IT is a very long time ago now, more than half a century in fact, but come with me back to Tuesday, March 11, 1958, and the stage of the Gaumont Cinema in Foregate Street, Worcester.

That night the auditorium was packed to the rafters with a fever pitch audience, all craning to get a glimpse through the darkness of “the great American recording star” Buddy Holly and his group the Crickets on their only British tour.

There, among the heaving, squirming, stamping throng was a young girl called Pat. I don’t know her other name. To discover it, is really the purpose of this article. Because information has just come to light that following the gig at the Gaumont, Pat wrote Buddy Holly a series of fan letters.

These have been published on an archive site dedicated to the artist, who died less than a year later when a small plane carrying him and fellow rock ‘n’ rollers Richie Valens and JP. Richardson, better known as the Big Bopper, crashed in a blizzard soon after taking off from Mason City, Iowa.

By then, Pat had already written at least six times to Buddy and somebody, somewhere in his entourage kept the letters.

Don’t worry Pat. Nothing embarrassing. In fact, quite restrained in a rather polite 1950s sort of way.

It all began following the Worcester concert, during which two of Buddy’s dressing room windows were broken by fans. He said later: “They meant no harm.” Pat obviously met the singer, because he had her number and on May 31 her world must have gone cosmic when she picked up the telephone to hear his voice on the other end.

Buddy called from either his home town of Lubbock, Texas or Nashville (he was in both that day) and the next morning, Sunday, June 1, 1958, Pat sat down to excitedly write her first letter.

Dear Buddy, It was lovely speaking to you again last night. With two months gone and not a word, I was almost giving up. You probably think I want an awful lot, expecting you to keep in touch with me, but quite honestly, I think you’re tops. Elvis Presley’s film Jailhouse Rock came here last week and the girls went crazy. It was good though. We don’t really know why Jerry Lee Lewis returned to America, but it seems the British don’t think much to his marriages. It’s funny, but whenever I sit down to write to you, my mind seems to go blank, but any other time I can think of hundreds of little things I’d love to tell you about.

Still, I hope you understand. Lots of love.

Pat.

Then just over a week later, on June 9, there was another.

Dear Buddy, I suppose you had my last letter, and perhaps (with a capital P?) you are answering it right now, but as I’ve nothing else to do I thought I’d drop you a few more lines...

Some of my favourite records at this moment are All I Have To Do Is Dream by the Everly Brothers which I think is lovely, Bill Haley’s Skinny Minny, Teacher Teacher by Johnny Mathis and Saddle The Wind by Julie London. Oh, and a new one called Rave On by Buddy Holly. I don’t know if you’ve heard of him. This one’s really nice.

Well I’ll close now. Is it really asking you too much to write soon, very soon. If you don’t really want to, tell me please. Love, for always Pat.

In a letter written on June 15, in which she rather ambitiously asks for Buddy’s iconic sweater, there is a possible clue to Pat’s identity. Because she refers to working at a place where there were “underground stockrooms”. Did she work at Worcester mail order giant Kays? Anyway the letter reads: Dear Buddy, As I’m sitting in my garden writing this letter, the sun is so hot that I feel like I’m slowly melting. What a lovely change from last week though.

I hope you are feeling fine and the Crickets, too. After seeing a host of stars on the Perry Como and Dinah Shore shows on television, I wondered if you would ever be appearing. I think they are about the only American shows we receive over here.

I’ve just put my feet up on a chair because there seem to be an awful lot of beetles hanging around in the grass. You know we get huge black ones, known as cockroaches, in the underground stockrooms at work. It makes me shudder to think about them.

Buddy, I know you’ll think this an awful nerve, but I would like to ask you a favour, here it is.

If I could ask you very nicely, do you think you could possibly consider sending me your blue sweater, the one edged with black. The one you wore at Worcester when I first met you. Of course, I wouldn’t expect to have it until you decided you didn’t want it any more, but the reason I ask you this, is that I would love to have something of yours to remember you by, and I ask for your sweater because I always have a clear picture in my mind, of you wearing it.

I’d be so pleased, if you’d think it over. Always thinking of you, even though I won’t see you for a long time. Lots of love, Pat.

Then on June 22,1958, comes: Dear Buddy, I guess i’m feeling blue because you haven’t got round to writing me yet. Though I ought to be ashamed of myself for being so dissatisfied, after all, your telephone call was a million times better than a whole handful of letters.

Trouble is, I can’t understand why, after bothering to further our friendship in England surely knowing that I felt something more than just a liking towards you, you have seemingly left me in mid-air, not knowing quite what to think. I realise though, you must lead a very full life, and have much more important things to think about, so perhaps it would be better if I were to be more patient and wait until you write in your own time. But I would rather you hadn’t promised to write, then promised, and then not write.

Love Pat.

There was then quite a gap, until December 3, when Pat wrote: Dear Buddy, Not having written to you for a long time I just felt I’d write you a few lines now. I hope you’re well and happy especially now your career is turning out so fine. I read that you and your group the Crickets have parted so I take this opportunity of wishing you all the luck in the world. I certainly hope this doesn’t stop you visiting Britain as soon as possible.

I saw Elvis Presley’s film King Creole last week. He really is tops, isn’t he? Of course he shares that place with you...

Well Buddy, my most loved boy friend, I think I’ll have to close. It’s getting rather late. I’d love to hear from you any time at all if you find five spare minutes. Bye for now Pat.

Her final letter was posted on January 20, 1959. It read: Dear Buddy, As it’s almost one whole year since you came here (and I met you), are you thinking about a return visit? I hope so because the chance of my meeting you again would become possible,and that would make me happy, more than anything else in the world. I would want it too, to please you.

Did you have a nice Christmas? I had the best one I’ve ever had. Lovely presents from my friends, lots of pretty cards, and parties every other night. I’m afraid I smoked too much and sometimes had too much to drink, and I ate so much turkey and chocolates that I really ought to look like them...

Well I must close now, it’s gone midnight and I’ll never be able to drag myself out of bed tomorrow morning. I send all my fondest wishes wherever you are.

Pat.

Fourteen days later Buddy Holly was dead.

Because of heating problems with the tour bus, he chartered a small plane to take him between dates of the Winter Dance Party as it travelled America’s midwest.

But about 1am on February 3, 1959, following a concert at the Surf Ballroom, Clear Lake, Iowa, it plummeted into a cornfield during a snowstorm only six miles after take-off.

All four people on board, Holly, Valens, Richardson and the 21-year-old pilot Roger Peterson, were killed instantly.

Pat must have been inconsolable. The question is: Who was she?

If you know, I’d love to hear.