Olivia (5 page)

In addition to the cultural benefits for Olivia of staying on in London, Irene harboured hopes of her daughter gaining a place at the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art, recognised as London’s premier drama school. ‘She had dreams that I’d go to RADA and study and do all these intelligent things,’ says Olivia. ‘But of course I had my own dreams.’

Olivia’s first live singing performance in the UK made for an inauspicious start. She was booked into a little known dive called The Poor Millionaire’s Club, where she was permitted to sing three songs as a fill-in before the main act, a folk singer, took to the stage.

Her prize trip to London eventually led to a one-off record deal with Decca and she recorded a number written by American singer-songwriter Jackie de Shannon called ‘Till You Say You’ll Be Mine’, which was released in May 1966. Olivia’s was a rather brash version of the song; the B-side, ‘For Ever’, suited her gentler, folksy feel far better.

To make an impact, every new recording artiste needs at least a modicum of promotion and exposure, but Olivia’s debut disc had virtually none. This was perhaps unsurprising since Decca already had a very pretty, blonde, highly marketable girl singer on their label whose folksy singles were doing very nicely in the charts on a regular basis. What’s more, her private life frequently kept her, and therefore her records, in the headlines. She went by the name of Marianne Faithfull.

Olivia’s debut disc didn’t stand a chance. Decca, who also had another promising songstress, called Lulu, on their label at the time, chose not to get behind ‘Till You Say You’ll Be Mine’ and in those days all-important radio play was hard to secure. There was no network of commercial radio stations as there is today, and the launch of the BBC’s Radio 1 pop music channel was still one year away.
The Light Programme
, the BBC’s main entertainment radio channel, offered precious few opportunities for new pop records to get an airing. The pirate radio stations, like Radio Caroline and Radio London, which operated from ships offshore and therefore outside the country’s broadcasting regulations, were gaining a committed teenage audience. But these stations tended to play only records that were in the Top Forty.

Olivia’s first record also happened to be issued at a time when pop groups were dominating the UK charts. Family favourites like Ken Dodd and The Bachelors still managed to register hits, but the beat boom had spawned dozens of four-man guitar-dominated combos, and many of them were still successfully riding the wave created by the all-conquering Beatles with The Rolling Stones, The Who and The Kinks not far behind.

But if Olivia needed encouragement, she only had to scan the charts to find that a handful of British girl singers were nevertheless capable of making their mark. It appeared there was a place in the charts for girl singers, and she was heartened to see that each one who succeeded was very different from the others.

Essex girl Sandie Shaw was slim, coltish, short-sighted, dark-haired, and declined to wear shoes on her feet when she sang her hits with a natural ache in her voice. Cilla Black was a giggly Liverpool redhead who radiated next-door mateyness and whose vocal delivery could shake the rafters of the largest theatre when her throat tackled a middle eight at full throttle. Lulu was a bouncy, no-nonsense pocket dynamo from Glasgow, all restless energy as she belted out her rasping, bluesy vocals. Marianne Faithfull, Olivia’s rival on Decca, was a classy, convent-educated daughter of an Austrian baroness, with tumbling blonde hair, a perfect face, an angelic, virginal look that belied her interest in sex, and a penchant for singing in a tremulous whisper with an enigmatic smile.

Among the most highly rated vocally was Dusty Springfield, blonde and beehived with over-kohled panda eyes and a rich, bluesy, huskily soulful voice that earned her the tag ‘the white Aretha Franklin’. And then there was Shirley Bassey, the girl from Tiger Bay, whose powerful, dramatic and emotional vocal delivery, vibrant personality and daring concert gowns made her a cabaret favourite as well as a regular in the hit parade, as the charts were then called.

In time Olivia would get to know them all, but faced with such formidable and varied competition, she was going to find it difficult to create a niche for herself, and she knew it. Not that she was overly bothered. At that point she still lacked ambition; she was dreaming of the house with the picket fence, children and animals in the yard.

Olivia’s version of ‘Till You Say You’ll Be Mine’ sank without trace, unnoticed except by one reviewer, who said the record sounded as though it had been recorded in a bathroom and that she would be better off being an air hostess. The record made no impression on the charts whatsoever.

Olivia’s early attempts to get herself noticed with live appearances on the club circuit were just as disappointing. At one particularly seedy nightclub she was shocked to the core when a male singer swore in front of her. When she politely asked him to moderate his language, he rounded on her and forcefully told her in plain Anglo-Saxon what she could do if she didn’t like it. His outburst reduced Olivia to tears.

On a personal level, however, life improved considerably for the homesick teenager when Pat Carroll suddenly got in touch from Australia to pass on the exciting news that she too was coming over to England. Pat had also won a talent contest, on radio, and, like Olivia’s, the prize was a trip to London. It was just the fillip Olivia needed. She went out to the airport to welcome her good friend off the plane from Melbourne, and accompanied her back into town to check out where Pat would be living during her stay. Accommodation was provided as part of Pat’s prize, but when the girls were shown the room Pat had been allocated, it proved to be hardly the Ritz. ‘It was so crummy,’ Olivia remembers, ‘so we said she could come back and stay with me and Mum.’ Pat was duly made at home at Perons Court.

Olivia now had a trusted friend with whom to explore what London had to offer. And a whole new world started to open up for her when, with Irene’s approval, she and Pat eventually moved out of the Hampstead apartment and into a rented flat in Shepherd’s Bush on the other side of London, which they shared with two budding young actresses. For the first time Olivia was living away from home, away from Irene’s eagle eye, with all the freedom that entailed. A flat with four pretty girls trying to make it in showbusiness inevitably attracted more than its fair share of male visitors, which made for some lively evenings and eventful, fun-filled weekends.

Olivia herself had plenty of male admirers but her thoughts loyally stayed with Ian Turpie whenever she went on a date. After her wretched first few weeks in London she was now starting to enjoy herself in the city she had originally thought was so dreary. With Pat as a companion, she began seeing London in a new light, and the capital was shining brightly in what was turning out to be a momentous year.

 

 

In the summer of 1966, England was enjoying the feel-good factor after winning the World Cup at Wembley. The Beatles still so ruled the world that John Lennon ventured the opinion they were now more popular than Jesus - the Fab Four were making it clear that youth culture was here to stay. London was where it was at for all that was cool and all who were hip, so much so that America, in the form of its prestigious
Time
magazine, dubbed the capital ‘Swinging London’.
Tim
e’s issue of 15 April 1966 told an international audience: ‘In this century, every decade has its city ... and for the Sixties that city is London.’

There was plenty of evidence that the capital was indeed doing its best to live up to its Swinging London billing, and rarely can there have been a more exciting place and time for people in their teens and twenties to start spreading their wings. The baby-boom generation was coming out to play - and with a sense of live-for-now fun, liberated style and a freedom that previous generations of teenagers had never enjoyed, particularly the girls, partly due to the introduction of the contraceptive pill.

Olivia needed no convincing that London was now the fashion capital of the world: hemlines rose daringly above the knee after Mary Quant invented the mini-skirt, and trendy boutiques sprang up in the King’s Road, Chelsea, in Kensington and Carnaby Street selling pop art clothes in which ‘dolly birds’ could colourfully dance the night away to the sound of the latest beat groups in clubs like the Scotch of St James, the Bag O’Nails and the Cromwellian. As for the young men, they had shoulder-length hair and wore Afghan coats, bell-bottomed trousers and Cuban heels.

The in-crowd were artists like David Hockney, models like Jean Shrimpton and Twiggy, named Woman of the Year in 1966, photographers like David Bailey, rock stars like Mick Jagger, and young actors like Michael Caine and Terence Stamp, all dedicated to their individual art and dictating the hip young style to a whole new generation along the way. England’s pop music scene was thriving as never before.

In time, a chance for Olivia and Pat to break into the much-envied Swinging London in-crowd presented itself after they met up with an old friend from Australia, Athol Guy. Athol was a member of the Australian harmony vocal group The Seekers, who had become hugely popular in England. Olivia and Pat knew the band well from having moved in much the same music circles in Melbourne, where The Seekers had first got together. The girls were familiar with the group’s remarkable success story since the band’s move to England - and they were genuinely thrilled for them.

Athol and his bandmates, Bruce Woodley, Keith Potger and Judith Durham, all hailed from in or around Melbourne, and Olivia could remember the excitement they generated in the local press in 1964 after they set out to work their passage to Britain on board an ocean liner. Soon after stepping ashore, The Seekers won a spot on
Sunday Night At The London Palladium
, then Britain’s top-rated TV entertainment show, and a record deal followed with Tom Springfield, brother of the celebrated Dusty. Tom had written a song called ‘I’ll Never Find Another You’, which launched The Seekers as the ideal group to fill the gap in the market left by the break-up of his own group, The Springfields, the year before.

The Seekers recorded in a similar tight harmony vocal style to The Springfields, which owed a great deal to folk music and not a little to pop. They sang tuneful melodies with Judith Durham’s crystal lead voice as their instantly recognisable trademark. ‘I’ll Never Find Another You’ soared to number one in the charts, followed by ‘A World Of Our Own’ which reached number three, and ‘The Carnival Is Over’, which was also a chart-topper.

These three massive hits were quite a contrast to the predominance of beat groups at the time, and Athol, keen to help two fellow singers from Melbourne, felt there was room for a female vocal duo to make their mark on the UK music scene. He therefore suggested Pat and Olivia team up and try to make a go of it as a double act. They both sang well, he said, they both appreciated and could hold a melody, they were both great-looking girls and they would look good together, Pat’s dark looks contrasting agreeably with the blue-eyed fair complexion Olivia had inherited from her mother. The girls had already sung alongside each other back in Australia and, perhaps most importantly of all, they were really good friends. It was good timing, too. The folk purists who appreciated the kind of straightforward songs Pat and Olivia enjoyed singing were outraged that Bob Dylan had just ‘gone electric’ on his tour of Britain. Pat and Olivia’s musical approach would go down well with the folk music fraternity.

The girls considered Athol’s idea was well worth a try. Olivia’s solo career was clearly not taking off at this point. After the dismal showing of her first record, Decca appeared to be in no hurry for her to record for them again. Teaming up professionally was also a case of needs must for Olivia and Pat, who were discovering that the downside to flat-dwelling was, of course, there was a fridge to be filled and their share of the bills and rent to be paid. Athol felt that teaming up would give them not only a means of earning a crust, but also a chance to have some fun and maybe make a name for themselves all at the same time.

Pat took the initiative and put the idea to her agent at the Sir Bernard Delfont agency, one of the most powerful in British showbusiness. ‘I said: “I’ve got this girl and I really want us to be a double act.” And they said: “That’s OK . . . if you split your wages.” So that’s what we did.’ Very generously, Pat agreed to give half her usual performance fee of £18 to Olivia, a selfless gesture the latter has never forgotten down the many years they have remained friends. Pat’s generosity was all the greater for the fact that of the two budding songstresses, Pat was by far the more focused and motivated at that point. Pat remembers that, to Olivia, it was still all a bit of a lark. ‘It was hard for me at first,’ Pat said, ‘because I was always the one who was ambitious. She never was really.’

Faced now with the imminent prospect of work, the duo chewed over several names but decided to call themselves simply Pat and Olivia. Pat set to work designing and making outfits, matching pink mini-skirts as well as pretty blue velvet mini-dresses with little frilly white collars; Olivia was pressed into sewing the hems. Olivia found sewing tedious but she knew she needed to make a contribution to Pat’s designs in view of Pat’s big-hearted gesture towards her.

Bookings quickly started to come their way, courtesy of Sir Bernard Delfont’s many business contacts and outlets in the British entertainment industry. If they were to perform successfully on stage together, the girls needed to work out a repertoire of songs with dance routines to go with them. Rehearsing their act in the flat proved to be unsatisfactory. They had no means of playing back their vocals as they tried out their harmonies, and they had to rely on their own ears to spot any weaknesses. But they had no other option than singing along together in the flat, holding Coke bottles as imitation microphones while they worked out various dance moves.