The year the Queen was crowned was the year I discovered I was not the most popular girl in my class at school.

It was the year I became an outcast in the playground, despised and friendless ... and all because I told the truth.

Nowadays I would probably be offered counselling (nowadays I would definitely keep my mouth shut) but in 1953 I had to put up with all the juvenile jibes and name-calling that came my way.

With hindsight, I realise, I probably deserved it.

Mercifully, I've forgotten most of my time at school (certainly not the happiest years of my life) but the 50th anniversary of the Coronation this week revived memories I had thought were long since dead and thankfully gone.

In 1953 I was eight years old. Like my friends I thought the young Queen was wonderful, pretty and had such a lovely smile.

Imagine our delight, therefore, when the headteacher announced that after her Coronation, the Queen and her husband would be visiting towns and cities throughout the UK.

Our city was one of those on the royal itinerary and we were told plans had been made for every schoolchild to see HM and HRH in person in the grounds of the local football stadium. We would also get the day off school.

"Three cheers for Her Majesty the Queen," the head shouted and we all cheered until our little throats were sore.

Back in the classroom, someone asked the teacher what would happen if it rained on the day of the Queen's visit.

She told us that if the heavens opened the venue for the royal appearance would be changed. The Queen would appear indoors, inside the Victorian civic hall.

Of course, she added, this would mean that fewer children would be able to see the Queen in person.

Two lucky youngsters from each class would therefore be chosen from every school in the city to meet Her Maj.

We, she said, would have to choose which of our classmates would have the honour of representing the class and the school in the civic hall.

Well, at that point, I was still a popular girl. Other girls liked me because I was cheeky in class and made them laugh; boys liked me because although I never went behind the bike sheds to show them my knickers, I obviously looked like a girl who might.

So, yes, I was one half of the duo chosen to appear before the Queen.

Our class teacher smiled. "Now then," she said, "who wants it to rain when the Queen comes to visit us?"

Without hesitation I put up my hand.

Why did I want it to rain? asked the teacher.

Why did I want it to rain? What a silly question.

"Because I shall get to see the Queen and nobody else will, Miss," I said beaming with misplaced self-confidence.

I was told to stand on my chair and face the class.

"This girl," said the teacher, scowling in my direction, "is completely shellfish."

I found out later that I was, in fact, "completely selfish."

"Do you remember that incident?" I asked The Mother at the weekend.

"I do indeed," she replied. "And I still think your teacher was right the first time."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"That you are completely 'shellfish'," she replied. "I've never known anyone quite as crabby as you."