Life’s a Scream

London was under a deep blanket of snow when I flew into Heathrow Airport. My instructions, over the phone, had been to take the studio car to Borehamwood to be fitted out with my Heidi costume, then return to the airport for the flight to Munich. Because of the snow, however, London was at a standstill and it wasn’t possible to go to Borehamwood and back in time for my flight to Germany. If I had been more sure of myself – and had signed my contract – I would have plonked down in London and let the studio sort out the problem. However, well aware of the difficulties the production company had encountered getting me a work permit, I was terrified that someone, somewhere, was going to get cheesed off with the trouble I was ‘causing’ and shout, ‘Pay the silly cow off and get someone else.’ It happens more often than you think. So I did the Judy Garland ‘the show must go on’ bit and told my driver to let Elliott Kastner, the producer, know that I would knock something together in time for the shoot the following day, and boarded the flight to Germany.

In Munich the weather was slightly better than in London but not much. I had to wait for Alistair MacLean’s wife to arrive from Hamburg and we were whisked away to Salzburg. At the hotel I went to my room and wondered what I should do. I was in the first shot the next morning and no one seemed the slightest bit interested in what I was going to wear. The bits and pieces I had were all right for the basic outfit but I needed a waistcoat and a blouse. I couldn’t get hold of anyone in the hotel and dashed out in a blind panic wondering where I would buy the missing items. When I returned from my shopping spree in possession of a velvet waistcoat and a blouse that needed urgent cutting and sewing, the third assistant was waiting in the hotel. He gave me a call sheet and was faintly amused that I was keen on sewing my own blouse.

As I gathered up my things to go to my room, a voice said, ‘Hi. You must be Heidi.’ It was Clint Eastwood. He looked good lounging against the bar, a shot of bourbon in his hand and his well-practised lopsided grin activating the lines around his eyes. Clint had been there for a couple of weeks and was getting bored. I told him I had to go, I had a lot of work to do before the morning. He told me to forget the work and come to the Bambi Ball in Munich with him. God, what a temptation. But no, my blouse needed cutting and stitching, and I was not going to be in trouble on the first day for not having my costume sorted out. I don’t think he believed me.

The next day I was driven out to the Schloss Adler. Everywhere there were German lorries and Nazi uniforms. The atmosphere of the war had been so faithfully recreated that I had difficulty not believing I was back in my childhood nightmare and I began to have trouble breathing. I gave myself a good talking to. This was my big chance. The Germans had destroyed part of my life – I mustn’t allow them to squash me again. I concentrated on the actors. There was Donald Houston and over there Ferdy Mayne. Brian Hutton was up on a crane directing the carpenters on the orientation of the helicopter that was to be blown up later. My little deception worked pretty well. Only occasionally did I have a moment of panic, but I was able to handle that.

In spite of the cold the shooting went well. I got on wonderfully with Clint Eastwood and Richard Burton, and Brian Hutton was a dream to work with. For some reason, however, Mary Ure seemed to resent me from the start. What she had to fear I don’t know. She was the ranking star and I was an unknown. I found out how much rank she had when I went to the hairdresser a blonde and came out some sort of mouse. Mary had demanded to be the only blonde in the film. Our relationship wasn’t improved when her husband, Robert Shaw, turned up on a flying visit and flirted with me. I knew it meant trouble and tried to discourage him but it was almost as if he was deliberately winding Mary up, for when we were alone together he was polite and amusing.

Robert Shaw wasn’t the only wind-up merchant on the scene. One day I walked into one of the rooms in the castle that were being used as Green Rooms. It was dark and dismal. Suddenly there was a lot of yapping and a couple of dogs darted out from one of the big leather armchairs in front of the fire. Dogs frighten me and I automatically kicked out. The outraged face of Elizabeth Taylor appeared around the side of the chair. I had heard she was on an imperial visit but hadn’t met her – or her pets – until then. It was not an auspicious start.

Elizabeth’s face twitched in what I took to be a welcoming smile so I stuck out my hand and said, ‘Pleased to meet you.’ She shook my hand limply and as I stepped back Richard slipped his arm round me again. I didn’t know what to do. Richard had always been friendly but so far, beyond a brief handshake and a slap or two on the set, our relationship had been non-tactile. He was trying to get a rise out of Elizabeth. Not wanting to be involved in his game, I suddenly remembered I had to be somewhere else. Elizabeth never became a bosom pal but I think she understood that I was being used to make a point and thawed out a little later.

Location shooting all but over, we were due to fly back to London on a special chartered flight. There remained just a few tidying-up shots, showing the bus ploughing through the snow to take the Brits to the airfield and safety. Unfortunately, Brian’s luck ran out by one day. There was a big thaw overnight and all the snow melted. It had to be painted in on the neg and cost the company an extra million pounds.

Arriving back from location, Elliott Kastner gave a lavish party at the Dorchester. I only had time for Alistair MacLean. He told me riveting stories, like how Elliott got him to write the script for the film since he didn’t write the book until after Eagles was released. He complained about the literary world not reckoning him as a writer. At the end of the party we debated half-jokingly running off together – alas I had a film to finish and he had a wife . . . Inspired by Alistair I began to think seriously of getting something published myself. I wasn’t needed much on the set so I parked myself back at the Hilton and started writing children’s stories. They soon lost their appeal and being confronted with the Nazis on a daily basis I commenced writing a screenplay based on my mother’s experiences during the Holocaust. Later I sold it to director Johnny Hough – who still swears he intends to produce it. Much later I wrote the book Katarina, based on the same story, and it was published by Methuen.

Time was also hanging heavily on Clint Eastwood’s hands. He was used to television series and Spaghetti Westerns, which were shot at high speed. Clint hated the days hanging around for a thirty-second set-up. One of the reasons he had taken on the film was that he wanted to get a British motor cycle. Elliott Kastner had promised him his pick. Clint had kept his twitching foot off the kick-start so far, but twiddling his thumbs on set he could resist no longer. I wasn’t mad about bikes but who could resist an offer of a ride with Clint Eastwood? We took a few turns around the parking lot and then, one day, convinced that I was as nutty about motor bikes as he was, Clint rang me at the Hilton. ‘Hey, dove, fancy a ride around a circuit?’ he asked.

I agreed before I could think about it. While I dressed I mulled over the word ‘circuit’. I soon found out what he meant. Clint had discovered that you could take your own bike around the circuit at Brands Hatch. He was excited. I was trying to think of a way out. The trouble is that I’m too much of a coward to take the coward’s way out. Clint did a few exploratory laps, then came back to the pits. Resignedly I swung my leg over the saddle and was struggling to put on my helmet when my prayers were answered. Elliott Kastner stormed up to us in a fury. He ranted on about insurance while Clint unsuccessfully smothered an enormous grin. Kastner then turned on me and accused me of leading Clint astray, while behind him, Clint gave me a cheeky smile and continued to act like a naughty schoolboy.

Towards the end of shooting Elizabeth turned up at MGM Studios in Borehamwood where we were filming interiors. There had been a lot in the papers about this fabulous diamond Richard had bought her. For some reason she seemed to want to show it off. She had the whole shooting match laid on for her unscheduled visit: photographers, security guards, outriders. I guess she was making a point – but I’m not sure what it was. We were all gathered around admiring this huge rock. Elizabeth slid it off her finger and proffered it to me. ‘Want to try it on, darling?’ she said silkily. Ah! That was her point.

It was the first time I had really understood what subtext meant. She was still under the impression that I was after Richard and the stunt with the diamond had been devised to put me in my place. I pushed the dialogue further: ‘Aren’t you frightened someone might steal it?’

Elizabeth’s big moment was undermined when Clint rushed in and shouted that his wife Maggie had had a baby. That was the end of work for the day. Everyone decamped to the Thatched Barn a mile up the road and champagne flowed freely. At one point a runner from the studio appeared with the request that we return to the set forthwith, to which Richard resonantly replied, ‘Bugger off!’ He was in his element, having a hell of a time. I was all for going back but he swung me on to his lap and said, ‘You’re not going anywhere. I’ve not finished with you yet!’ I could feel Elizabeth’s piercing violet eyes trying to burn holes in my brain but I had been at the champagne for long enough not to care.

Peter O’Toole turned up – he had an instinct for this sort of bash – and he and Richard, drunk as skunks, bawled Shakespeare at each other, much to the amusement of everyone else, until they were both so pissed they could hardly remember their names, let alone the Bard’s couplets. Clint seemed a bit bemused by it all. I don’t think he was a big drinker and can never remember him being the worse for wear. Clint always treated me like a gentleman, never making any improper advances.

Perhaps Elizabeth would have been mollified if she had been in the back of Richard’s Roller after the last day of proper shooting. We were all a bit depressed, as is often the case when filming’s over. For a few brief weeks or months everyone bonds closely, then the last page of the script is scored through, the sets are struck and everybody goes off to make new bosom pals and promises of lifelong friendship. I was sitting between Richard and Clint, and wondering if I would ever be in such august company again. The mood was sombre but also almost sacred. Then Clint leaned forward. ‘Shall we tell her?’ he asked Richard. Rich was slumped in the corner, almost asleep.

Where Eagles Dare was Elliott Kastner and Alistair MacLean’s most successful movie. I think Brian Hutton’s direction contributed to its success, as did Ron Goodwin’s fantastic theme tune. It has become a classic, one of the best war films ever made. I am proud to have been part of it.