Jill Allen-King: 'My guide dog gave me back my life Bunty was replaced by Brandy, who saw her through a miserable divorce (after 19 years of marriage to her first husband, Mick) and who, in 1983, accompanied her to Buckingham Palace to receive an MBE for services to blind people. But when they arrived, Brandy wasn't allowed to go with her for the ceremony, a memory that still makes her cross. It was ironic, really, because the main reason for my getting an MBE was for all the work I'd done to improve access for guide dogs. Next came Quella, "a stately dog and so calm," who was at the altar with her when she married Alvin; then Lady - the "perfect" guide dog. Her last and current pooch, a silken-coated bitch called Amanda, lies contentedly at her feet in the sitting room of her home in Southend, where photos of her family (Jacqueline is now 47, grandchildren Joseph, 18, and Emily, 16) line the walls. Amanda accompanied her back to the Palace in triumph last year - this time to collect an OBE. On this occasion, mistress and pooch stayed together. "Amanda stood up for the National Anthem and I could see Princess Anne smiling," she giggles. She was the first guide dog to be allowed into an investiture. Jill's book is sentimental but it is not soppy, revealing a fascinating world of working guide dogs, their volunteer breeders, walkers, boarders and trainers; their intense and lengthy training, which is funded entirely by charity; their differing personalities and the crucial importance of getting the right match with an owner; and their ability to provide thousands of people such as Jill with companionship and confidence, guiding them around overhanging branches, bollards and bikes, and ensuring they are safe in today's increasingly cluttered streets and shopping centres. Also chronicled is a shocking history of the stigma attached to blindness, which she believes to some degree still exists today. She recalls her mother ("quite a bitter person") refusing to tell anyone, including the school, about her daughter's glass eye and poor sight. As a result, Jill had no access to larger print books. "I used to sneak up to the blackboard and memorise everything," she recalls. When pregnant, she was first advised by doctors to have an abortion and then, straight after having the baby, was sterilised on medical advice. I signed the form only hours before my daughter was born. I've regretted it ever since," she says sadly. It happened a lot in those days. A doctor told me, quite wrongly, that if I had any more children, my sight would never improve. Yet later, I found out from specialists at Moorfields Eye Hospital that nothing could ever be done about my sight because the optic nerve had been destroyed by the measles. It was simple: the earlier doctors didn't think that a blind person could or should bring up a child. Yet rather than turn her anger inwards, this extraordinary lady has spent her life campaigning on behalf of the blind, particularly on the issue of access for guide dogs. "I remember in the past that restaurants, holiday camps and cinemas were all out of bounds," she recalls. On my first day out with Topsy, we were refused entry to the local library - Jacqueline went in on her own. Jill has served on local, national and international committees too numerous to mention (she still works for the European Blind Union and the National Federation of the Blind); given hundreds of talks to schools and church groups; raised thousands of pounds for charity; and worked her formidable charm on many politicians, including former ministers for the disabled Nicholas Scott, Sir John Major and Lord Newton. There are further battles ahead. She is particularly concerned about the growing trend for "shared streets," which involve removing pavements, crossings, signs and signals, and which she argues from bitter experience - she was almost killed in a "shared space" in Rome - are a hazard for blind people. She is deeply worried about how proposed changes to disability benefits will affect the blind, and claims that more support is needed for the 100 people in the UK who go blind every day. "In Southend, people have to wait for five months for the first visit from social services," she says. Despite the worthiness of her cause, Allen-King is determinedly down-to-earth and has a wicked sense of humour. One of her most precious memories is a Palace garden party in 1981 to mark the International Year of the Disabled, when along with others she was invited to tea in the Royal Tent. "The Queen thought it very unfair we were still not able to take guide dogs into the House of Commons," she remembers. It was a week before Diana's wedding to Charles. Diana sat on the grass, chatting to me and stroking Topsy for about 10 minutes. She was lovely. Charles stood behind her and never said a word. Outside the tent, there were about 40 guide dogs, all sitting completely motionless, as they are trained to do. I remember Princess Anne saying they should be allowed to have a jolly good romp - but then, she added, her mother wouldn't like it. 'Jill's Leading Ladies," by Jill Allen-King, (Apex Publishing, £9.99), is out now. For more information about guide dogs, visit guidedogs.org.uk