I was 12 when we left our home in Dulwich, southeast London, in the early 1990s, to move to Branksome Park, in Bournemouth, and I cried all the way there. I was terrified of moving and of leaving all my friends behind, but my parents — my mother was a dance teacher, my father a songwriter turned entrepreneur — wanted to get away from London for a cleaner, calmer life. When we arrived in Branksome Park, I saw how green it was, and how tranquil, with wide green boulevards. It all felt very glamorous — like LA or somewhere.
The house was Victorian, a big detached red-brick place just a few minutes’ walk from the sea, with a front porch that seemed very grand. It immediately felt like home. Funnily enough, the house I live in now, in south London, is similar: a traditional layout, with a double lounge and a kitchen/diner.
I’ve got an older sister and a younger brother, and we each had our own room. My sister and I are close, just two years apart, and we would swap bedrooms back and forth. She had a huge room with a sofa in it, but mine was really quite plain. Once, I managed to persuade her to let me move into her room with her, but we soon changed our minds.
Branksome Park was so tranquil, with wide green boulevards. It all felt very glamorous — like LA or somewhere At that time, I thought I was going to be a concert pianist, so I would practise for five hours a day. It must have driven my siblings mad, as it’s so awful to listen to, and so loud — they could hum every piece I played the whole way through. When I first arrived in Bournemouth, I went to a local school, Talbot Heath, but, when I was 13, I decided I wanted to go to weekly boarding school, so I went off to Bryanston, in Dorset, for the music teaching. I only lasted a year: I missed home and the family way of life too much. I would get this Sunday-night feeling — I still get it every now and then — when my dad would light a fire, and dinner would be ready, but I would have to leave, to go back to school. It was crazy, so I went back to Talbot Heath.
Life in Bournemouth was ideal for a teenager. My friends and I spent our life on the beach. One of them had a beach hut — bliss. When I look back, it was always summer, and I always had that sandy, salt-water feeling. We hung out in big groups and had beach parties. Because my parents were quite liberal, everyone would always want to come back to our house.
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I lived at that house until I was 18, and in those years music became my passion and my friend. At about the age of 15, my sister and I joined the local Big Little Theatre Company, and I learnt to stand in front of an audience and perform. It was also where I started to use my voice. We would sing cabaret. Because of our mother, we had danced our whole lives — it was all very jazz hands. We performed in most of Bournemouth’s venues, and got paid £50 each for a gig.
It was through the company that I met my first singing teacher. Jon Andrew was the first person to hear something more classical in my voice. He got me singing Mozart, and I got the classical bug. There’s so much going on being a teenager, so much emotion, and opera gave me a channel for it.
After my A-levels, I went to the Guildhall School of Music, in London. I do miss seaside life; it would be lovely to re-create it for my family, but for now I feel so much a Londoner.
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Kate Royal’s new album, A Lesson in Love, is out now on EMI Classics