Every year it was the same story. I’d queue up for one of the glamorous dresses and be given a tail and big ears instead. Always the bloody mouse!
I think I took part five years in a row. There was nothing like that excitement in the weeks building up to it, especially in my first year. I was genuinely shocked that I was still expected to go to school during the day, though.
‘But I’m dancing with the Royal Ballet tonight, Mum!’
I remember her smiling face waiting at the gate when I came out on performance night. She had my costume and dancing shoes all ready for me and some sandwiches because I’d be missing tea. I was too nervous to eat a single crumb.
It was such a different experience performing on the huge stage at the Crane Theatre rather than in our dance studio at Bold Street. In fact it was so big that I once got completely lost. There were so many legs kicking and flicking, and pirouetting and pliéing, I couldn’t even see where the audience was!
The older I became, the more I began to socialise less with local school friends and more with the girls from SEC. I couldn’t have been happier than on a Saturday, going to Rodney Street, having a spot of lunch with the adorable Lizzie Gay – later we were both bridesmaids at each other’s weddings – then dancing or performing in competitions in places like Crosby in the afternoon.
Between spending time with friends like Lizzie and all my rehearsals, I didn’t have much time for boys – certainly not as much time as other girls at Eggy Jail seemed to have. My first boyfriend, though, was a friend of Lizzie’s called Dave Owen. He was so nice, and destined for a life in uniform, I thought. We used to go ice skating together and had a lot of fun but I think I was a bit mean to him, really. It was nothing personal, I just preferred to spend my time at SEC. If either of us had been told then that the next time we would meet would be on my way to an oil rig, we wouldn’t have believed it – but that was still to come.
* * *
In the 1960s you were allowed to leave school, before your exams, at fifteen, and a lot of my friends did. I couldn’t wait for the end of term so I could sign up for full-time classes with SEC, but my parents had other ideas. They wanted me to stay on in the sixth form and then possibly go on to university. Somehow we managed to come to a compromise.
‘Just stay on for one more year, Lissie,’ Dad reasoned. ‘If you still want to dance and act at the end of that, then OK.’
So that’s what I did, but the year dragged by. The highlight was being able to spend my six weeks of holidays at a special ‘summer camp’ that SEC was running. We had some amazing teachers. I remember Susan Hampshire’s mother coming along to take some lessons, and once she even brought Susan herself along. She’d just been in Espresso Bongo or Wonderful Life, I think, so we were all excited. Anne Robinson, from The Weakest Link, was another summer student. It was such a vibrant time.
And, of course, being around SEC for more than just one or two sessions a week allowed us to listen to so many more of her fantastic stories about working with the stars from the Liverpool Playhouse. The more I heard, the more I dreamed of performing there. That’s where people like Michael Redgrave were, of course, and we were all shocked to discover she’d gone out with him for a while.
Somehow I got through my lower sixth year and, aged sixteen, I signed up for three full-time years with Shelagh Elliott Clarke – and I couldn’t have been happier.
Despite what I’d told my careers mistress, I’d never really dreamed of acting for a living. I was just a child – the idea of doing anything for an actual wage hadn’t passed across my radar. I just knew it was how I wanted to spend every minute of my day – and finally, for the first time, I could do just that.
Despite her gruff exterior, SEC was born to encourage. Her mantra – which we all had to chant in unison before exams – was ‘Personality is the key to success’ and she really drove us to develop our natural abilities. Nothing pleased her more than investing time and love into a student and seeing that student flourish. She was always pushing us to enter competitions and grasp any opportunity. And that is how I found myself appearing on Search for a Star.
I don’t think I’ve ever told anyone this before. Search for a Star was a national television talent show hosted by a DJ called Keith Fordyce. SEC found out that they were hosting auditions in Liverpool so she sent me along. Other people were singing and dancing as their audition pieces – so what did I do?
Portia’s speech from Julius Caesar!
I mumbled my way through it and Keith was very nice, actually. When I left, I didn’t expect to hear from them again, though. Then a few days later a letter arrived. I’d qualified to appear on the television show! I don’t know how – I must have been a bit different, I suppose. All the same, I cringe to think that they saw me as the token novelty act.
The recording was at a studio in Teddington, so far west as to barely be in London. Just as well I wasn’t there to sightsee! I think one of my friends came with me – I didn’t tell my parents – and I was so nervous. All the other contestants looked so calm and confident. They were obviously the product of many years at drama school whereas I’d just signed up.
The lights went down and my name was called. I delivered my speech once again in my best Robert Donat-inspired tones, then left the stage.
Thank God that’s over, I thought. I never want to go through that again.
But I had to! Keith Fordyce called me back onto stage at the end of the show to say the public had voted me through. Then I heard those dreaded words: ‘Can you come back next week?’
Seven days later, I was back at Teddington.
Unfortunately the show that week was being filmed halfway across London in White City!
I don’t know how long I spent wandering around before I realised my mistake. This time I was on my own and I suddenly became aware that I didn’t have a clue where I was. For a girl from Liverpool, travelling from Teddington to BBC Television Centre in White City was like trying to get to the moon.
Panicking, I began to run back towards the train station. I think I must have darted across a road without looking because suddenly I heard a squeal of brakes and looked up to see a flashy red sports car skidding to a halt next to me.
That was a close call. I remember staring at the driver, half expecting old Mrs Derry’s son, Derek, to climb out. But as the car pulled away I realised it wasn’t him. It was the Carry On star, Jim Dale!
Somehow I found my way to White City and managed to perform, although this time I didn’t win. In fact you’ve never seen anyone happier to lose. I couldn’t wait to get back to Rodney Street – and tell everyone about my brush with near-death and near-celebrity.
Another of Shelagh Elliott-Clarke’s ideas for me was a lot more successful – and once again it involved London. My first year was coming to an end and I showed enough promise, she said, for her to recommend me to London’s Youth Theatre during the summer holidays.
‘London?’ Mum said. ‘You can’t go to London on your own! Where will you live?’
The practicalities hadn’t occurred to me, and I didn’t care. I can’t believe I managed to persuade my parents to let me go, but a few weeks later we arrived at the Scala Theatre for the welcoming meeting. Once Mum and Dad were convinced it was a respectable company they got chatting with another couple and my accommodation was arranged. Their daughter was going to stay at the YWCA in Queensway – and so was I.
‘That way you can both keep an eye on each other,’ Mum said. ‘It will be better living with someone you know.’