In a new Weekend series, celebrities reveal all about their school days. Dame Helen Mirren is one of Britain’s best-loved actresses. Now 62, she is married to the American director Taylor Hackford, has no children and lives mostly in Los Angeles.

When I was in my early teens I had fallen in love with all things French, especially Brigitte Bardot.

Here I am with my best friend, Jenny, and Pattie; I’m on the far right. Together, with another girl called Mary, we formed a close-knit group. There is no relationship in your life quite as intense as that first adolescent friendship, sharing all the pains and dreams without embarrassment.

The four of us became, I am sure, a constant source of irritation to nuns, teachers and fellow pupils alike, not least because of our pretensions, which, like all teenagers, we imagined were our invention.

It was all Rimbaud [French poet] and Juliette Greco [Parisian singer], long hair de rigueur (at school we had to tie it in plaits like in the photo), if possible black stockings and gingham, because that was what Bardot wore.

School was St Bernard’s Convent Grammar School, near my home in Southend.

Like my older sister, Kate, I had passed that terrible and divisive exam called the 11 Plus, thanks probably to the efforts of my parents. My younger brother, Peter, did not pass and was destined for the kind of secondary school education that was more to do with carpentry than Latin.

Life at home was poor but sweet. My father worked as a civil servant, having changed his Russian surname from Mironov to Mirren  -  my paternal grandfather was a Russian nobleman, stranded in England by the revolution in his home country. Mother didn’t work  -  we were working class, but with a Bohemian, creative streak, which came from my mother.

Like many families, there was no central heating and our house was freezing cold in the winter. After school, I had to light the fire with nuggets of paper and then more paper held in front of the fireplace.

We had no television in the house, until after I left home for college, and no radio to speak of. Growing up with no money or resources led to many conflicts between my sister and myself. We had to fight for our space, and that’s exactly what we all did.

St Bernard’s was a Roman Catholic school, and thought of as one of the best in the neighbourhood. The headteacher went by the impressive name of Dame Mother Mary Mildred. She was old and small, and exuded a kind of strict kindness, and a wisdom that was completely innocent of modern life. She gave me advice that I grew to appreciate more and more as life went on: beware of fear.

At school, my group of friends was noticeable for our attempts to change or adapt the school uniform. We rolled up our skirts at the waist to make them minis that could be let down in a second.

I wasn’t a real rebel, though. None of our entertainment included alcohol, let alone drugs. I was a jazz fan, and loved art. When I wasn’t imagining myself walking around with a script under my arm, I dreamt of being an artist with a sketchpad in my hand.

Living in Southend, there was the heartbeat of the big city, London, echoing down the Thames. We went to the capital city with school, to the Tate or a museum. Those trips were so exciting.

At St Bernard’s, our one concession to the world of drama was the Shakespeare Cup. This little silver cup was presented to the winner of a competition in which each form had to prepare and perform a scene from Shakespeare, without the help of a teacher and with no set or costumes. We won one year when I got to do Ophelia’s mad scene from Hamlet. I played it years later at the RSC, but never so well again.

My greatest influence at St Bernard’s was my blessed English teacher, Mrs Welding. I wonder if I would ever have managed to become an actress if it were not for her. She suggested I apply for the National Youth Theatre. At the back of many artists, especially ones coming from an unexpected background like mine, you will find a very fine teacher. Mrs Welding gave me the pamphlet and the application forms.

I applied for an audition without telling anyone at school, I was so sure of rejection. I made the journey up to London with my dad. I did Queen Margaret from Henry VI, Part III: ‘Come, make him stand upon this molehill here…’ I was 17, with all the physical shyness that implies. I tried desperately to overcome my mortification and gave it my all. And I got in.

In The Frame: Helen Mirren, My Life In Words And Pictures is published in paperback by Phoenix, £12.99.