Reading this month's copy of Disability Now, I was dismayed by an article regarding problems being experienced by the Queen Elizabeth's Foundation.

I have very fond memories of this particular organisation having been a student there twice.

For those who may not have heard of Q.E, it is a residential college for people with disabilities in Leatherhead, Surrey.

The courses are many and varied, from the practical to the academic. The ethos of this establishment is a good one. The student is there to learn. It is a strict regime but once work is over there is plenty of spare time for leisure and enjoyment.

The late, great Ian Dury once described his time at a residential school for disabled children as being hard but fair, sort of "Tough Love".

If people who are disabled are going to survive, being cotton-wooled won't do it - it's a hard world out there. Queen Elizabeth's priority was to equip their students for the realities of working and surviving in the outside world. The tutors were excellent, facilities good but the staff, as in my time and now, seem to be battling either with management or lack of funding - Why?

How your particular disability affected you was never really an issue at Q.E's. You were all in the same boat and helped each other if need be. We were living in a sort of disability-utopia. There was no need to struggle to keep up with able-bods, no explanations were required and importantly, you realised there were masses of disabled people; you were not alone.

The main campus consisted of classrooms, workshops, the big house, reception area, social activities hall, bar, lounge and men's quarters.

Away from this hive of activity, up the hill were the females quarters. This layout was obviously devised as a cunning plan to keep the men and women apart.

The ages of the students ranged from sixteen to sixty-five (or thereabouts). The women's quarters, perched tantalisingly (just!) out of bounds to all those would-be suitors, who outnumbered the women at least three-to-one, had it's own matron: she who must be obeyed!

If students were not in the quarters by ten-thirty, the doors would be locked on them and they would be in all manner of trouble.

After our day's labour (for me that was a secretarial course), my friends and I would walk up the hill to have our evening meal, then the time was our own.

Around six in the evening the place was buzzing with girls/women getting ready to go down the hill to socialise. It was a symphony of sounds - water running for baths, giggling, gossiping, hairdryers whirring, music blaring, wonderful!

One particular evening, after a very good night, my friend Lizzie and I bade our fond farewells to the lads. We were deliciously spoilt for choice, us girlies being outnumbered an' all. Glorious! We declined offers of being "walked home" and set off up the hill.

Lizzie and I were happily tired. The only lights were on main campus and in the women's quarters. We made our way, discussing our latest conquests, when in the inky-black night I heard a noise. Looking back, I noticed a man. He seemed to be following us.

I whispered to my fellow traveller, "Liz don't make a fuss, but I think we're being followed." Liz agreed. We decided to speed up - not really an option if you have mobility problems, but fear can be a motivating force.

By now, the only sounds we could distinguish were our heartbeats and the heavy breathing coming from behind us.

We sped up, but so did he; in fact he matched us every step of the way.

By now his breathing had reached a loud, fever-pitched rasping. It was laboured and put the fear of God into Lizzie and me.

Just as I felt like letting out a scream, we saw matron standing in the doorway, keys in hand and a scowl on her face. We practically threw ourselves at her ample physique, both shouting that a "heavy breather" had been following us.

Matron was trying to calm Lizzie and I down, as by now hysteria had firmly taken hold, when I noticed another student at the door. She was waiting for someone. She was watching out for him: the pervert...

Anyway, it transpired that the 'pervert' was her boyfriend, a severe asthmatic, and he was trying to catch up with Lizzie and I. He had wanted us to pass on a message to his girlfriend but each time he'd got near us, we'd legged it!

Three cheers for Queen Elizabeth's and may it reign forever, not only did you teach us well, you provided us with the opportunity for so much fun. Thank you.

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