Not that Kinda Girl. Lisa Maxwell

TV a couple of times.

      Laura, who was so talented, went on to dance with Hot Gossip when she was 16. She was touring the country doing raunchy dances and her mum was still sending her copies of Bunty! I remember she came back to school and seemed to have grown up – she had become sexy and glamorous. She could have been a megastar. Bonnie agrees with me that Laura was the most talented girl in our class, but she’s opted for marriage and a family instead. Who can blame her?

      When it was announced in 1977 that a new production of Annie was being put on at the Victoria Palace Theatre in London with Stratford Johns and Sheila Hancock in the leads, there was a mass audition for the orphans. Literally hundreds of us kids turned up at the Theatre Royal Drury Lane and queued down the street with our mums. It felt like every stage-school kid in the country was there. One by one we had to sing ‘Happy Birthday’ – quite a tricky song because there’s a real leap to get to the top note. It was a deliberate choice: they didn’t want typical performing children with their pieces all prepared, they wanted natural-sounding kids.

      We were whittled down to smaller and smaller groups and then called back for the moment when they line you up and announce who has got the parts. I was to play one of the orphans, but on the first day of rehearsals I was ill and when I travelled up the next day one of the other girls told me that I hadn’t got a part after all. I was ‘alternative orphan’, which meant I had to cover performances when one of the others was away: as children we were only permitted by law to do a certain number of shows each week. I knew then what they meant when they told us at Conti’s that you really don’t have friends. Perhaps I was being over-sensitive (I’d have found out as soon as I got there that I was an alternative), but I still felt the girls who landed named parts were ever so slightly gloating.

      Actually, being an alternative was harder: I did three shows a week, but had to learn different parts. After a few months I was given the role of July, one of the orphans. The lead, playing Annie, was an American girl (Andrea McCardle, who had taken the part on Broadway). When she had to go back to the States we were all in tears, begging to be pen pals. I was sticking my fingers in my eyes to make tears come – I wanted to be part of the big, over-emotional farewells going on, but even though I liked Andrea I wasn’t that attached to her.

      Annie was a happy time. I remember our chaperones taking us to the first McDonald’s to open in London for Big Macs. The kids who didn’t live in the city stayed in this big flat in Kensington and we all went there for parties. There was a massive sunken bath and wallpaper with shiny silver bamboo trees on it: for a long time this was my definition of posh.

      Mum and the other mothers would pick us up after the show wrapped at ten o’clock at night. She would travel on the 21 bus, often with her hair in rollers to set before work the next day. We even had a Royal Command Performance in 1978. The Queen came along the row and stopped at me, asking how old I was. Even though I could imitate Received Pronunciation perfectly well, I really couldn’t understand her strangulated vowels: to me it sounded like she was speaking Dutch or something. Every time she asked the question, I said ‘Pardon?’ It was getting embarrassing, and in the end the girl next to me said, ‘She’s just saying how old are you.’ ‘Four’een,’ I replied, managing to drop the ‘t’ out of the middle of the word.

      The American directors were generous to all us kids in the show, giving us presents and jewellery, usually with a cartoon of Sandy the dog on it (I’ve kept everything to give to my daughter Beau). Sheila Hancock used to meditate before she went onstage, which I later heard her say in an interview was to help calm stage fright although she never gave any hint of nerves. She bought us all a little silver disc with ‘Annie’ on it.

      I kept the bust binder that I was issued with during Annie – it was to flatten our boobs so we looked like young children. I’d wear mine all the time at school because I thought it made me look thinner.

      I was in the first run for six months when I was 14 and went back into the show again at 16, playing the lead role of Annie with a different cast. Onstage, we would go into school at odd times and we were put into a classroom to catch up on our academic work because by law we had to do three hours study a day. I’d be with Laura and we’d just natter, though. There was a tutor on set for the children who couldn’t get back to their schools, but we always said we were going back. I never paid much attention to schoolwork, something I deeply regret now because there are great gaps in my education, but the performing side was so much more fun.

      Yorkshire Television did a documentary about the girls at the school. Of course they were interested in Bonnie and Lena but they also followed Rudi Davies, who was the daughter of the author Beryl Bainbridge. They filmed our classes, culminating in the end-of-term production. I was in the film, though not in a central role.

      Rudi went on to appear in Grange Hill, the TV series about school kids. I was chosen to be in the series but, unlike her, I didn’t have a big role and was only in three episodes. That’s where I first met Todd Carty (Tucker Jenkins), who has been a mate ever since. Filming for the part came up while Mum, Nan and Grandad were away in Spain, so I had to stay with a professional chaperone. She took the job of chaperoning very seriously and would even stand outside the loo when we were in there. Whenever Mum rang from Spain she’d stand next to me, which made it hard to say how much I was missing her without sounding as if I was complaining. I remember her rather suddenly waking me up one day by dribbling cold water onto me when I wanted to keep my head on the pillow.

      When we were 17, Yorkshire Television came back to see what had happened to us all (they got us together in the pub next door to Conti’s). I was one of the ones still working, so I figured more prominently in this programme.

      In 1978 there was a big event for my family: the council transferred us to a house. We’d been on the list for ages and may have told one of our ‘little fibs’ about Nan and Grandad struggling with the stairs at the flats. Anyway, it worked because we were given a three-bedroom near the Walworth Road. We almost got a maisonette in a typical seventies development – all white panels and windows, clean and new looking. I was disappointed when we didn’t get it, but the house was better in the long run.