctant to dance but as I had to win the bet he had very little choice. I think he enjoyed it, as he spent the rest of the evening dancing with me and before the last waltz he had asked me out for dinner the following week. I would not have accepted had I known he had to borrow the money to pay for it.