But the letter I expected did not come. Instead, I received one on creamy paper embossed with gold. It was from David Penn Productions, of 110 Strand, London WC1, and it offered me employment as an actress in a film to be made at Shepperton Studios over the next few months. Again, a form had been enclosed for my parents to sign, and when they returned it, another, bigger collection of papers arrived. This was an official-looking contract, full of incomprehensible words.

Da took it to Mr Mord Williams, a lawyer friend in Aberystwyth whom he considered very learned. To my mind, anyone who did not know as much poetry as my father could not possibly be his superior in learning. But Mr Williams pronounced the contract legally sound, charging us half a crown for his services, and Da and I duly signed and returned it. Mam said the cream-and-gold letter was beautiful enough to frame, so she did exactly that and put it on the wall of my bedroom. By mid-June, I was on my way.

And I was no longer Sarah Freebody. Another letter had come from the production company telling me, to my delight, that I would be known as Clara Hope. And it was full of that hope that I stepped into the car that brought me from the Savoy in the Strand to another well-appointed hotel, this one in the country, by the Thames.

Jeanette, the woman who had been at my screen test, was waiting for me at the Thamesbank Hotel. “David Penn sent me,” she explained, “to make sure you settle in all right, and that you have everything you need.” When I asked if she was going to be my chaperone, she said, laughing, “I wouldn’t call it that! But I am here if you need me. I do whatever David wants, and sometimes what he doesn’t want!”

A few sleepless hours later, in the mist of a summer dawn, a different car collected me and delivered me to Shepperton Studios. And my new life began.