AFTER MOVING INTO A HOSTEL in Bloomsbury it was just a day before my studies started at the Guildhall. First it was a visit to the Drama Department which was in the basement. It is hard to forget how out of place I felt. All the students were British and they spoke with cultured accents. I tried not to speak but I was asked questions and felt very embarrassed by my Australian accent, which everybody in the room picked up. From then on I was determined to get rid of it but it turned out to be far more difficult than I ever imagined. Now, of course, all accents are acceptable even though you are taught to speak in the original received accent---BBC.
Everything was strange to me. The snobbery came through immediately, I sensed that I would never be taken seriously until I lost my down under accent. It is a serious thing, but to the British, Australians are still regarded as country cousins as soon as they open their mouths, particularly in the halls of the Guildhall. It was better in the music department because your tuition was usually a private lesson with your piano professor, and my prof was more interested in my playing than my speaking.
After I began lessons at the Guildhall, it was very difficult to find the time to practice the piano, let alone learn new works which was a requirement because of the necessity of increasing your repertoire.
As newly-arrived students, we felt the excitement of being in London. We needed to see all the things we had read about back home. During the first few months, we tried to go to as many concerts as our budgets would allow, and also to see all the great actors who were playing in the theatres at that time. All the legendary ones, John Gielgud, Ralph Richardson, Vivien Leigh, Laurence Olivier and on and on. It was the golden age of the West End.
We were invited to a Garden Party at Buckingham Palace arranged I believe by Tasmania House; we stood at our first Prom concert at the Albert Hall, went to Museums, every weekend catching up on our list. I tried to explain to my professors that I would work harder later in the year, but that it was our first time in London. He said it was up to me, and whatever I thought was important. Of course, it was all important.
The Guildhall posted notices on the Bulletin Board for cheap student prices for most theatres, but then one day there was a notice that any Commonwealth student, (me) who would like to appear at the Coliseum in front of the Queen for a Gala Show which included Australians and New Zealanders, they should apply as soon as possible. Of course I did. Later that month, I stood onstage at the Coliseum singing in a tableau looking up at the Queen and Prince Philip in the Royal Box.
During those first few months, the wonderful part of it was, we never noticed the weather, it rained all the time, but we didn't notice except if we had forgotten our raincoats. I managed to get a part time job as an usher at Robert Atkins's Regent Park Open air theatre. I would dash from the Guildhall to be there for an evening performance, then get back to the hostel before curfew time. Thank goodness I was never locked out. but some of the girls were.
That first year was full of events. I still have my diary from those days and we seemed to do all this for hardly any money at all. But I kept trying to supplement my budget. After the Regent Park Theatre closed for the season, I applied to the St. Martin's School of Arts, and managed to find another part time job, as a model for a class of portrait painters. I wasn't so desperate as to apply for the life classes, because I knew that meant taking your clothes off, and it was much too freezing in London to do that.
There were many Australians living in London in those days. I suppose there still are, but I met none at the Guildhall or at the hostel. I wrote home twice a week. I am sorry that my letters went astray after my parents died, as they covered over 40 years from the time I left home.
My music professor gave me lots of encouragement. I was a little more advanced than the other students, having worked professionally in Hobart giving recitals on ABC radio months before I left home. His name was Dennis Dance and I wondered years later if he was related to the young actor Charles Dance who was making a name for himself on the West End stage. My lessons were twice a week, but there was no piano back at the hostel and I didn't have the money to buy one, so I would go down to the school very early to search for a practice room, which were only free if you got there early enough. It made me concentrate like mad when I found a practice room, because I knew that a Prof would soon show up to use the room for lessons. When my own prof discovered I had no piano, he was appalled and said it was like drawing blood from a stone! No piano!
At the end of my course, he said I was ready to make my debut. Debut? Evidently you hired the Wigmore Hall or some such place and invited journalists and agents to give you hopefully glowing reviews to start you on your way in to the professional world.
Oh dear!I knew my parents wouldn't have that kind of money; also I was having grave doubts about my talent, finally realizing that I did not have that extra genius that makes a true concert pianist who then tours the world and dazzles thousands. Besides, there are dozens of us!
A short time later, because I had taken a drama course, I was a surprised to be cast in the end of term play, which I seemed to enjoy more. Namely, because there was no grueling hour after hour practice at the keyboard.
Before leaving home, I had been given a letter of introduction to Eileen Joyce, the then famous Australian concert pianist I met backstage a few weeks later, after a concert. I handed it to her. I'd been keeping it till I had the opportunity to meet her in person. The next day she phoned me and invited me for tea later that week.
Walking to her studio I felt very nervous, as I was in awe of her. She was alone in her elegant studio. I looked at her concert grand piano and was grateful that she didn't ask me to play. We talked for about an hour, and she told me that even though she was celebrated, famous, successful, she still practiced every day and that like a ballet dancer, you had to be always on form. Practice was the only way to achieve this. She advised me to seek other artistic work. Anything but the piano, I can remember her saying.
Afterwards I walked down her street in Chelsea in a daze, suddenly realizing that I wouldn't be fulfilling my dream of becoming a famous concert pianist, also knowing that I had wasted a lot of time. All those years of dedicated practicing hour after hour, now just all down the drain. It was a shock.
My inspiration from Song to Remember had all been a total waste of time. I knew that this was a turning point and I wondered how I could suddenly change. As it happened, it hadn't been a waste of time after all, because it brought much happiness later on.
THE OLD VIC
On my walk to the Guildhall School from the hostel in Southampton Row, down the Kingsway, then around Bush House in the Aldwych, I often would drop in to Australia House to read the Australian newspapers, which were usually several weeks old. I noticed a small paragraph that said that the Australian ballet dancer, Robert Helpmann who had been Margot Fonteyn's partner at Covent Garden for so many years, had retired from dancing and had become an actor. He with his partner, theatrical producer Michael Benthall who was a director at the Old Vic Theatre, had organized a tour of Australia with Robert in the lead in three Shakespearean plays together with the actress Katherine Hepburn for six months. I re-read the article. My heart beat faster.! There was nothing I would rather do!
I couldn't believe that this news hadn't hit London yet. That night I phoned Eileen Joyce, thanked her profusely for the tea, and told her that I had found another calling. I was very rude and asked her if she knew Robert Helpmann, and would she call him and tell him about me, an actress and pianist about to change careers. I marvel now at my impertinence but I was desperate; she would either do it or not.
However, I did manage to get an audition with 200 other hopefuls lined up outside the Old Vic shortly afterwards. But I am getting ahead of myself.
My scholarship from Australia was just about depleted but I was determined to stay in London rather than return to Hobart. The funds were supposed to last me one year and with the money my parents had given me, I managed to save nearly half of it, to make it last for another year. Only students who had little money knew how to do this. At the school cafeteria, rather than spend money for a cup of tea, you would have hot water with sugar and lemon in it for no charge and get the soup crackers to eat for lunch. Hard bread buns filling in for later in the day. They only cost threepence.
A fellow student knew a friend of hers who was an usherette at the Old Vic but she was leaving, so they suggested I go and apply. I was interviewed by a dragon lady who said I would have to show up for every show she scheduled. She gave me the job. I would suggest anyone going into the theatre to get a job, front of house, somewhere. That is where you actually meet the producer and the director, in the back of the stalls, on an opening night.
Thus began a memorable six months working at the Old Vic. It was the season when Richard Burton was playing most of the lead roles. Claire Bloom, John Neville, darling Michael Hordern, Fay Compton were all in the company. Every day I would be watching and learning from these great actors. I must have watched Burton play Hamlet over 50 times and I still remember every stage move, including his dramatic duel with Robert Hardy who played Laertes. After Robert nicks his poison sword on Hamlet's bare elbow, during one of their pauses in the fight, Burton slowly turned towards him, realizing what had been done to him, poisoned, and is about to die. The air was magic, you could hear a pin drop in the audience. A long pause with eye contact between the both of them, until Burton rages and suddenly springs on his opponent with his sword in a deadly attack. Soon enough everyone onstage is dead and the audience is electrified by the actor's passion, which no one there could forget in a lifetime. The entrance of Horatio, (John Neville) seems almost an anti-climax, after the bloodbath that took place immediately before. Burton also played Coriolanus that year, Sir Toby Belch, and Caliban in The Tempest. Claire Boom played Ophelia to his Hamlet, Miranda in The Tempest, and Viola in Twelfth Night.
Michael Horden's Malvolio was also unforgettable; it is such a tragedy it was never filmed. He was such a born actor and never had any formal training.
Between the matinee and evening performances, the front of house staff were allowed to eat in the little cafeteria which was backstage, providing simple dishes for the actors who preferred not to go out during the break. Here I met most of the cast and witnessed some of the funniest dialogue you can imagine between actors who were wired up after playing the matinee and ready for the evening show.
Burton seldom came down but he could be found across the road in the local pub, usually with Claire.
Often he would have had one drink too many, and we would know by watching from out front when this happened. Although this story is sometimes attributed to Olivier, it may have come from Burton.
One evening, he heard a woman seated in the front row loudly whisper to her companion..."He's drunk!"
Burton hearing this remark onstage, turned to the woman and said "Madame, if you think I'm drunk, wait till you see the Duke of Buckingham!"
Another incident occurred when Winston Churchill came to see the play and Burton heard mumbling coming from the front row; he looked down and saw it was Churchill. He was reciting the words along with him. He came backstage afterwards to see Richard, but asked to use his loo before he greeted him.
We were all invited to the Christmas party that year which took place up in the top rehearsal room on a Sunday night. Everyone was there, plus the spouses of these stars. Suddenly there was dancing and a Jolly Miller was announced. In the States I think it's called a Paul Jones. All the woman walk round in a circle clockwise, and all the men anti clockwise, until the music stops. Then whoever is facing you is your partner for the next dance. I saw Burton join the circle. Help! How can I get the music to stop at the right time? I watched carefully, most of the women were not concentrating as I was, there was lots of laughter and joke-telling as the circle went around and around.
Then it happened: the music stopped, and who was opposite me? Richard Burton of course. We danced a waltz I remember, and I told him how I watched all his performances from out front. He was much shorter than he looked onstage, but I was in heaven and then the dance was suddenly over and we went back to the circle. I suppose it isn't such a big thing, but I did catch the magic personality that Elizabeth Taylor obviously caught. People forget how witty he was, and his wit was as quick as someone like Noel Coward's. Funny, erudite, knowledgeable, bubbling up with a smile but also with the sense that he didn't suffer fools gladly. His voice was incredible, deep, resonant, full of feeling, unforgettable. I was delighted to be in the preview audience when he, Rachel Roberts, Emlyn Williams, gave a reading of Dylan Thomas's "Under Milkwood" before it was presented to the public. All Welsh, they captured the atmosphere of the play's setting exactly. Later on they made a recording of it, but we were the ones who heard it first.
To dance with him I was totally over the moon. I suppose it's like dancing with David Bowie, or Sting, or some rock star today, but Burton was such a huge star in those days, with just cause, even though it may sound pathetic these days. I guess like me reading about someone who danced with Henry Irving, or Ellen Terry. Bully for them. Every generation has their idols.
I used to look forward to the matinee days when we could go backstage and eat at the cafeteria. There was always so much fun. Claire Bloom used to bring her little dog and I wondered how she managed to go onstage leaving him in the dressing room, but we never heard him bark. I wanted to be in the company so much it hurt, but at least I was eating with them.
One day, one of the actors was telling about this strange little statue he had bought in an antique shop and everyone pretended to be so curious and fascinated by his purchase he said: "Wait a second and I'll go and get it." He had about four long flights of stairs to get to his dressing room. When he had gone, someone suggested that we all hide. When he came back with his purchase, no one was there: the room was deserted. He asked the waitress who was trying not to laugh, where everybody had gone; he was totally bewildered. We all appeared laughing after he had gone back upstairs. He never forgave us.
I kept waiting to hear when any auditions were going to be held. Dozens of theatrical agents in London were waiting too. Every actor wanted to get into the Old Vic Company. At last a postcard arrived instructing me to report to the stage door at a certain date and time. When I arrived I was devastated to see about 100 actors standing in line at the back of the stage behind the safety curtain. I hadn't expected to see so many and they kept coming. Thin ones, fat ones, tall or short, I didn't recognize anyone. We were all extremely nervous. It was agony waiting for your name to be called. We knew the casting director and several other executive producers were sitting in the dark in the stalls.
I was lucky. When I walked onstage for my audition, they recognized me and greeted me with: "Oh it's you!" I had stood beside them often at the back of the dress circle, when they were pacing up and down on a first night. After I had done my audition pieces, they said: "Where have you been?"
(I had taken a job several months earlier at the Felixtowe Rep.) The next question was rather obvious, I thought: "Why do you want to join the Old Vic?" I think I laughed at that one, as it was so obvious.
It was then that I thought of Eileen Joyce and later asked her if she could help.
Something must have worked, because shortly afterwards I received a letter of employment to tour Australia with the company. It was an unforgettable day. To receive the offer and letter from the Old Vic in a crummy backstage dressing room on a freezing cold morning before rehearsal was one of those moments one never forgets.
OLD VIC TOUR
The excitement of actually getting ready for the tour was unforgettable. I couldn't wait to go.
To fill in the time I asked two student friends if they would hitchhike with me through Europe to Naples where the ship I was to take had a stop on the way to Sydney. We would start in Norway then work ourselves down to Italy, staying at Youth Hostels on the way. These days, of course, that would be too dangerous, but back then, if you had a Union Jack or an Australian flag sewn on the back of your backpack, most lorry drivers would stop to give you a ride. But three of us was quite a challenge! One of the students dropped out on the third day as it was too rigorous for her.
We started at Newcastle then took the ferry across to Bergen in Norway. The sea was very rough so we stayed on deck most of the night, as it seemed calmer there than in the tiny cabin. Next morning, we walked around the pretty town of Bergen, then later we found the cable car which went up to the Youth Hostel on the mountain behind the city. We were terribly impressed at how clean the hostel was: everything very tidy. The breakfast was fabulous. It was the first time we had seen cheese and meat and yoghurt on the table.
In those days everyone who checked into youth hostels were required to help with the chores. Either in the evening, when everyone had checked in, or in the morning before you left. Sometimes it was peeling a bucketful of potatoes, washing dishes or sweeping out the common room. I have no idea if this still applies today. People were respectful of the house rules, and lights out was strictly enforced, although I don't remember at what hour. You took your own sleeping bag or sheet shaped as a bag and slept on bunk beds. Amazing what you can do when you are so young. I only remember one heavy snorer; the rest were all exhausted, especially the hikers who slept like logs.
On we went through Denmark, Belgium, France and then Italy. I kept a logbook which I still have somewhere, and we always managed to find a hostel, although sometimes they were way out of a city and hard to reach. Most of our drivers drove us there; in return, we had to keep them amused with our stories while they practiced their English with us. Thank goodness we had no bad experiences, which is amazing as we were changing drivers about three times a day. They were mostly truck drivers who were bored and wanted company.
In Naples I got up early and went outside---the hostel was on top of a hill about five miles from the city center---to see if my ship had arrived. I couldn't see it in the harbor so I was slightly panic stricken. Later we caught a bus to the harbor and there it was!! My girlfriends had arranged to go back to London by train but they came to see me off. In those days visitors were allowed on board and they came to see my cabin which was a weird shape: sort of an indoor cabin but with a hallway of about 10 feet leading down to a porthole!! So at least I could see outside. The ship suddenly reminded me of the ship that had brought me to London two years earlier. I never dreamed I would be sailing home to join the Old Vic company in Sydney. Most of the company had gone out earlier by plane.
The sunset that night renewed my romance with the sea and I thought of Homer's description of "the unharvestable sea" but it seemed more Wagnerian to me. The sky was so dramatic, the scene needed music. That romance still exists for me, with the thrill of boarding a great ocean liner. The Maitre'D seated me at the Senior Doctor's table for dinner, and I quickly learned that he was responsible for providing and choosing the wine.
Up till now as a student, I had never been able to step into a London pub for a drink; couldn't afford to and never thought of it, so this was a whole new experience. I knew a little about wine, but not having had any for two years I only remembered the white wines of Australia.
I was rather bored until I met the Irish Junior Doctor. He kept me entertained from then on, whenever he wasn't working. Maybe it was just his impressive uniform. There were no programs organized on board except for a trio for dancing and for afternoon tea. Also, I think, perhaps a movie or two. We stopped at Port Said, Colombo, Perth, Adelaide, Melbourne then Sydney. It was magical.
Once in Sydney I joined up with the company and we rehearsed until opening night. For the opening night, Mother came from Hobart, the only city which had not been included in the tour.
We went from Sydney to Melbourne, then Brisbane, Adelaide and Perth.
During the first week the company had two dress rehearsals and everyone got to know each other.
The leads had rehearsed in London so the all company members were now together.
I only spoke to Katharine Hepburn briefly as she always stayed in her dressing room until her cue. Robert Helpmann was more friendly and did barre work off stage while waiting for his entrance. I was surprised he still kept doing his ballet exercises: probably a habit of years and years. It was second nature to him. I was totally in awe as I had seen him dance at Covent Garden and there I was standing right next to him in the wings. He was quite short but wiry and supple. He had a quick wit and also didn't suffer fools gladly.
At each city on our tour, we were welcomed by the Mayor with a reception and the media. Then a few days later, Katharine would hire a bicycle to find her way around each city and if there was a beach near by, which there usually was, she would go there and search for shells. Helpmann would sometimes join her and it was amazing that photographers couldn't find them. Helpmann once said that if he wasn't gay, she would be the kind of woman he would have married. They were very close all through the tour and they usually went out for dinner after the show. Often she would book a long distance call to Hollywood---in those days they had to be booked---to Spencer Tracey as they were obviously still lovers and talked several times a week.
It was a sensational tour. People lined up at the stage door every night. Gillian, my friend in the company and I would be amused when we came through the stage door, and nobody approached us. We got through the crowd with ease. But because we had very small roles in the repertoire we got easily bored and looked forward to the understudy rehearsals when we had much more to do. Gillian was chief understudy for Katharine, so she had to be line perfect, but she never got to go on during the six months we were touring.
We ended up in Perth and then it was decision time for me. My parents wanted me to return home to Hobart but I wanted to return on the ship with the company. By that time, after saving hard, I could afford to pay for my fare and expenses. It was a tough decision but one they knew was best for my future. It was sad to leave but when there was a chance of continuing in the company, it was my only choice. Little did I know that things would turn out quite differently and my acting career would be changed for ever.
Katharine and Robert flew back to London but the rest of the company had been booked to travel back by ship. I stayed with them. Boarding the ship I wondered whether I would meet the Junior Doctor on this voyage as I knew the other doctor had gone back to Ireland.
We had about eight days before our first port of call. I went on a search for a piano, since I wanted to keep practicing all I had learnt at the Guildhall. There was only a piano in the main lounge, so I judged when it would be almost empty so I could practice. I found that during the lunch hour it was usually empty, so I sat down to play.
That day the Junior Doctor happened to walk through the lounge and heard me playing. He walked up to the piano and stood listening to me. It was a Chopin Impromptu. After I finished, he introduced himself, and said that he played the same piece.
I asked him to play it but because he was in uniform it was not appropriate. However, later on, over a glass of wine, I found out that he had won his University's prize for piano, playing Chopin and like me, had seen Song to Remember and had been inspired to learn those Chopin pieces. When he was off duty we spent lots of time together talking mostly about music and getting to know each other.
We went ashore at the different ports; he filled me in on their history and language etc. I discovered he was a classic scholar who knew Latin and Greek and could recite poetry in Greek, Latin and French.
He introduced me to a world so far removed from my own. He knew all Homer's work, and could read it and all the Greek mythology, in the original. It was his lifelong passion. I was totally bowled over.
He had gone to a famous school outside Dublin and when we docked in Southampton he took me there. Also to meet his parents, who lived in Merrion Square, one of those lovely Georgian Squares in the city where he grew up.
He then had to return to sea for another trip to Australia but after that he would be leaving the shipping company and had thought about studying for a specialty in America. He proposed marriage, wrote to my father, and then we were engaged.
I spent about three weeks after he sailed trying to get an acting job. The Old Vic had already chosen the next year's company while we were all away, so nobody had a job waiting for them.
I made the rounds of agents, did auditions, read all the ads, but it was hopeless. It was freezing cold, raining and everything seemed hopeless. There is nothing quite like that feeling of hopelessness when you are looking for work, when freezing to death and with no friends. The company had all gone their separate ways, and Gillian had joined her actor boyfriend who was in Rep in Dundee, Scotland. I will never forget how depressing it was.
Gerald had transformed my life. We were in love, and I thought that being married to someone who actually saved lives, contributed to the community in a positive way, treating sick people, making them better, dealing with the basic needs of hundreds of people was so much more important than what I was trying to achieve. He wanted me and taking care of him and helping him seemed so much more important than trying to strut my stuff on the stage. Besides, no one wanted it! Or me. I also realized that all my work at the piano had actually helped me to find a wonderful man.
While he was competing his last round trip to Australia I took a ship to Gibraltar and then one to Tangier. He wrote from every port. I worked there for eight weeks until we met again when the ship called into Gibraltar and I made the ferry trip over from Tangier to meet him. We made plans. He would go to the States first, and I would follow.