In 1978 my mother passed away.
I was still working at Maunkberry’s and we were faced with a new club opening in competition; The Embassy in Bond Street. The night in question was the opening night of this new club and although I had of course been invited, I was desperate to go along to sum up the competition.

There was a phone call. It was Freddie:
“I’ve heard, dear. You’re not to go back to your place. Come here. Come and stay here. At least for tonight. The car’s waiting for you outside.”

It was life-saver, the ultimate gesture of sympathy and affection when I needed it most. I really loved my mother and felt very alone now that she had gone. That night, Freddie put his arm round me and said:
“Don’t worry, dear. I’m your mother now.”

From then on, whenever he called he would say:
“Hello, dear. Mother here.”

From that day, he always had me over to the house on Christmas day and every year arranged a little party to celebrate my birthday with a few close friends. Until he died.”
— Trevor Clarke, ‘This Was The Real Life’ book
by David Evans /David Minns