Lonely Solutions

In The Words Of The Old Song............

2010-04-06T15:28:00.036+01:00

SPRING WILL BE A LITTLE LATE THIS YEAR!

Well they can say that again! Very beautiful is the snow I know, but one can have too much of a good thing. Just as we thought Spring was on its way with a sign of life from the daffodils, wham! Back comes the winter with a vengeance. But are we disheartened NEVER! Things are bursting out in the greenhouse, it is the same every year. I have left all till later for sowing but it has all caught up with me and boxes of flower seedlings all need thinning out and some are big enough to be planted out but one dare not, even things like sweet peas and nasturtiums which ought to be planted outside might shrivel up in these cold nights. But I do need to be able to move, and big as the greenhouse is, it is never big enough at the start of a season. But I did have to make room by getting the veges into the ground because they were getting straggley. If thay fail we can always plant the seeds again outside. In the polytunnel the potatoes are flourishing rather earlier than usual and I am delighted with the sight of rows and rows of strawberries which I decided to move from outside as they were such a problem with all the netting needed to keep the birds off. Now I hope picking them will be less of an art form (oh the very thought of summer). Yes please compare these two pictures. Same spot in my garden at rather different times. So can you wonder I am yearning for the spring?

But all that apart (while we wait) I must say that one of the most enjoyable things I have done recently is to attend the party of a very old friend down in Eastbourne. This was Roy Patrick and his friend Bill Allison who live in a beautiful house, full of wondrous memorabilia from Roy’s days as an actor and Producer and Bill’s as a Sea Captain and latterly an actor. A veritable Aladdin’s cave of a house and one I could have spent hours in just looking through the pictures and mementos that were displayed with tasteful elegance everywhere. Roy and I worked together for the first and only time way back in 1949 when I was only just beginning to think of going into the theatre as a career. I am quite alarmed as I realise that this is 61 years ago. But mustn’t dwell upon that. We are both still here and enjoying life. Here is a picture of Roy then and now.
Well, back to normality again tomorrow and no parties in sight for the foreseeable future. Next on the date list is another session of my writing class. The topic we were given is one that caused me a bit of worry because it was titled
"In a Rut" I am very lucky because I can hardly ever remember that this happened to me - ever. So I really did have to wrack my brains and try to recall a very 'down' time. It was so long ago. I was almost tempted to write it as if it had happened to someone else, but gradually I can remember a time many years ago. Well here is the tale, not very long, for what it's worth.

IN A RUT

So OK it’s a pretty miserable title. But being in a rut is a pretty miserable thing. Isn’t it? Haven’t you ever been in a rut? I think I have. But not too often. In fact I can only think of one time in my life when I could have applied that term to myself. And I consider myself lucky to be able to say that. So when was it? I can remember that I had given up all efforts at the time. Efforts to get out of it I mean.

I think I must have been depressed. Something I am not ever prepared to give into these days. But this was way back in the late fifties. Personal problems were at the bottom of it all. And to my shame I must have given in to them.

Then the phone rang.

A man I will always remember was end of the line. “Get here to my office at about 4 today. Wonderful job and you’d be perfect for it” “But John” I said (his name was John Parsons) I am not up to an interview, I look awful, haven’t slept properly for days and have totally lost confidence in myself”

“Listen” came the stern reply. “I don’t give a fig for all that. There’s no one else I know who could do this, so get you face on, do your hair and come here looking as if you mean it!!!” Down went the phone. What time was it? 1.30, time for a sandwich, I could ask Mother to pick Robin up from school, but look at me. 26 years and I look 50. Bloody men, yessir, bloody men!!! One man in particular was on my mind of course. Was this me talking? Me – who’d had a wonderful time and only been away from Newcastle a couple of weeks? What on earth was I doing giving up like this? Get out of this rut woman. Oh God, look at the time. What could I do about myself? Look at my hair, look at my face, and what the hell could I wear? I think it was late spring and I do recall a lovely grey/blue silk suit I had bought for a rather elegant role I had played in Newcastle. Yes the colour was a good one for me. But look at my hair. Long and blonde, it hadn’t been done for ages. So I feverishly brushed and brushed, and on went the slap. Wow, I was looking better already. What time was it? 3 o’clock Mother was OK to collect Robin, I’d grabbed the sandwich. I took a deep breath and headed for the tube to Leicester Square. Can you believe it but the fare was fourpence hapenny!!

I made for the nearest bank of phone booths, put in my 2 old pennies and called John Parsons. He was head of the Pathe film studios in Wardour Street and we had met only once when I was enquiring about possible work in any of the many documentaries Pathe turned out at the time.

“Well I am here and who shall I ask for please?” “Knew you’d make it” said John. “Just ask for me and I’ll give you all the gen once you get to my office.” So I climbed the stairs and walked up Charing cross road. Turned left at Shaftesbury Avenue, crossed the road and walked right down the length of Wardour Street to number 142. Got the lift to the top floor and was taken into the office. My spirits rose when John told me I was looking great. A cup of coffee was brought and I found out that the publicity group for Good Housekeeping magazine and Woman’s Realm from Odhams Press were on their way to meet me, because they wanted a good face and personality for the following year’s TV commercials to be transmitted each Monday night for the foreseeable future. They were bringing the scripts, knew what I had done, seen photos (Oh God!) and were prepared to offer me the job. I don’t remember too much, but I know I left the office walking on air.

This turned out to be the job that turned my fortunes round. I never looked back after that. And I never forgot John Parsons who’d had such faith in me. The fees were excellent, I had to learn the lines and the shots pretty quickly because it was always so very last minute but I will forever cherish my days working at Presbury’s Studios on Dean street. In between times I did publicity jobs all over England and Scotland for Woman magazine, Ideal Home, Woman’s Realm and Good Housekeeping. Those magazines have totally changed their persona now, but then they were really what we might call classy now. On one occasion I even spoke to the Vatican because there was an article about the Pope. The Good Housekeeping Event at Olympia was another great time for me because I met up with so many real celebrities of the day. Barbara Goalan, Jean Simmons, Bandleader Ted Heath. Oh I am so lucky to have been offered that job and to have been made to get out of the rut.

So on that rather happier note I'll sign off for this time and promise I'll be back a little later in the year. 'BYE.

Will This Winter EVER End?

2010-02-28T10:19:00.016Z

Well will it ever? I can't be the only one saying this - can I?

Looks very beautiful I know but one can have too much of a good thing, especially if, like me, you found yourself unable to get the car out of the garage for 12 days. Not actually because of the snow either. No, the slabs in front of the garage doors had been pushed up from the ground by the heavy frosts just before the snow. And when finally I did manage it, the poor wretched vehicle had put in its own protest and revealed a totally flat battery! First time ever in my life. And I know I was not alone. My mind did occasionally go back to 1961 when we'd had a far worse winter than this. But I was almost forty years younger then and whizzing around on a sledge was something I relished along with Robin. Ou sont les neiges d'antan? HMM!

Well now I have pulled myself together and actually have made a start in my greenhouse preparing for what I hope will be a lovely spring and summer. All very well to sit back and moan, but hey it is winter! So into the greenhouse I went and did a major clear up. Many cactus had turned to a foul smelling jelly worthy of the best Dr. Who potions. Usually I heat the greenhouse to just above freezing point but really, the cost of electricity has determined that I no longer run to this luxury. You can see some here in this picture. Happily my huge roof hitting specimins were intact and so far I have sown up about 20 trays of various seeds.
Alas it will be ages before the greenhouse starts to look like this again.
Today we are being poured upon so I
have decided that another afternoon will
be spent sowing another batch. Actually I am doing far more vegetables this year and am starting
the seeds off in the greenhouse, so that I have just the number of plants
I need before getting them transplanted into my huge polytunnel
which I hope and pray will last another year or two after the damage
done by the fox or badger. We never did prove who the villain was who made several shredded holes in it last year. My gardening lads were quite pleased with the sonic things I had bought which we hope were responsible for aiding its (or their) departure.
Now I mustn't give the impression that I am idle for the rest of the time. Oh dear me no. I still persist with learning how to play Bridge. Sometimes I actually enjoy it except that I do not like the really ardent players who do nothing but talk about it. And do a long winded post mortem at the end of a game. We do have laughs sometimes and once I have sorted out what I am doing at the bidding stage I find it all quite enjoyable. Then I have a computer class at U3A which is usually very good especially if we get an interesting speaker. My really favourite class though is the Writing For Pleasure. It always amazes me how many and varied ideas come forth from one subject by 15 odd people. The last class asked for a subject called "SCANDINAVIAN" For what it is worth here is my offering.

SCANDINAVIAN

In 1945 Arthur Miller wrote his first novel. It was called ‘FOCUS’ and centred on a man inadvertantly caught up in anti semitism in New York.

Remember this was just after a world war fought over racial hatred by the Nazis. The principal player in this story is a Mr Newman whose vanity stopped him wearing spectacles until he was really forced to. Then he bought a pair and once on they made him look decidedly Jewish. He wasn’t. He was just an Anglo American. The nasty story goes from there. It was actually turned into a Drama for BBC television in the late sixties and starred the late artistes Ray McAnally and my dear friend Vivien Merchant (the first wife of Harold Pinter). I had a small part in it as Mr Newman’s secretary.

Somewhere between these two events I found myself in New York, en route eventually to Los Angeles. I had been involved in a series of television programmes written by an American, Robert Fromm who

was a self employed script editor, and Jewish, working on television production in London. We became friends and kept in touch after he returned home to New York. So when I knew I was to be in New York for a few days, I asked him if he could suggest some decent, and not too expensive place I could stay.

‘You won’t stay anywhere but with my family’ came the immediate response in that amazingly hospitable American fashion, and that is why I found myself esconsed in Long Island with one of the loveliest families I ever had the privelege of knowing. I am happy to say that I was able to return their offer a few times during the next few years both in London and in Guildford.

Anyway, at the time of my arrival Robert and his wife, Miki, with their family of four boys were on vacation, and heading towards the last few days before he would be commuting daily into New York, where his offices were, and would take me with him.

Long Island to Manhatten daily? I kept my feelings to myself, Americans don’t turn a hair at this kind of thing and I certainly was not going to let my side down. But there were a few days yet before all that so I was allowed to sleep off my jetlag and after a couple of lovely easy going days it was announced that we would all be going to their club, where we would enjoy indoor sports and a super meal and drinks afterwards. They did this regularly I was told, and I was delighted. The nearest thing to this kind of place for us in England I daresay, is a Country Club. So we all scrambled into the family’s huge car and off we went. Never had I seen a car park like the one at this Country Club. People who came here were certainly not from just anywhere. Nor were they short of the odd dollar. A couple of people arrived at the same time and shouted hello, whilst, at the same time giving me some funny looks. Miki went a few steps ahead to announce our arrival - after all there were seven of us. Suddenly she let out a stifled scream, rushed back and grabbed Robert’s arm and looked at me in horror. “Oh Christ you aren’t Jewish” she yelled. “They won’t let her in if she’s not Jewish” she blurted out the words almost in a panic. I couldn’t believe my ears. I was flabbergasted. Suddenly little Jeffrey (spelt with a J) piped up. “I know, say she’s the Swedish au pair come to look after me”. Genius - pure genius and from one so young, he was only eight after all. Robert looked shattered as he knew the rules were exceptionally harsh in this area as a direct reprisal for what was still going on in Manhattan.

It is hard to believe but even then Jewish people were not welcome in many New York Hotels and restaurants. Even after fighting a world war against the Nazi regime. I was really shocked and terribly embarrassed for both my friends. “Could we ask you to pretend to be our au pair?” Miki whispered in my ear. Swedish I thought. Don’t speak a word. Supposing someone spoke to me? Danish just the same, Norwegian - oh help. “OK” I said, “I’ll just speak with an accent and pretend I understand nothing.

So after a long rigmarole at the door when I held on to Jeffrey’s hand in the most attentive way I could manage, in we went after much signing of books and frantic thankyous. I was finally signed in as Scandinavian Nursing staff to Mr and Mrs Fromm. Guest. That was that.

Well the evening was fine. I thought it wise to not say too much too loudly and we had a marvellous time with skittles and bowls. I played my part well I believe because I avoided everyone except to give a big smile and turn in another direction. The menu was in a kind of American Yiddish and I asked that they choose for me. It was scrumptious. I must have said a hundred times to the waiter ‘ferry goot,’ ‘ ferry goot.’ I was introduced to various people and said Ja Ja Helo Helo. I remember I smiled a lot and nodded my head and laughed in a weird way as Scandinavians might have done, after all what did I know? But none of us was prepared for what followed.

At about 11pm (4 in the morning for my still partly jetlagged body) we all left and headed towards the car. (I have thought long and hard about this but shouldn’t bumble bees be in bed after dark?) Suddenly there was Robert hitting his head and banging his ear frantically with his fists. He was really distressed and kept saying something had flown into his ear and was buzzing, buzzing. Miki took the wheel and we headed for a hospital. The three older boys were really not sure whether to laugh or cry, but Miki and Robert were really worried. We got to the hospital on Long Island, and believe me it was far worse than anything you have ever seen here. They were never going to be seen. So I took over and rushed around until I found a doctor and dragged him to where my friend was by this time almost passed out. My mind goes fuzzy after this as I can only remember Miki frantically trying to comfort her husband as he was taken to the operating theatre, jerking and shuddering in horrible misery. The boys flopped out on benches and I must have dozed off. Until I saw Miki with the doctor advising her that we should all go home and be back at 7am to collect the now calm and beeless Robert. “And please Mrs Fromm, thank your Swedish friend for finding me so quickly. Or it would have been far worse.” Seems I had just carried on with my funny accent at the hospital and it must have gone down well enough to get the necessary done and quickly. All this comes back with a vengeance every time I hear about anything Scandinavian, or even just the word.

Isn’t it weird that I had started this little fable off with Arthur Miller and his story of Jewish anti semitism? But how else could it have been told?

Apart from this kind of thing the whole of last year was not without its woes and excitements. One of the woes was that my son, Robin, was made reduntant from his job as an antique car auction house manager. But the woe didn't last. Robin had been in business for himself many years before he took on that particular job, so it didn't need much imagination to know what he would do next! Actually I am pleased in a way about the redundancy because Robin had always been in business for himself for many years. He is well respected and knows his business inside out. They are a very nice lot of people within that industry too. All united by a love of old and classic motor cars. They all seem to care for each other and take a huge interest in other people with the same interests. They also do lovely ‘functions’ as well and in fact I went on one with them towards the end of the summer. So everything crossed for Robin’s success with his Sports and Classic Cars Business.

The other great event was the wedding of my Grand-Daughter Sarah to Giles.

This took place in a wonderful setting at the time of the first snow of this past winter. Right in the heart of Surrey. I know I am biased but Sarah was a real Snow Princess at her wedding. Her Mother, Ann, had done a wonderful job of organizing the entire thing and making the dresses for Sarah and her bridesmaids. A lovely day. Grandmothers are allowed to wax lyrical.

See you again soon. Bye for now.

And so a Year has Passed.

2009-10-19T14:56:00.024+01:00

Yes, a whole year, plus a bit, has gone by since I came here to unload my feelings. It did help, I would be foolish to say it hadn't, but has the situation changed? Hardly, in some respects. A little bit in others. I cannot really say that I am happy with the amount of time I find myself alone. At the same time I know of many people who actually envy me this situation. Well, it takes all sorts...I guess.

I often wonder if one has had too much at the start of life it evens out at the end? Does one feel rather lost because there have been so many times when there were not enough hours in the day? I guess so in my case at least.

So what would you have done, or what did you do when suddenly you found yourself rattling around instead of bustling around? I did find my darling cats a bit restricting. Time was when I had a girl friend who would willingly come and stay, but she is no longer an option. So I have resigned myself to not going anywhere too far. Try to keep busy within the perameters of home sweet home. So you look around.

I found out about The University of the Third Age. Third age is anything over 50. There seemed to be a lot going on there. So I joined a Bridge class and a Computer Club. I am not too good at the Bridge and I really wish I liked it more, but I will persevere. Actually it was almost enough last year because I also did a private course of lessons at my house for Bridge every week. These things plus the fact that there was a bumper crop of everything in my polytunnel in the summer kept me somewhat occupied. My little swimming pool got more than its fair share of use too, bad summer or not. The previous year Darling Feri had not been well enough so we hadn't used it too often. Even when we'd gone on holiday to Cornwall he hadn't wanted to move from the hotel. Not that it mattered because the Nare, near St. Austell is so completely comfortable there is no need to leave it if you don't wish to.

But now we are heading towards winter. The frosts have taken their toll on the last of the annuals in the garden and I must start to look ahead. How to fill the days? I decided to expand my interests in U3A. Thought I'd carry on with the Bridge but go again from the beginning, because I hadn't really got the hang of it when I started. As well as joining the second year class!! Ambitious or what? A bit of French conversation caught my eye, so I'll do that - only once a month. And then another thing I had never considered, for myself anyway, "Writing for Pleasure" Hm don't know how I'll make out at that, but I like the sound of it so I enrolled. Instead of telling you all about it I will simply lay out my first 'offering' so that you may judge whether or not I should continue. Here goes: Funny title but that's not my fault.

"There I was, sitting in, and part of a group whose intent was “writing for pleasure”. Only my second attendance and I had been impressed. I had listened to some very interesting renditions of various ideas given the session before. I had not at that point contributed anything, thinking myself totally unable to compete. (The previous session had been absolutely brilliant). Never could I ever hope to compete with such imagination. Anyway, there we were and at the end of the 2 hours a short list was read out for our next session. (Homework, like we were back in school) I couldn’t of course find my pen to write the instructions for the next session down, but I did remember one – 38.

Weird thought I. 38? What the heck did he imagine we could do with that? Man’s potty. 38!! You might as well try to remember what you were up to at the age of 38, quite a long way back, but even so by then I’d been at my present house for ten years and my son was already 18!! Cripes.

What about the 38 bus? Used to take me from Oxford Street to Victoria if I couldn’t be bothered to walk down to Marble Arch to catch the no 2. Same time, nothing much ever happened on that route, although I did once have a long chat with Anthony Wedgwood Ben – he of the silly hats, slushy esses, filthy pipe and cups of tea. He leapt off before we got to Victoria, saying he had to catch the 52 to get home. (Well he lived at Holland Park, so it did make sense) He’d said he was a fan because he remembered I was Sister Vernon in Emergency Ward 10 some time before. Quite chuffed I was. And come to think of it - where was I going? Back to my flat in St. George’s Drive, number 38 on the corner of Clarendon Street. Weird.

Then of course there was 38 shillings. There I stopped. That figure was something life-saving to me once. How? What had led me to think that? Well I was in Leeds in the early fifties and working in weekly, twice nightly rep. I look back and wonder how we ever did it. A new play every week and 2 shows every day, 6. and 8.30! But at the time it was marvellous. I was 21 and the man in my life some 7 years older and our baby was but a few months old. D (I won't identify him) was engaged as the “young character man”. This covered roles from young farmers with funny accents to old solicitors, soldiers and butlers. Occasionally he got a leading role. He had already done a full season. While I had been some miles away in Rochdale until the season ended and I was looking around for the next job.

I, had been engaged to play young leads. Tall and blonde I had passed the severest of tests at the home of a Mr Harry Hanson, owner of a huge number of repertory companies around the country at the time, Hastings, Bradford, Skipton, Keighley, with his star company being in Leeds. He lived in Warlingham in Surrey, (in fact his nickname was The Duchess of Warlingham for pretty obvious reasons.) I trailed out for my audition to his fantastic house. We didn’t have cars in those days. He had asked me not to prepare anything, which in itself was odd, because I had at my fingertips St Joan, Ophelia, Mata Hari and Rosalind from As You Like It - all the usual audition pieces.

But upon arrival I was given a copy of Rebecca by Daphne Du Maurier. This, I was told, was Mr Hanson’s favourite play. I had a warming cup of something and then leafed through the pages preparing to read the leading role (after all there really is only one young woman’s role) The young –unnamed heroine. But no. To my dismay Mr Hanson read those lines and I filled in with all the rest. Stage directions and all. Took two hours and several cups of hot milk and Horlicks because he thought I needed fattening up at the time. But I was IN! We discussed salary – no one used agents in those days for repertory work, and we discussed my domestic arrangements since D was already up there in Leeds.

My Mother had agreed to take the baby and I was to travel up to Leeds 10 days later. I was over the moon. You might say why on earth should anyone want such a job? Well, so that D and I could be together for one thing, and the money was good (£12 a week which with D's salary would make us stinking rich) and believe it or not to be a member of The Court Players was something to aim for in those days. The theatre was the Theatre Royal, opposite Hagenbach’s, the coffee shop. Sadly it is no longer there. A bus station has taken its place. But it was from the Theatre Royal Leeds that the first Northern Television show was transmitted. Donald Peers, an unknown Frankie Vaughn and the wondrous Gracie Fields topped the bill. But I digress. Back to 38.

I loved Leeds. I loved the theatre, the audiences, the company and the producer. But the season took its toll on me. Week after week I was cast in long and arduous roles. Agatha Christie, then Tennessee Williams, followed by Noel Coward, Ivor Novello – all who wrote tremendous parts for women. Poor me. My only consolation was that I got consistently good notices and never dried on stage. But offstage? That was another matter.

Our producer was a dear man called Laurie Storm.

He was a kind and thoughtful man as well as a delightful producer. He could see what was happening to me privately. So he spoke to Mr Hanson and a scheme was devised whereby I would finish one play on the Saturday night, then not be cast in the next one and turn up to rehearse the one following that for the Tuesday morning. That way I could go to London for a whole weekend and not even have to rush back. Oh lovely British Railways. A sleeper train left Leeds at 11.40pm arriving at King’s Cross for breakfast after a good night’s sleep. I would spend all of Sunday and Monday with Mother and the baby and return to Leeds by 8am on Tuesday. Special offer 38 shillings return! The company even paid. I was made to do this at least another twice during that season. And it saved my life. Unhappily it did not save my relationship but we do still speak after all these years and much water under the bridge.

And my baby is fifty something!!

By the way, if I had posted this to you it would have cost me 38 pence!"

So now you know what I am trying to fill the days with. There is also the computer club, but that is just a bit of technical keeping up with the Jones's so to speak. We usually get a speaker who will discuss something to do with everyday computing, like the full use of "Word" or we might spend time visiting members' favourite websites!! I really think I will like the writing best of all. But time will tell. I will only ever be able to write about something I know. See what subjects they throw at me and learn from everyone else I expect. One subject tackled in many different ways. Hope they don't pick Bridge! All humour will disappear if they do. Dreadful attitude, pull yourself together girl!

So now I shall sign off and think about what the next subject might be. In a couple of weeks or so. Till then keep well and keep smiling.

Are these MY bones? Keep Taking the Tablets!

2009-03-10T14:25:00.017Z

Well the sun has shown itself at last and the calendar reminds me that this cold weather has got to be on its way out before long, and that I have been far too lax so far this year where my garden is concerned. Well, not so much the garden itself, but the greenhouse, where so much preliminary work must be done if it is to look its best later on in the year. So I started and actually put in about 3 hours good honest labour! But really I must stop because I am beginning to feel the twinges!!

Not so much heavy work - after all I am only repotting and sowing seeds, - but my goodness, bending down and trowelling out pots and trays of special soil from hefty bags and getting them into the propagators all newly sown and on to the shelves - not something one does every day. So a cup of tea and a sit down at the computer is my plan. Just a few new jottings. The picture by the way is what I hope my greenhouse will look like in a few weeks time, because now it is just full of pots and trays and propagators! Now on with the jottings.

Some few days ago I received a letter out of the blue from the British Film Institute.

Nowadays I usually only get letters concerning films when my company name has still not been removed from various film publications, and film scripts still roll in, quite unasked-for, even now. I slowed down my business ( a film and television production company) after many successful years, quite a time ago, but you must know what it is to get your details removed from any database!

No this was a letter which stated that they had found me via my agent during the time I was a performer, because a project was to be worked upon concerning a film I had appeared in way way back. I was one of the people they were trying to find for a new project to be started later in the year. Interesting, and I hope they find some other people involved at the time apart from the writer, who has since become a famous television chef!! No connection here then with the movie because that certainly was nothing to do with food as far as I recall.

Funny though, a long chat with my agent, about an hour it was, started to bring back a few memories of what was going on at that time – I had finished a contract doing a series of programmes for one of the original Independent Television companies (Ivor Emanual, lovely Welsh baritone singer and actor was the first male face to appear over the region and they say mine was the second!) I had been to America and done a series of programmes there, so must have had a wonderful sixties. They do say if you can remember the sixties you were never there! What absolute NONSENSE!

I try to keep up with my old profession, but whether I would like to be involved in what goes on today, I do not know. I speak to actors sometimes, who know so little of the business they profess to love. Ask any one of them about productions of certain plays or musicals of bygone days and back comes the reply "that was a bit before my time" Sure it was, but then so was Shakespeare and Disraeli, but we knew something about them! I just wish they could speak our language the way it should be spoken. I don't want an Ophelia who sounds like Patsy Palmer or a Gertrude sounding like Denise Van Outen, do you? Must be getting old. What me!! Even Lee Meade is beginning to sound like the artful dodger these days. Pity. It is lovely to meet up with many old friends - those who have not dropped off the branches - at the annual meeting of my favourite Charity The Actors Benevolent Fund. In their youth actors give little thought to the future, after all success is always just a phone call away and failure is what happens to others. If they make money they spend it with little thought to the future. When successful there is no more generous creature than an actor. But you are only as good as your last part and when the phone stops ringing.....!

Our Patron is HRH the Prince of Wales and last year (or was it the year before?) he gave a delightful reception at Clarence House to which I was invited along with many of the present membership. Prince Charles himself is a great communicator and can certainly hold his own in a crowd of performers I can tell you. An old friend of mine, Marilyn Thomas, who was seriously ill at the time, was permitted to be taken from the hospital in Chertsey and was thrilled when HRH spent a long time chatting to her. As if he'd known her for years. She was so happy and so were her friends. With her is Maureen Tracey her best friend of many years. Dear Marilyn died some few weeks later. Maybe he sensed this. He certainly made one member very happy. But everyone had a good time and somehow Charles himself seemed to move easily from group to group chatting away as though he were one of us. Our Chairman is Penelope Keith, so loved by the public and so hard working on behalf of the ABF. Maybe you'd like to know a bit more about the Actors Benevolent Fund? Even join? Take a look at their website http://www.actorsbenevolentfund.co.uk

I think for the moment this is enough of "luvvy" talk, don't you? Mind you I will keep coming back to it every now and then. So many anecdotes and so much to tell, but actors can be too self-indulgent if given half a chance. My plan for the next few days is to get myself straight in the greenhouse. Then I might feel inclined to let you in on what is going on in there

Health (like hope) lies eternal in the Human Breast!

2009-02-19T13:39:00.022Z

And no one knows this better than me!!

If this is your first visit, I hope you can read my first post before you carry on - "So what is old anyway?"

I really do think that health is worth all the effort you put into it. On the whole I have had a marvellously healthy life. Brought up in the war of course when sugar was rationed, along with sweets, and not too much of anything. Many of my generation still have good teeth and hair and skin and I put it down to moderation in most things - which was rather forced upon us!! In this photo Francis is 88 and I am 72, hair and teeth intact in both of us!! I don't remember anyone in my class at school being overweight the way children are today. Funny isn't it? I did have a bout of hepititis once. We called it jaundice then.

Brought on because I was being chased by a well known actress of dubious intentions, and I was keeping close to the theatrical company I was working with at the time and drinking far too much Guinness! Just to keep out of her way and not be alone. No names, no packdrill, isn't that what they say? I do remember being in the hospital in Preston and hearing someone outside my door saying "EE Aggie, that lady's a loovely colour!!!" Bright yellow I was, terrific. I had collapsed at the end of a marvellous play called "Waters of the Moon" Playing a part as long as Hamlet it seemed. I had had a bad time (apart from the lesbian chaser) because I just couldn't 'get' the part, until suddenly at the dress rehearsal I had donned a mink coat, provided for my first entrance by the local furrier - so's he got a free ad in the theatre programme - and put on a pair of specs and a jaunty hat. I looked in the mirror and suddenly saw MY MOTHER!! Courage returned and I got very good notices the next morning.
I Collapsed 2 nights later and they had to close the theatre because no one could be found to play the part at such short notice. Robert Stephens, my leading man for that season, always blamed the Guinness and I have never drunk a drop of it since. The lesbian nameless actress returned to her main attraction in London as I had banned her from the hospital.

No, I have remained fit and well IN SPITE of Breast cancer! On this subject I can only say this. I believe it is absolutely ridiculous not to report any irregularity you may find straight away! A friend of mine in The Hebrides is upset because her friend didn't bother, having found a lump in November, and now she is really sick. In my case, 3 years ago, I had just bought a lovely satin bra and had put it on, only to spot a small lump - the satin had accentuated it. I rushed to the doctor and she confirmed what I had thought. "What" said I, "would happen if I do nothing?" "That is not an option" came the reply. Oh boy I thought, as I was about to go to Budapest with Francis, what do I do now? "Go to Budapest" said my doctor "and when you come back an appointment will be waiting". After 2 weeks I returned and sure enough, everything kicked into action and I had the complete diagnosis and operation within a very short time.

At this point let me tell you IT IS NOTHING LIKE AS BAD AS YOU IMAGINE!!! End of the world I had imagined. But I hardly knew what was going on, once arrangements were made. In and out of the hospital in a week and home to reasonable normality within a very short time. The Hospital fitted me up with "my disguise" - off I went to find my new bras, and I promise you nobody would know a thing about it if I didn't say!! I don't look too bad do I? This was 3 weeks after my operation. The prostheses provided are simply excellent. Not quite without its laughs though. One day, just before I had got my newly special bras I was using an ordinary one and dropped something on the floor. Completely forgetting my new situation I leant forward and lo! the thing flew out to the hysteria of my guests. I am more careful these days (apart from the time I returned to my house from the swimming pool to find myself not quite even in the top department.) I had quite wrongly assumed a swimsuit I had on was perfect as the prosthesis had slipped in so well. I hadn't noticed it wasn't stitched under the bra part, and the missing bosom was later found shining like a jelly fish in the grass!!! You couldn't make it up, I promise.

Another thing I am sure of is that diet plays a huge part in how we feel, as far as our health is concerned. My personal favourite "group" of types of food without question is Mediterranean. Probably because I shared so much of my life with an Italian whose hobby was cooking! Wasn't I lucky? But a lot rubbed off on me, and I learned through him, although I probably didn't realise it at the time. I have also been told by an eminent Italian doctor that Italians and most people from the Mediterranean suffer far less than the rest of Europe from Breast Cancer. I don't know this to be a fact of course, but I have many Italian and Spanish friends who happily do not know anything of this disease.

This morning I am really heartened by the wonderful sunshine. I really feel that the harsh days of January and Early February are passed. Just had a walk round my garden and peeped into my sad greenhouse. And I really am beginning to feel the urge to get started with the seeds for all the plants I will soon be growing for flowers and of course for food.

See you again soon.

Pearl

So What is old anyway?

2009-01-30T16:30:00.007Z

OLD is the NEW YOUNG (we hope)

A big thank you for visiting. I think the best way to start is by letting you know who I am.

This is me a couple of years ago when life was really happy and I was in Venice with my dear friend, Francis, (Feri, the last love of my life.)

I am a retired ex theatrical person. This has absolutely nothing to do with my present activities. But since I cannot imagine how to start, my first thought is that I certainly cannot imagine any way in which my knowledge of theatre, as experienced by me and my contemporaries, could possible help towards anything. Sure, I might try to sell ballet shoes, musical instruments or sheet music. Perhaps copies of French’s Acting Editions of any number of plays, BUT that would never be in any way satisfying. By a theatrical person, I do not mean that I was a stage door keeper, or a scenic artist or even a stage manager or writer of wondrous West End plays. No – I was a humble actress. ACTOR they say I must call myself, although I really am not a man.

I live alone in Surrey, England. Well almost alone, since there is a small tortoise-shell cat and a big black cat who also share my house and garden. This is Daisy-Mae caught in my bed the other day. I’ll pop one of Big Billy in if I can find one
further down as things look a bit crowded here.

My first recollection of my “talent” was being in a boxing ring, somewhere in South London at the age of three, and belting out a Gracie Fields song called “He Forgot to Come Back” for which I won a three wheeled bike, so lovely, bright red with a white back-rest and precious, that I remember it to this day, some seventy six years later. It must have been some local talent competition that I was entered for by my father or mother (may God forgive them)

I am not someone who has got a vast library of photos and memorabilia, after all we were bombed out of our home in London twice when I was a child, and I know we had nothing left and had to start again in 3 homes at that time. And many years later, my wonderful portfolio of photos from everything I had ever done theatrically, once found itself sandwiched between a pile of old magazines and it got thrown out with the rubbish, never to be properly replaced again. One or two photographs I was able to find and I will pop them into this page - like now - this one is from a television production around 1975. But many were lost forever.

I am at that point of life that I find myself pretty well alone. I have a son and he has a family of course, but the young have to take care of themselves, no mean feat these days, and older people must not expect them to be at their beck and call. So one has to devise a way to fill the days.

I do have a lovely garden which tends to keep me busy in the spring because I start all my plants off (well nearly all) in a greenhouse from about March 1st.

Meantime I am keeping busy. First thing, after Feri died, was that people said “oh do you play bridge?” No I don’t and what a drawback, because I am told that it is a most sociable game. I mulled this over and I tend to agree, it might be a good thing to do. I looked around on the web and came up with something you might be interested in too. Nothing in it for me but I did find it useful to learn the basics of Bridge completely free. A lovely website and very helpful, too.

http://www.rpbridge.net

Well, so far, and apart from the lessons offered from this website, I have joined a class to learn from the very beginning. Twelve lessons - so the first three are done. Next one tomorrow and I really do hope I can get enthusiastic about things. Not too sure right now but I will persevere.

I cannot remember anything other than in a kaleidoscope as it were. As you get older things come and go and sometimes you remember things (like the words of songs) that you had never thought of for fifty years. I recently sang in to the ear of my dear Feri, as he lay dying, the song “Goodnight My Love” – now how could I have remembered that? You will know I am sure. They say the hearing is the last to go. I don’t know, but I like to think it is true.

This is Feri the last time we were in Venice. He was Hungarian and had lived in England since the early forties. We met only six years ago, but what a lovely and wonderful six years they were. Feri's wife, (short for Ferenc - Hungarian version of Francis) had died some two years earlier, and my soul-mate of thirty two years had died just about a year before. We hit it off immediately, he at 87 and me at 72. Hope for all then? What has age to do with it?

We went to Venice, to France and to Dorset and Cornwall. One of the most beautiful places that we visited (quite different from Venice, of course) was Budapest. We were guests of the Overseas department of the BBC and during the time we were there, our young producer, Gabi Gera, took us to where Feri had lived in his youth. I was in tears it was all so wonderful. The house was lived in by a lovely woman who gave us coffee and told feri what had happened to the house as he wandered in and out of rooms that recalled his Mother and Father and himself as a boy. The house, or part of it rather, was now a chemists distribution point and a showcase for new products. What a beautiful few days we had. It was only in the final year of Feri's life that things were not so good because his health deteriorated. But right up to the day before he went into a coma, he was writing an article for his Hungarian newspaper in USA. Thank God he was right on the ball and never suffered the way so many do at the end of life.
I will treasure my time with him till the day I die.

Another thing that interests me is the business of being an affiliate to various businesses on the web.

For example I have my very own shop online. I love it.

http://uk.ei42.com/pearlruth/

Now this is something really new to me and I have found things quite exciting in this area. For example, I am going to apply myself to learning how to build a website!. But at the same time I am keen to show others how to fill their time if they are in the same situation as I am. The next one appeals to small businesses or to individuals with no business other than to be an affiliate (agent I suppose it could be called) Anyway just in case you could be interested, here is the site

http://buildit.sitesell.com/pearls2.html

One thing that I do enjoy when I am asking anyone to lunch or dinner is cooking. A talent I really never knew I had until the past few years. Cooking was something that was always done better by someone else (and always being busy, I never argued!)

I have just performed a miracle (I hope) with my cooking.

I bought some meat, nicely packaged, from the supermarket and put it in the freezer. Took it out about a month later to see the ominous words "Suitable for Slow Cooking" What did this mean? Had I bought really cheap meat? It looked lovely. So I searched ALL my cook books and finally found one mention of 'lamb shanks'. I rose from my couch and decided if I wanted a decent lunch I'd better do something drastic. And get started immediately!

So out came the WOK (a wonderful thing is a wok) I put the 2 shanks in the wok with extra virgin oil, garlic, onion and carrots. I had defrosted tomatoes from my garden last year and red peppers and courgettes. These I put into a saucepan to make a good sauce with. Very slowly after a couple of hours I added stock, the tomatoes and things I had put in the saucepan, and red wine and left it to marinate overnight. I put it in the oven at mark 2 and there it stayed for 5 hours. The meat just slithered from the bone and the sauce you would kill for!!! This is a historic meal in my book! Now couldn't you dream up something tasty and turn it into a good read?

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I am going back to reading and re-reading what I can of the Bridge lessons. For the moment - ‘bye and see you soon. Oh I nearly forgot Big Black Billy (senior moment). Here he is.

I refuse to let things get the better of me now that I am old and alone! (almost) I read a lot and find that, apart from my shop which has books from W.H Smith and many others, Amazon is just about the best company on the web for delivering what you need in a matter of hours rather than days.

Shop at Amazon.co.uk!

See you again soon,
Pearl