On the contrary, I studied as hard as ever and always had my nose in a book – for my own pleasure.

At the age of fifteen, I passed my exams and switched from a three-year grammar school to a language school. In the mornings I went to school and in the afternoons I did my homework and played tennis.

One day (it was autumn), I was at home, cleaning out my junk cupboard, which was filled with boxes of every shape and kind, when I came across a shoebox marked ‘Film Stars’, in great big letters. The moment I laid eyes on it I remembered that I’d promised my parents to throw it out and that I’d probably tucked it away where nobody could find it.

Curious, I lifted the lid, took out those neat little bundles and started removing the elastic bands. I was so engrossed in those made-up faces that I couldn’t stop, and two hours later, when someone tapped me on the shoulder, I jumped and looked up from where I was sitting on the floor, surrounded by a mound of clippings and boxes. They were stacked so high that I could barely step over them to go and have a cup of tea.

Later, when I was clearing up the mess, I put the film-star box to one side. That evening, as I was poring over it again, I came across something that I couldn’t get out of my mind: an envelope filled with pictures, big and small, of the Lane family, whose three daughters, I read, were film stars. I also found the girls’ address, so…I picked up a pen and paper and began writing a letter in English to Priscilla Lane, the youngest of the three daughters.

Without telling a soul, I posted this little epistle. In it, I wrote that I’d love to have pictures of Priscilla and her sisters and asked her to please answer my letter since I took a keen interest in her entire family.

I waited for more than two months, and though I didn’t want to admit it to myself, I’d actually lost hope of ever getting an answer. It was hardly surprising, since I realized that if the Lane sisters had to write long letters to all their fans and send each of them a photograph, they’d find themselves, after only a few weeks, doing nothing all day but answering their correspondence.

But then one morning…just when I’d stopped expecting a reply, my father handed me an envelope addressed to ‘Miss Anne Franklin’, which I eagerly ripped open. My family was curious to know what it was, so, after telling them about my letter, I read Priscilla’s answer out loud.

She wrote that she couldn’t send me any pictures without first knowing more about me, but that she’d be prepared to write back if I would tell her more about myself and my family. I replied, in all truth, that I was much more interested in her as a person than as an actress. I wanted to know if she went out in the evening, if Rosemary made as many films as she did, etc., etc. Much later, she gave me permission to call her by her nickname, Pat. Apparently Priscilla was so taken with my ‘writing style’, as she put it, that she was more than happy to send me long letters in return.

Since our correspondence was entirely in English, my parents could hardly object; after all, it was excellent practice for me. In the letters that followed, Priscilla told me that she spent most of her days at the studios, and outlined her daily schedule. She corrected my mistakes and posted the letters back to me, though she wanted me to return them. In the meantime, she also sent a series of pictures.

Though Priscilla was already twenty years old, she was neither engaged nor married; still, it didn’t bother me in the least, and I was terribly proud of my film-star friend.

And so it went throughout the winter. Then one day, in late spring, I received a letter from the Lanes, in which Priscilla asked me if I’d like to fly to California and stay with her for two months during the summer. I jumped up and down so hard I nearly hit the ceiling, but I hadn’t counted on my parents’ numerous objections: I couldn’t travel on my own, I couldn’t possibly accept such an invitation, I didn’t have enough clothes, I couldn’t stay away that long…and all the other objections that worried parents have when it comes to their offspring. But I had my heart set on going to America, and I was determined to go.

I wrote and told Priscilla of all these objections, and she came up with a solution to every one. In the first place, I wouldn’t have to travel on my own, since Priscilla’s companion would be coming to The Hague for four weeks to visit her relatives and I could fly back with her. Some kind of escort could surely be arranged for the return trip.

Naturally I’d get to see a lot of California. But my parents still objected to the plan, this time on the grounds that they didn’t know the family, and that I might feel out of place…

I was furious. It was as though they begrudged me the opportunity of a lifetime. Priscilla was being incredibly nice and considerate, and the upshot of all the fuss was that, after a personal letter from Mrs Lane, the argument was finally decided in my favour.

I studied hard during May and June. When Priscilla wrote that her companion would be arriving in Amsterdam on 18 July, my preparations for the big trip began in earnest.

On the eighteenth, Father and I went to the station to meet her. Priscilla had sent me a picture, so I picked her out in the crowd almost immediately. Miss Kalwood was a small woman with greying blonde hair who talked a lot and spoke incredibly fast, but she looked quite pleasant and nice.

Father, who had been in America and spoke excellent English, talked to Miss Kalwood, and every once in a while I put in a word or two.

We had agreed that Miss Kalwood would stay at our house for a week before going back, and the week simply flew by. Even before the first day was over she and I had become friends. I was so excited on 25 July that I couldn’t swallow a single bite of breakfast.

Miss Kalwood, on the other hand, was as cool as a cucumber.