Yes Jalima1108 (sigh) boys were usually well behaved. One lad who worked at Courtaulds used to write poems to me in the car-park during his lunch break and I remember his house in Chorley had a huge round basket- weave pouffe thingy. Brian Chaytor, long hair, kipper ties, white Mustang 2+2 fastback. 
After reading all the comments (and I'll return to read any new posts) they all resonate with me. Standing outside the Blue Angel club in Seel Street, Liverpool, you could feel the thump of the music coming up through the pavement and it charged you with excitement. Many regulars would go on to the Jacaranda or later, down to the Pier Head for tea and toast at the 'hole in the wall' cafe.
Tolls in London Rd for tops and Dolcis for shoes.
I bought lots of clothes from M&S and John Lewis in those days and used to colour my leather shoes to match my clothes from week to week with Woolworths dye. It had a wire wand with a flatsquare sponge on the end. The liquid dried to a matt finish and you buffed to a shine with a cloth.
My favourite was Kelly Green (emerald)
Tights were 'Toffee' and I had, at one time, a black velvet bow clipped in my hair à la PJ Proby.
Of course, there were drugs on offer, black bombs, blueys and purple hearts and you'd be offered a couple of freebies, no doubt to get you hooked but I was never interested.
In those days I wore Leichner stage make-up, false eye-lashes, spit block mascara and often went bra-less in crochet dresses worn with chain belts. I had a pale blue and a white one and a white cotton jumpsuit which looked great under UV lighting.
So much more going on, or so it seemed, in those days.
If you wore a cardigan back to front it meant you were 'available' (single) and I clearly remember buying a beautiful pigskin purse (UK) which cost half a weeks wages.
Frank Ifield at the Empire and Everly Brother too. Locarno and Grafton ballrooms, Silver Blades, Prescot Road for ice-skating....treasured memories. 
Shortly after my dad came home from an overseas posting which was unaccompanied so we hadn't seen him for a year, I was walking home from a local dance accompanied by a boy who was not a boyfriend but a nice local lad who had offered to walk me home. Dad had decided to meet me half way and unexpectedly appeared around the corner.
I said, 'Oh, it's my father' in a cheerful voice because I was chuffed he'd come to meet me.
The boy shot across the road as though he'd got a red hot poker up his backside.
'Who's that?' said Dad. 'Oh, just a friend' said I as we linked arms and walked home.
I've always remembered that night because I never saw that boy again and Dad never asked about him.
Growing up's a funny thing.
'
Yes it has Urmstongran thank you
This is a lovely thread.
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