DURING the 26 years of my Sunday lunchtime chat show, John Hannam Meets, on IW Radio, there were many surprises and it was always fascinating to wonder just who might be listening.

Back in 2004, I was contacted by members of Dame Vera Lynn's family, who lived in Shanklin.

They listened to my shows and wondered if I might like to interview the legendary British star, who found world fame during the Second World War.

I quickly replied that it would be such an honour and privilege.

They did all the arrangements and the memorable visit to Dame Vera's Sussex home was set for Friday, March 5, at 11am.

As per usual, I'd had a restless night, purely due to excitement, and I set off with Heather, my late wife, to enjoy my meeting with a true British superstar.

I had seen the sign for Ditchling during our many visits to Eastbourne, so I knew the turning to take. That was the easy part.

Her home was rather hidden away, off a narrow country lane, and there was no satnav on my Ford Focus.

I stopped to ask a guy in his garden if he could help. I had the real third degree. Why did I want to know where Dame Vera lived? Did she know I was coming? What did I want with her?

Eventually, after offering to show him my recording equipment and her phone number, he suddenly relented.

I was so relieved when he said: "You look a nice enough guy and have a kind face. Straight up the road and first right."

We easily parked the car and I rang the bell. I wondered how many staff she would have.

Imagine my surprise when she answered the door and invited us in. It was such a warm and sincere welcome.

Dame Vera offered us coffee as soon as we were inside, I volunteered to help, but she refused because we were her guests.

A few minutes later, she appeared pushing her trolley, laden with coffee and biscuits.

Dame Vera came from an era when there were real stars, who knew how to treat people. She was in the Sir John Mills mould. Both were so grateful for their stardom.

There was not a hint of an ego and she was such a wonderful lady and a perfect host. Willing to talk about her life, but only when asked to.

I had spent many hours researching her life and she appreciated that. Hence, she gave me an hour-long interview.

In a way, I was even lucky to be talking to her. At the age of two she so nearly died with diphtheritic croup and was in hospital for several months — often in a tent in the garden with a steaming kettle.

Very quickly, her future may well have been shaped, as very early on she could sing five songs straight through.

However, later, she was not a favourite in the school choir and was only put in the front row because she opened her mouth wide.

She said: "They didn't like my voice at all because all my songs had to be transposed lower than the written key. This meant the school songs were always too high for me and I got condemned for that."

Dame Vera sang in her first club concert at the age of seven and her parents would take her to the gigs on buses and trams.

She got 7s 6d (37p) a show and sometimes did two in a night. An encore earned her another 1s 6d, which covered all their fares.

I loved her stories. Her first job, after leaving school at 14, was in a factory sewing on buttons — and they weren't even allowed to talk. She left after one day.

Her father told her she could earn more in one gig than she could in a whole week in the factory.

When the Ambrose Orchestra disbanded in 1940, due to the war, she went solo, after singing for them — and never looked back.

Once, she was held up in London due to the Blitz and had to make so many detours to reach the Hampstead recording studio.

It was a three-hour session and she arrived with ten minutes to spare. Amazingly, she still managed to cut two tracks, with just one take for each.

Suddenly she became the Forces' sweetheart and following her radio shows and tours, her office received 2,000 letters a week.

"One lady couldn't find her husband, but found a picture of me in his wallet and accused me of running off with him.

"I had to tell her we were sending out a thousand pictures a week to our troops," said Dame Vera.

She had one or two lucky escapes.

They had to move a show she was in from the Holborn Empire, where she used to spend the nights during the air raids, to the London Palladium because of a time bomb in a nearby alley.

Soon afterwards the Holborn theatre was blown to pieces.

Once during a tour of the Far East her plane went missing during a violent storm and got lost for fully 90 minutes.

Many feared the worst but eventually they made it.

Her concerts were in jungle clearings, casualty clearing stations and hospital tents. They did so much to raise the morale and remind the soldiers of home.

When she visited the injured troops in Burma, it proved a very moving experience.

We shared a few laughs at the end of the interview — one being that in her very first pantomime, in which she played the Fairy Queen, someone remarked 'she won't get anywhere, she's too common.'

She also loved all the comedians' gags, particularly from Ken Dodd — one of his being that it was really Vera Lynn's agent who started World War Two.

Just before we were about to leave, she invited us to stay longer to view some of her amazing wartime photographs with political leaders, heads of war departments, presidents and British troops.

It proved an amazing day and meeting Dame Vera Lynn was an unforgettable pleasure.

On that occasion, we were closer to the white cliffs of Sussex than Dover.

Since the Sussex interview, she came to the Island in 2009 to visit her family in Shanklin.

My full interview with Dame Vera has been repeated several times on-air and it can next be heard in the regular online version of John Hannam Meets in November, to mark Remembrance Day.