The rendezvous between my mother, the original country girl from a windswept mountainside in southern Donegal, with my father, the original city boy from Derry, was unique.

Saturday nights in Derry during the Second World War were a sight to behold. Mainly because there was nothing to behold at all. It was under strict Blackout laws – not a chink of light to be seen. That didn’t stop Guildhall Square filling up with all the girls and guys trying to get in touch with each other. Including Annie Myles and her besotted admirer, Joe Wilson.

The enterprising Joe had found a way to make his presence known amongst all the various voices in the heaving multitude. He whistled. And not just any old whistle. He whistled the hymn “It is well with my soul”. It was almost like a bird call which invariably produced Annie by his side. By the…