In the 1970's she learned the hard way that the age of liberation had not stretched as far as the world of bowls.

A few years later she was ejected from a bowling league meeting on the sole basis of her sex.

"I was at the AGM for the Knutsford League when the chairman said 'We can't start the meeting. There is a woman in the room'.

"I was told if I didn't leave they would actually call the police.

"At that point I didn't feel it was worth putting up a fight because I was pregnant - and I had not even told my parents."

The battle may have been lost, but the war was still to be won.

Dorothy continued to bowl within the league, and even became a committee member.

But even today, in 2001, there is a rule that states women are not allowed in the Knutsford Bowling League.

"I have tried so many times to get that rule deleted but on many occasions there was not even a seconder for the proposal."

Dorothy began bowling after a holiday in the Isle of Wight in the 70's sparked her interest.

"Every time I bent down I had to hide my knickers, but when I got back home we all decided to start playing at the Church Inn."

It was her interest in bowls that led her to Knutsford Conservative Club, where she became involved with the Friday Night Bowling League with husband Dave.

But differences of opinion within the Conservative Club mean that Dorothy is currently pursuing a claim with the employment tribunals, and has since been expelled from the club.

It has become a fight of principle for Dorothy, as she battles against those she feels have wronged her.

Dorothy was born on Smith Lane Farm in Mobberley in February 1943 to Emma and Harry Coleman.

One of her earliest memories is of hearing fighter planes over her home.

"I don't remember the war, but I must have been aware of what was happening because I remember hearing the bombers and screaming," she says.

Dorothy grew up at the farm with sisters Anne and Mary, brother Tim and her grandparents.

They also had an unusual guest for about five years - a German prisoner of war named Helmut Leuchs.

"He was only a teenager and we called him Slim," she said.

"He carved all of our initials on a beech tree at the end of the farm with his on as well.

"I thought the world of Slim and was really very upset when he had to leave. But we got Christmas cards from him for many years after that."

Dorothy did her fair share of work on the farm from an early age.

In 1950 Dorothy attended Ashley School, and she remembers they announced their highest attendance ever - of 43 pupils.

"I remember being very good at sums and never really having a problem at school," she says.

She went on to Altrincham Grammar, where she learned that she was perhaps not so good at maths, but got her GCE some years later - after only a year of study.

"I think we must have had a bad teacher," she says.

One benefit of the farm was that Dorothy was able to get the day off school if ever a calf was taken to market.

"I had to make sure that the calf didn't drop off the pick-up truck," she says.

But there was always a quarrel between her mother and father about what would be written in the sick note.

"Mother did not believe in me missing school so she would get her own back by writing 'Dorothy had a bilious attack' in the sick note."

For the young Dorothy, music was to be a great influence, with the family regularly listening to classical music, with the odd rock 'n' roll track mixed in for good measure.

Dorothy remembers running off the train station to a newspaper store to get hold of the latest NME to see who would be in the centre pages.

"You had to be off the train very fast because they would sell out by lunchtime," says Dorothy.

"I would be looking out for Ricky Nelson or Elvis Presley.

"But if Matt Monro was the pin-up you could guarantee there would be a great pile left. Nobody wanted Matt Monro."

Back on the farm, Dorothy remembers thrashing on the farm, with brother Tim bringing back his friends to join in the hay-making.

"When we were teenagers we would work all day until it got dark and then Mum would make a hotpot.

"We would then go down to the Railway Inn with a milk churn and asked for it to be filled with beer.

"We sat and played cards until midnight - and then it would be back to work again in the morning.

"We really had to work at it," she jokes.

After school Dorothy enrolled at Domestic and Trades College where she spent two years learning garment construction.

After spells at dressware designers in the region, Dorothy joined the Inland Revenue as a tax officer at 25.

But she left in 1971 when she married Dave, one of her brother's friends who she had known since those days thrashing the hay.

Dorothy left home and they moved to live above a chip shop. But after 18 months they bought their first house in Knutsford at County Terrace, where they remain today.

"Every door and ledge in the place was covered in dark brown varnish. It took me two years to burn all that off," she says.

Dave was then an HGV driver, but learned in a rather unusual way.

"He learned to drive HGVs by being sent off to Liverpool. He hit every kerb on the way, but that was just how you learned in those days," she said.

In 1980 their daughter Clare was born. Three years later came son Martin.

Both children were intelligent, with Martin doing particularly well.

But today, although 18, he never leaves the family home because of his fear of strangers.

"At school he was bullied on a daily basis by about a dozen boys," she said. "He was taken out of school on medical advice and it is something we are still trying to sort out now."