WANTED: Badge-belt with badge of The King's Colonial Regiment (c .1901) and the Infantry Boys Battalion (c .1952) last known to be in the possession of exotic dancer Lincolnshire Lil and daughter.

That's the ad I put in the paper. It's Uncle Arthur's seventieth coming up. I thought he'd be pleased if I got a reply. Perhaps Lil's daughter, Julie, had a daughter and perhaps her daughter is keeping up the tradition. You never know your luck.

This is a true story. All Uncle Arthur's stories are. He was a soldier.

He joined the British Army as a Boy Soldier in the days when discipline was really tough, he said, and boy soldiers were super-men by comparison with the weedy bunch of wimps and women he sees shuffling around in uniform today.

After six weeks of square-bashing, early morning PT in four below zero, forced marches in FSMO - field service marching order, he explained - five grudge matches in the Gym and an unsupervised bare-knuckle brawl behind the 25 yard range after he won the inter-company cross country race, he was considered smart enough to be allowed out of the barracks in uniform and into the nearest town on a day pass.

Being a normal, healthy, sixteen year-old, despite the bromide in the tea, he said, he cast around for a likely bit of nookie. Arthur soon attracted the attention of Julie, an attractive little baggage who worked as a waitress at Dirty Dick's Cafe. While demolishing a plate of eggs, bacon, sausages, beans and chips, he chatted her up and arranged to escort Julie home that evening when her work was done.

According to Arthur, Julie was a dead ringer for Elizabeth Taylor as she appeared in Ivanhoe. Black hair. Big eyes. Great figure. He was smitten. He walked her home in the twilight and was delighted when she invited him in. 'Home' was a caravan parked next to a pub on the tow-path of the canal.

His delight was short lived. Mum was at home. But Mum liked soldiers, she said. All the women in her family liked soldiers. She liked to talk. She also liked scotch and was generous with it. She looked like Elizabeth Taylor in Cleopatra, Arthur said, particularly when her blouse slipped to reveal an expanse of creamy, blue-veined, bosom.

Her name was Lily. She had been on the stage, in 'variety', as an exotic dancer, billed as 'Lincolnshire Lil'. Before that she, and her mother, had been performers in 'tableaux' or 'attitudes'. Arthur was puzzled so she explained. Nudity on stage was strictly controlled by the Office of the Lord Chamberlain. It was permitted only if the model remained still. The tableaux were allowed because the performers, who powdered themselves chalk white, struck up classical poses between blackouts and stayed still as statues. The men wore jockstraps with a white plaster fig-leaf attached. The women shaved. Diana at the Hunt. The Abduction of Helen. Rape of the Sabine Women. That sort of thing. Very artistic, she said.

She had an album full of photographs of 'attitudes' featuring her mother and her mother's mother, going right back to the Boer War, she said, although in those days the models wore tights. It was a family tradition. So were soldiers. All Lil's forebears loved soldiers. She meant 'loved' she said, leaning over the album and exposing all of her left breast and most of her right.

Julie said "Shall we tell him about the belt, Mum!" but her mother said, "Let's see how he goes, Love. I'll just pop over to the pub and get another bottle of scotch. Soldiers do drink a lot, don't they?"