That's Another Story: The Autobiography

That's Another Story: The Autobiography

Language: English

Pages: 304

ISBN: 029785206X

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub

Julie Walters has been delighting audiences on screen and on stage for more than 25 years, and has been described as Britain's most popular actress and comedienne. Now she tells us her own story, in her own words. She was born in 1950s Birmingham, daughter of an austere Irish Catholic mother, and was sent to school in a convent. She wanted to be an actress from a young age, but to appease her mother she first went into nursing—that didn't last for long, and she soon joined Liverpool's Everyman Theatre. West End success followed, and she quickly replicated her success on film, earning an Academy Award nomination for her role in Educating Rita. Julie's collaborations with her close friend Victoria Wood have given audiences many unforgettable characters, and she's recently charmed a new generation of fans playing Mrs. Weasley in the Harry Potter films, alongside Meryl Streep in Mamma Mia!, co-starring with Helen Mirren in Calendar Girls, and co-starring in Billy Elliot. A natural writer with an instinctive sense of timing, Julie's memoirs are warm, moving, painfully felt, fiercely intelligent—and totally entertaining.

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Table of Contents Title Page Copyright Page Dedication Acknowledgements Chapter 1 - ‘Five Years Ago Today’ - The Beginning Chapter 2 - ‘This Old House’ - 69 Bishopton Road Chapter 3 - ‘Don’t Go Out Too Far’ - Holidays Chapter 4 - ‘A Fine Figure of a Man’ - Dad Chapter 5 - ‘At the Third Stroke She Will Be 78’ - Grandma Chapter 6 - ‘Mixing with Doctors’ Daughters’ - Junior School Chapter 7 - ‘I Thought You’d Failed’ - Senior School Chapter 8 - The Little Nurse - Work Chapter 9 -

noticed it: a small piece of paper a couple of feet from the bed. On bending down to pick it up, I recognised it immediately. It was the paper I had given my grandmother some seven years earlier, on her ‘first day at school’. It read in thin wavery writing: Bridget O’Brien, crossed out, and then her maiden name, Bridget Clark Bridget Clark Bridget Clark. I couldn’t work out where it had come from, but then I remembered that outside the door, on the small landing, was the trunk my grandmother had

fear. I can still smell the damp earth and the rotting leaves around our feet, and I can recall wanting this man to be harmless and telling the others in a frightened whisper that I believed his touching us up was simply him working out our age! ‘What would the nuns say if they knew what you’d been up to?’ He was back again and strangely breathless. ‘Oh, please don’t report us! We won’t do it again.’ ‘Well, you’d better come with me.’ And dutifully with hearts racing, we followed. He took us

after me and . . . Oh, it was too awful to contemplate. After this incident I didn’t use the bathroom for about three months, choosing to wash standing at the sink in the freezing kitchen rather than ever exit that bathroom again where I might bump unknowingly into the anonymous writer of the note. Leaving and entering the house also proved to be potentially shaming experiences. On coming in I would mount the stairs two and three at a time, to arrive sweating and panting at the top. My parents,

but megaphone-loud, ‘You are what you eat!’ Oh my God; like a member of an audience picked on by a comedian, I almost looked behind me to check that it really was me that she was shouting at, but as I was the only person that I knew of to be eating a banana in Greek Street at half past four on that particular morning, I pulled my head in so fast and pulled the window down with such a bang, that my banana got severed three-quarters of the way down and a small crack appeared in the corner of the

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