Collecting autographs. We all did it as kids. Of course I had a book when I was an eight-year-old child. My best friend Mark was in Temple St the very day Pelé visited. Being the best of best friends, Mark ensured that Pelé signed a ‘To Steve’ piece of paper. And that piece of paper went proudly into my autograph book.

I should really describe it. Its shape was like a traditional policeman’s note book but the colour was all me. Pink pages and an orange/gold hardback cover. What was I thinking of?

I have to admit that apart from Pelé, most of the signatures would be now in the B-list category but two names stand head and shoulders above anybody else.

Jimmy Savile and Rolf Harris.

We’ll get to Savile. I was in 4th class when we heard Rolf was on his way. There would be a concert for adults in the national stadium where he would paint a mural for our school. He would also visit. This nine-year-old was in nirvana. The day arrived. As our very special bus pulled into the school grounds, I could see an alpaca poncho. He was waiting for us. The really strange thing was he knew EVERYTHING about me, even the names of my siblings who lived in Canada.

Boy, did I feel like the world’s most special nine-year-old as I walked away with his autograph.

Savile was different.

Every May he arrived. I think we became immune to his gold-lamé arrival and the entourage. Lady Goulding could be seen beaming over the fact that the silver-haired one was the face of her fundraising activities.

The last week has brought back memories of those two gentlemen. The good news is, from memory, neither had access to private meetings with children. Harris was a fleeting visitor. Savile may need further investigation.

Fame is a strange thing. It’s obvious that both Savile and Harris used their fame to sate their private lusts. Let’s hope that our current crop of celebs do not have their own versions of Savile or Harris in their ranks.

We shall hold our breath.

Childhood memories, eh?