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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