While we were in Latin America, our friend the architect Martin Frishman and his mother had been planning to move to NW3 to a large house in Chalk Farm, which had a huge studio for Martin’s collection. It had belonged to Vanessa Redgrave, who had never lived there – it was left to her in a will. By coincidence, they moved in 1971 when we returned, but Martin’s dear mother Margaret died a year later.
It was after her death when Martin began his very special ‘at homes’ for his large circle of friends. These were wonderful evenings, each with their own unique cachet. Mostly his guests were composers, visual artists and writers, including Alice and Georg Eisler, who lived in Vienna but visited London often, Thea Musgrave, Peter de Francia, Elias Canetti, Erich Fried, Catherine Boswell, Max Neufeld, Yolanda Sonnabend and friends, Kathy Panama, Amalia Algueria, Jacob Lind, Frederick Sampson, Lalo and Viviana Fain-Binda, Susie Barry, Estela Weldon and Alexander Goehr. These are the ones I can name now. All were pretty left wing, and in this highbrow artistic and intellectual milieu Eric fitted like a glove. More than that, I like to think he was one of the attractions. They could talk about politics, opera, music, literature and visual arts into the night; to me it seemed they had all read everything. I was hungry to absorb it.
As you entered the house and made your way towards Martin’s studio, huge posters of ships, locomotives and trains assailed you. He didn’t distinguish between highbrow or lowbrow – you might find an exquisite painting or etching in between two posters of 1930s steamers. Martin’s studio was filled with objects from around the world and a big blue rowing boat hung from the ceiling. I think his heart was really all for travelling, observing and bringing the world into his home. He was an unusual collector.
His main passion at that time, however, was Islamic architecture – he had become an expert. Sometimes he showed us the slides he brought home and needed for his teaching at the Royal College of Art, the Architectural Association, and at UCL, which was blissful for Eric, as he was himself crazy about Asian art in general, and Japanese, Chinese and Indian specifically.
The guest list varied, but Martin was a great host and cook, if somewhat ambitious. So these evenings were definitely not to be missed. Martin was a bachelor, with no shortage of girlfriends, but he had to be patient to find his number one. After ten years, his true love appeared, an Argentinian architect of Italian origin, Federica Varoli Piazza. As Martin had been our best man, Eric returned the honour and was best man at their wedding, and then a few years later I was the driver to the Royal Free maternity department when their beautiful baby daughter was on her way into the world. She was named Greta after her paternal grandmother.