Aged 12, I sat hunched at the top of the stairs, listening to my parents argue late into the night.

The next day, as Dad drove me to school - a selective private girls' school 20 minutes from our house - he told me that he and Mum had grown apart. There were rumours that he'd been seen with a blonde.

I feared they'd divorce, but it hadn't occurred to me that when their marriage ended, so would my privileged education.

I was happy at that school. There were just 90 pupils in the year, and it was a beautiful building, centuries old, in picturesque grounds. It had every facility you could ever want: vast sports pitches; art studios; our own theatre. We did ballet, and sang in the chamber choir, too.

Uniform regulations were strict. Our skirts had to be below-the-knee, and at assembly we'd all have to kneel so the teachers could check they were the right length.

They had firm rules about presentation, too - our work had to be neat and colour-coordinated, and we were taught to lay the pages out a certain way.




The woman writes that her private school had excellent teachers and boasted vast sports pitches, art studios and its own theatre [stock image]

They were brilliant in terms of emotional welfare, and the teaching was excellent. There was a focus on academic achievement and who was in what set.

However, the friendship groups were quite cut-throat, with a lot of competition and cattiness. The most popular girls were the sportier ones, and I wasn't sporty.

But that was OK, I had my family. Dad and I had always been close. I'm an only child, and I was a Daddy's girl. He'd said he'd stay and make it work. Then Mum discovered he was having an affair with a colleague. She found Viagra in his briefcase, too.

Dad left on my 13th birthday, and didn't come back.

Nine months later, I got an email from him saying: ‘This is my wife, and here's a photo of your new baby sister.' Until then, I hadn't realised his new relationship was serious. I've had nothing to do with him since - I'm now 23.



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It was a messy, expensive divorce. When our lawyers started looking into the finances, we found out that Dad had secretly racked up half-a-million pounds of debt. Over the last 12 years, he'd been forging Mum's signature to take out credit cards. He'd also taken out loans against our £700,000 house.

It was a lovely place, dating back to Tudor times - very chocolate box, with a thatched roof, close to a river, and you could hear the church bells from our split-level garden. It had a willow tree and two ponds, and my Wendy house at the back of it from when I was little.

We had to sell our home and downsize. Only a year earlier we'd enjoyed gorgeous family holidays in Bali and Italy. Now, Mum and I had absolutely no money, having to accept hand-outs from friends. The bills were coming through and Dad wasn't paying a single thing.

He demanded a 70/30 split of the £200,000 left after the house sale, as well as the dog. We said: ‘You're not having the dog!' Fortunately, a friend was a top barrister and fought to get us enough to put down a small payment on a social housing property - we'd have otherwise been homeless.

But Dad refused to pay child maintenance or the annual £12,000 school fees, so Mum couldn't afford to keep me there. She wasn't working at the time - though she quickly got a full-time job. She spoke to the head teacher and asked if they could keep me on a bursary. But no, Dad already owed the school £3,000, and still does as far as I'm aware.

A month and a half later, I had to leave. I was so embarrassed I didn't tell any of my friends until the day before the Easter holidays. ‘I'm really sorry,' I said, ‘I'm not coming back.'

So, at the start of the summer term, I joined my local state school. It would have been nerve-racking but, thankfully, all of my friends from primary school were there.




Her first experience of secondary state schooling was a 'culture shock', 비닉스 효과 witnessing another pupil arguing with a teacher before flipping the desk over [stock image]

Even so, state school was a culture shock. In my first lesson, I walked in and stood behind my chair, because at my private school we weren't allowed to sit until the teacher did. My friend hissed in horror: 비닉스 약국 ‘What are you doing?! Sit down! Sit down!'

Then a girl had an argument with the teacher and flipped the desk over. There were some scary fights in the playground - yet some of the teachers were scarier.

But I was lucky. Shortly after I joined there was a change of head, and he completely turned the school around. We received extra funding and got our own AstroTurf pitch and swimming pool. There was extra GCSE tuition from the teachers. I'd always loved drama and campaigned to get our own theatre built - at the state school we'd use the village hall.

I stayed there until sixth form and ended up being head girl. It was brilliant. I got good grades, went to university and am now at a prestigious drama school on a bursary. But it doesn't surprise me that the majority of people on my course are privately educated. I had friends at private school whose parents paid for extra tuition in preparation for drama school auditions or funded £25,000 Master of Arts courses to boost their chances.

My private school also had terrific connections in the acting world. One pupil - now a very high-profile actor - was signed to her first TV series because our drama teacher knew the casting director, so she came in and auditioned a few of the girls.



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That networking opportunity would never happen at my comprehensive. It makes me all the more determined to succeed in this industry. It's tough coming from a state school, you don't get the same advantages. I still get asked, surprisingly often: ‘Where did you go to school?'

Everyone in my core friendship group attended private school, and they all know which one is which. That discussion happened in week two of drama school. The conversation comes up more than I'd expect it to.

But I don't regret having gone from private to state schooling. I feel like a more well-rounded person as a result. I'm able to get on with anyone, from any background, and, because it was just Mum and me, I got a job at 15 at the local theatre. I also washed cars. I'm proactive and can look after myself. Mum says I never rebelled, I just got on with it.

And what of my Dad? For two years after the divorce, he would email me photos of his new family and life, also sending me a £70 voucher for clothes, which I sent back. He's since had another child and moved to Dubai.

Bizarrely, I saw him a few years ago while I was driving down a motorway. He followed my car, overtook me on the inside and made a rude gesture as he passed, not realising it was me.

I have no desire to contact him. I don't miss him and I can't forgive his betrayal of me and Mum. But because of all I went through - changing from private to state school, 비닉스 가격 losing my home and my father - I matured quickly, and I'm a tough cookie, well prepared for the outside world.

Strange as it sounds, I'm grateful to my dad for what he did.


As told to Anna Maxted.