Forty years ago, eight people met at a hotel to found the Thalidomide Society. Health Correspondent Harry Nelson meets one of ther 457 Britons whose lives were changed for ever by a drug taken by their mothers to combat nausea during pregnancy.

ONE of the first things Debbie Richards says is "I'm one of the lucky ones," a remarkable statement coming from someone born with serious deformities. She was born with drastically foreshortened arms and a total of four fingers - three on one hand and one on the other. But Debbie, an otherwise very normal housewife living in a very normal County Durham village, has met enough other Thalidomide Society members to know that she got off relatively lightly.

Most of the victims of the great 1960s thalidomide scandal suffer from what is known as bilateral deformity - where arms or legs are drastically shortened or missing altogether. In the worst cases, babies were born with severe malformation known as phocomelia, where there are no limbs at all, or where hands and feet grow directly from the trunk.

Debbie's positive outlook on life has stood her in good stead. "I have taken it in my stride, I just laugh at things," she says, expertly balancing a hot cup of coffee on the knuckles of one hand and offering me a plate of biscuits in the living room of her immaculate bungalow in Shotton Colliery, near Peterlee. "If I can't do something, I will try and try until I can, that's the way I am."

While most of us can only wonder at the impact of being born with such a severe handicap, Debbie says she is just thankful that she was the family member afflicted by disability, not her younger brother and sister. "I am pleased it was me. I seem to be able to cope with things."

Now 42, her earliest memories are of playing in the school sandpit in the nearby pit village of Wheatley Hill. But despite the obvious differences from other children, she can't recall being singled out. "I really can't remember any bullying or nastiness at all," says Debbie.

Her parents, Jean and Gordon Richards, had to put up a fight to get their daughter accepted at the local state school. They argued that it would be in their daughter's long-term interest to be educated in the local community, so she could forge friendships and make contacts which would serve her well in the future. Some educationalists argued that Debbie should be sent away to a special school for disabled youngsters.

Thankfully, says Debbie, her parents won the argument. "It meant that I was just part of the local community and everybody accepted me," she says.

The fact that Debbie copes so well today probably reflects the fact that she was treated the same as any other child at school. It was the same at home. "We didn't have any adaptations to the house or anything like that. I just managed and got round things," she says.

Reassured by doctors that subsequent children would not be affected by thalidomide, Mrs Richards had two more children. "We all went to the same school and had the same friends. They still live locally," says Debbie.

By her teens she had made good progress at school and with her future in mind, began learning to type. At first her teachers thought her disability was so great that she would have to learn to use her toes, but Debbie demonstrated that she could use her knuckles to type. "I was slower than most, but I got there," laughs Debbie.

A state-of-the-art electric typewriter was provided by the Thalidomide Society out of compensation from Distillers, the company which manufactured the drug. Debbie's parents also shared in an out-of-court settlement.

When Debbie left school she worked in a doctor's surgery in Wheatley Hill and as a receptionist at Durham University before being taken on as a computer operator at a wholesale pharmaceutical warehouse.

It was when she was working at Durham Pharmaceuticals she became a passionate fan of local Northern League football team Shotton Comrades - a connection which led to her first appearance in the pages of her favourite local newspaper, The Northern Echo. (The newspaper was one of the first to draw attention to the thalidomide scandal in the 1960s under the editorship of the legendary Harold Evans.)

"I have always loved football and I enjoyed the social side at the Comrades club," says Debbie. Asked by club secretary Billy Banks whether she wanted to get more involved in the club, Debbie ended up doing secretarial work, serving tea to supporters and even repainting most of the ground when the club colours changed from blue to red and white.

Her passion for football and her dedication to Shotton Comrades - including away visits on the team bus to Workington and Penrith - earned her the title of Skol Northern League supporter of the year in 1990. Back then, she told the 600 guests gathered at the league's annual dinner: "Everyone has been smashing to me."

These days - a decade after meeting local lorry driver Den Trevillion at the Comrades club and marrying him in July 1992 - Debbie doesn't get down to see the lads play as often as she used to. "We are in the second division now and we lost last week," she sighs.

Husband Den is originally from Fulham in west London and the weekend before I interviewed her, Debbie's favourite Premiership team, Sunderland, were beaten at home by Fulham. "He wasn't very popular in this house, I can tell you," she laughs.

Football differences apart, Debbie and Den - who has two daughters from a previous marriage - celebrated their tenth wedding anniversary two months ago and The Northern League's former top fan seems pretty happy with life. "I can do most things. I can drive, I can cook, I do the housework," she says.

"My first car was a little mini that had so many controls it looked like the cockpit of an aeroplane," she says. Gradually realising she could cope without special controls, Debbie now drives an ordinary automatic transmission car.

One of few regrets is having to give up her job because of repetitive strain inury (RSI) caused, she thinks, by her unorthodox style of typing.

While Debbie feels able to live her life without the help of the Thalidomide Society, she respects its role in helping others - and ensuring the that the lessons of thalidomide are learned. But she is worried about reports that the drug is still being given to women in developing countries like Brazil, after impressing scientists as a treatment for leprosy.

"If it helps people with leprosy, I don't have a problem, but they should watch who they are giving it to," says Debbie, who fears more deformed babies could be born. "They have got to be more careful when it comes to giving people new drugs. They need stricter controls."