In 1949, I went to Cambridge to read English at Newnham College and I discovered such a wonderful sense of freedom there. I’d never really been among people before, except in school, which is different. Certainly, I’d never really talked to men before, apart from family.

There was a shop in Cambridge called Horrockses – sort of the Toast of its day – which had a dress in the window that I fell in love with. But it cost £7 10s, and I had very little money then. My father, though sweet in many ways, was not generous. He gave me £50 a year to live on – not a fortune, even in those days – in fact, the equivalent of £1,750 a year now. So the dress was out of the question.

Towards the end of my time at Cambridge, I was invited by a friend I’d made there, Robin McEwen, to Towcester Racecourse for the day. His sister was married to Freddy Hesketh, who owned the racecourse. I’d never been to any racecourse before, let alone a privately owned one, but this was very much part of the glamour of Cambridge life. I put a small amount on a horse to win, just to join in with the spirit of the day – and amazingly, it won. With my enormous £12 winnings, I went straight to Horrockses and bought the dress.

 I left Cambridge in 1951 with an MA in English and no idea what to do. However, I had become engaged to another Cambridge undergraduate, Hugo Phillipps. Our wedding reception was given by his uncle, the publisher John Lehmann, who had a great deal of charm without having any humour – a rare combination. Hugo’s mother was the novelist Rosamund Lehmann. She was rather more formidable but I think we got on quite well. Apart from the birth of my daughter, Anna, however, the happiest times of my marriage were when staying in the small converted barn in Berkshire belonging to Rosamond’s sister, the actress Beatrix Lehmann. Beatrix was very close to Hugo and she and I got on well too – she was a communist, which I liked.

Soon after the wedding, Hugo saw this advert in Vogue – details of a modelling competition. He suggested I should enter it – why not? I was reluctant but he said, “Oh come on – I’ll do everything.” Which he did. He took the picture of me in my Horrockses dress and sent it in.

About a month later, the telephone rang and I was told that I had made the shortlist. All the aspirants were asked to come to Vogue and each photographer chose one. Norman Parkinson chose me. Each of the chosen women had a photograph taken for Vogue by the judge who had chosen her – but I was the only one who carried on modelling after that.

Henry Clarke wasn’t one of the judges as he basically worked in France – but as soon as we met, I became his favourite model to work with. This photograph [below] was taken at dawn at a château outside Paris. I was madly in love with him – but to no avail. I knew he was gay but I kept thinking that my love would win him over. Ridiculous thought!

I always remember hearing about John Deakin from the other models and how terrible he was to work with. I was rather intrigued by this apparently monstrous man. He seemed to hate models on the whole and he certainly hated fashion. And what’s more – (and perhaps not surprisingly, considering his disdain) he didn’t take very good fashion photographs.

But when I met him, he was very nice to me. We didn’t laugh together that much – he didn’t seem much of a joker. But he knew people close to the Lehmanns and we chatted about them. At one point, he said “I prefer talking to you than those other models.” He directed me for the shoots but rather half heartedly and the results were hideous. The thing is – he wasn’t interested in the fashion world at all – and who can blame him?

These two Deakin photographs were shot in London for Vogue. The coat is by Christian Dior. Though I always remember Christian Dior saying to me that for true style, people should always buy one size bigger than they needed, in this case, the coat was so many sizes too big – it would have fitted King Kong.

To fit into the very structured cocktail dress, also by Christian Dior, I had to wear what was known as a waspie. This was a huge corset with strings that you had to be winched into like Scarlet O’Hara. Imagine having such things now! Spanx, yes – but nothing as rigid as a waspie. This is not such a bad photograph but nothing like Henry Clarke’s photographs.

I know now that John Deakin was a famous drunk. I’m not sure I would have known if he’d been drunk at our shoots. I’d seen drunken undergraduates at parties, but not, to my knowledge, anyone dependant on alcohol. I wouldn’t have known it if I’d seen it. But I certainly got the impression that he wasn’t happy in his skin.

In 1954, he was sacked from Vogue for a second time, apparently for his drunkenness and arguments with fashion editors. None of us were at all surprised.

In 1958, I married again and gave up modelling. I was not at all sad to give it up. Unlike John Deakin, I do actually love aspects of fashion but I have never been obsessed with being part of the fashion world itself.