THEY sit at home with cherished photograph albums open on their knees, slowly turning the dark pages.

Once, they hoofed and sang and dreamed and preened, before smiling, all gleaming teeth and curtsies, for the little lady. Now, they stare into the mirrors of the memory.

Yes, she could put your name in lights then and, as she gingerly nears her 70th birthday, she still can. But, for the moment, this grand lady of showbiz is remembering her own giddy beginnings, when the whole world seemed within her reach.

It was, she believes, her personality and unyielding determination that clinched it in those days of hugging swimsuits and polished eyeballs – when young Miss Button was as bright as any star in the sky and she applied lemon juice to her cheeks and prayed that God would take away her freckles. He never did and we can thank Him for that now, as a full Irish smile spreads across her face, stretching those lovely freckles.

But God was generous in other ways, too, and Norah Button had the finest figure in town with measurements of 33-21-33 to twirl and parade in front of the beauty contest judges on those long, hazy summer afternoons of cream teas and clicking cameras – before the legions of the politically correct had begun their march down our seaside promenades. Those “vital statistics” were as much a part of a contestant’s curriculum vitae as her desire to travel the world and find the cure for leprosy.

But prepare yourselves for a secret here. “I used to say 34-21-34,” whispers Norah, with a conspiratorial tilt of her auburn-haired head. “I was very slim then. Anyway, I thought I won the competitions on the interviews. If you were a good talker, you could sway the audience.”

However, it was the age of voluptuous blondes, Marilyn Monroe and Diana Dors look-alikes, with their swinging hips and tight sweaters. Norah’s little white lie did no harm at all.

Among the 19 titles she claimed were Miss Ireland, Miss National Candy Queen, Miss TV Times and the Fashion Queen of Great Britain. In 1962, she became Miss Liverpool and one of the judges was Ken Dodd. During the interview, Norah told him she was a dancer. That resulted in her coaching his Diddymen, dozens of them.

By then, Norah Button was a veteran of the variety stage, for whom beauty contests were just a sideline.

And on Monday she celebrates her 70th birthday. Coincidentally, it is also the 70th anniversary of the Liverpool Theatre School, begun by her grandmother, Anastasia Morrisey, at Stanley House on Upper Parliament Street, Toxteth. A double celebration is being held at the rebuilt 800-seat Floral Pavilion Theatre, New Brighton, on Sunday, which is appropriate. It was there that 15-year-old Norah joined the dancers and chorus, as a “Lido Lovely”, in the summer revue, Melody Inn, run by the late Jackson Earle.

But now we have to deal with another little white lie. In her enthusiasm, Norah gave him a false National Insurance number because she didn’t have one, as he discovered after three weeks.

Norah had to go, but he had been so impressed that he agreed to hire her the following summer as a soloist. In between, she had done panto at the Empire Theatre, Liverpool. Norah was on her way.

Years earlier, she had learned the rudiments of her art from the lessons given by Anastasia at the school opposite their house in Upper Parliament Street, where she lived with her parents, Kathleen and her husband Wilbert Button, a seaman from Newfoundland. He died when Norah was 16. She had two brothers, Raymond and little Wilbert.