I was two when my dad came back from World War II. I didn't know who he was until then, and had to get to know him. He was a navigator in the Pathfinders and was a very special man with an important job.

I put Dad up on a pedestal and wanted to be around him a lot. He loved playing the piano - he was self-taught - and this got me interested in playing. His love of music inspired me. He was cheerful and could sing popular music. He was a great provider and did this without hesitation - a true gentleman.

I wanted to be a bit of tomboy around Dad and as a kid I liked helping him do things outdoors. He enjoyed his daughter's company and I never felt I couldn't be part of the fun. He idolised my mum [Hazel] and showed us early on that a man could be funny, talented, loving and devoted.

I felt closer to Mum growing up because she was always there, but the music connection made being close to Dad easy, too. He always took the time to understand what my sister Beverley and I were up to.

He would drive us to school every day and help run the house with Mum, particularly during her ill health, which she battled most of her life [she was a chronic asthmatic and died aged 61] Dad had an unconditional love for my mother, and to see a man so duty-bound for the sake of his daughters and family was outstanding.

Dad wanted to be an engineer when he got back from the war, but I believe that Mum's ill health made it difficult for him to pursue that dream. He got a job at an electrical company instead.

A couple of years after Mum died, Dad met a woman who he fell in love with. He didn't remarry but it's important to have some company and share common interests with someone. He was an idealist and they had a great social life together. He died at 64 from cancer and it was when he was sick that I saw his vulnerability.

The first guy who I thought was really attractive was my sister's first boyfriend. I had this romantic notion in my head - probably triggered by all those songs I was singing - that Prince Charming was waiting around the corner.

I wasn't that confident around boys when I was growing up [in Melbourne]. I went to private girls schools except for early primary school in Essendon.

I didn't like being in a class with boys when I was six - it felt competitive.

I was 13 when I experienced my first kiss. I took my sheet music with me to a party, thinking we'd all be singing around a piano. Instead I was playing Postman's Knock and was quickly out of my depth. I was supposed to go out of the room with a boy to kiss. Apparently, when he and I went back into the room, he told everyone kissing me was like kissing his sister.

I first went to Europe with the Seekers by boat in 1964. I remember feeling a bit lonely in the band. The guys were always respectful and like brothers to me - their male sense of humour always had me in fits of laughter - but if I wanted to discuss deeper things, the men weren't interested. This is when

I saw a different side to the male personality. I missed having deep conversations. I wanted to talk about reincarnation and never could.

I spent a lot of time criticising my appearance in the mirror and blaming myself for being plump. The media would often compare me to Twiggy - she was the epitome of thin at the time. But I realised men didn't care for that. I would receive masses of fan mail from men wanting me to sign photos of myself when I was plump - they found that attractive.

I grew to love myself when I met my husband Ron [Edgeworth]. His first comment to me was, "what a dolly lady". I never thought I could be seen in that light. Not every man would have the courage to say that.

Ron, who died from motor neurone disease in 1994, changed my view of myself. He was a very appreciative and understanding man. When Ron and I married, I didn't realise a man may not want to have children; I just assumed everybody wanted them.

We made the choice not to have a family. Ron wasn't a traditionalist. Music was our life and that common bond and respect kept us together.

Songs like The Carnival Is Over bring men to their knees. When I sing that song I see them in tears - it's a romantic trigger. Men keep up their bravado and don't always show their soft sides.

Judith Durham's new album Climb Ev'ry Mountain is out now.