by Anne Edwards
They played eight shows a week, and often Vivien would make numerous personal appearances as well. They had no time off between the last show in Melbourne on August 26 and their opening in Brisbane on August 28, but finally there was a twelve-day hiatus before they were to open at the Theatre Royal in Sydney. She and Jack spent the time on Orpheus Island in the Great Barrier Reef where she wrote Tenley on a postcard:
Dearest Ted—I have been very bad about writing—forgive me please—The Brisbane Theatre was pleasant with Lady of the Camellias the smashingest success. Now we are on a very remote island—7 of us all together! Very beautiful and peaceful. My little house is the one on the far right (PIC). Nothing to do but swim, play, shell, sleep, and commit an occasional sin! Jack is writing you a proper letter I see. [Arrive] Sydney 26th. So much love to you dear Ted always— Vivien.
In Sydney they stopped at the new Hilton Hotel, but the windows could not be opened as the hotel was centrally air-conditioned, and Vivien was unable to bear the claustrophobic feeling. She recalled a man whom she and Larry had met on the first tour and who owned a lovely estate called Fernleigh Castle on Rose Bay which had recently been made over into a hotel, so they moved there. Her condition immediately improved, but Jack was still concerned, for he was learning how to detect the smallest indication that she might not be quite as well as she seemed.
And after the second week in Sydney she seemed less spirited than usual. Up until that time she refused to be dissuaded from accepting any public appearance requested of her. Now she tried to postpone whatever she could. One night she shook badly before a performance and then afterwards sat quite remotely in her dressing room speaking to no one. The spells of crying followed. Jack had the letter from Dr. Conachy and wanted her to see a doctor in Sydney before she went from the depressive to the manic phase. But she was adamant that she would be all right without shock treatments. She did not trust any other doctor, and nothing could convince her that her refusal to consult anyone else was detrimental to her health.
All the members of the troupe were tremendously helpful. Helpmann was constantly infusing as much humor into the tour as possible. “Uncle Cecil” flew over again from London. The shakes stopped. The crying ceased. She smiled and laughed again. She went out on the hottest days looking cool and impeccable, shook hands with dignitaries, accepted bouquets of flowers, and gave short speeches. She seemed herself again, and Jack was confident that she was going to survive the long ordeal of the tour.
Saturdays they played two performances. Early one Sunday in the third week of their run (Vivien was always awake by eight a.m. no matter what time she had gone to bed the previous night) she announced that she had accepted an invitation for them to drive out to visit a couple they had met, John Thompson and his wife. The Thompsons lived two hundred miles from Sydney and Jack reminded her rather curtly that it was entirely too much of a trip for her when she had to be back for a performance the very next night.
“I said we would go and we will,” she retorted angrily. “And if you don’t want to go I’ll drive there alone.”
Before Jack could stop her she was outside and had moved toward the car they had rented. There was little else he could do but follow and get in beside her, as she refused to let him drive. Silence shrouded them as they drove through the heat of the day. Suddenly Jack looked up to see the Sydney Harbor Bridge come into view. “I’m very sorry but we’ve got to do a U-turn here,” he told her.
“Why?”
“Because we are going in the wrong direction,” he advised.
She swung the car around and they drove at least a hundred miles again in complete silence. Jack knew there was nothing he could do to get her to return to the hotel and, fearing she could do serious harm to herself if he asked her to stop and let him out of the car, did nothing. Suddenly Vivien seemed to have lost control, and the car swerved madly. Jack grabbed the wheel and pulled the vehicle to the side of the road. They had a puncture and Jack, Vivien fast at his heels, got out to change the tire, sweating in the terrible heat as he worked.
Immediately droves of buzzing flies surrounded them. Still refusing to speak to him, Vivien nonetheless grabbed a road map from the glove compartment of the car and worked furiously swatting and sweeping away the flies that hovered over Jack’s sweaty figure.
They arrived at their destination at half past five, exhausted from the drive and the terrible tensions of the day, to be informed that the Thompsons had planned a huge gala at the local country club in Vivien’s honor. Over one hundred people, Jack was informed, had been gathered to meet “Scarlett O’Hara.” Vivien had collapsed in bed by then and could not be awakened. Jack rather nervously agreed to leave her and to go with his host, while Mrs. Thompson waited behind to accompany Vivien when she awakened.
Not long after Jack and Mr. Thompson arrived at the country club another guest excused himself, returned to the Thompsons’ house, and there took a shotgun and killed himself. Vivien had mercifully slept through the terrifying event, but when she awoke the house was filled with people and the terrible sound of uncontrolled sobbing. If she had been headed into a manic phase as Jack feared, the shock of the suicide seemed to have affected her like a series of ECT’s. She was once again a sweet and tender woman, contrite as she got into their car early the next morning—this time giving Jack the wheel.
“I’m not afraid to die,” she confided after an hour or so of silence. “But you won’t let them put me away will you?” she pleaded softly.
“It would have to be over my dead body,” he assured her.
From this point in the tour, there were strong parallels to Vivien’s behavior on the Titus Andronicus tour in 1957. Trudi was less and less able to cope with seeing Vivien in this state. Helpmann was always able to make Vivien laugh, for he was a marvelous quickwitted jester and a wonderful storyteller. But he hated to see her when she was manic and would disappear at those times (though when she was in a state of depression he was the most supportive and helpful of all those close to her). Her friends could not bear the Jekyll and Hyde change that would take place in her personality. She became a different person; rather than being the impeccable and well-mannered Vivien they knew, she would become sluttish and slovenly and say things that she would ordinarily never allow anybody to repeat in her presence. She was capable of stripping naked in front of people and screaming obscenities. She had a deliciously witty yet naughty sense of humor (“Mummy,” she once asked the prim and quite proper Gertrude in front of guests, “have you ever slept with another woman?”), but while manic she became coarsely obscene. At such times Jack did his utmost to keep her away from people.
From Sydney they went to Adelaide, then Perth, Wellington, and Christchurch, winding up the Australian tour at Her Majesty’s Theatre in Auckland on St. Patrick’s Day 1962. There were only twelve days before they were to open in Mexico City on the first wing of their Latin American tour.
While they had been received well everywhere they went in Australia, in Latin America their reception was even more enthusiastic. Language seemed no barrier. They had cut Duel of Angels from the repertoire, and Twelfth Night and The Lady of the Camellias were familiar enough so that an audience who did not understand English could still follow the story.
From Mexico City they went to Caracas, Venezuela. They were there at the Hotel Tamanaco on April 8, which Vivien and Jack considered their anniversary. Vivien could not let the day pass without giving Jack a present, although he had begged her not to do so.
My Darling [she wrote in the letter that accompanied the gift]—Before you become upset (quite unnecessarily) by this present remember I chose it long, long ago in Vence [France] and give it to you now in remembrance of a day that changed my whole life—a change for the very best my darling love. I am grateful to you for so many things—you have taught me more than you imagine—dear love— Happy anniversary— Your very own—Angelica.
The present was a ring she had worn, and which was now attached to a gold cha
in for him to wear about his neck.
From Caracas they went to Lima, Peru; Santiago, Chile; Buenos Aires, Argentina; Montevideo, Uruguay; Sao Paulo, Brazil; and finally, on May 11—Rio de Janeiro. Perhaps Rio’s hot, humid climate brought back memories of Ceylon, or perhaps the extensive and enervating tour was beginning to become too much for her, but a deep depression again set in. Jack wanted her to fly back to London, but she insisted on visiting Lucinda and Howard Dietz in New York for a few days first, and he agreed.
Vivien had previously deferred to Olivier’s wishes. Now Jack deferred to hers.
Chapter Twenty-nine
The loss of Notley had been a difficult adjustment for Vivien. It had been more than a country home, it had been a way of life. She dearly loved the weekend guests, the beautiful gardens, and the roots it had given her.
Before she had left on the Australian tour, she had managed to find her own country house. It was Dirk Bogarde who had put her on to Tickerage Mill, a Queen Anne house situated about forty-five miles from London, a short distance from a lovely old village, and on a mill pond. She wasted no time in buying it. Within a few weeks she hung her pictures on the walls; and though the house was being completely renovated and was in a state of chaos, her friends navigated the extremely narrow unpaved stony long private road to its front door to visit her.
Jack Merivale, of course, was by her side. Poo Jones, after a six-month quarantine made necessary by his American adventure, was regally stretched out before the sitting-room fireplace. But there was something strangely amiss. Vivien was almost the same magnificent hostess as she had been at Notley. Yet it always seemed as though the master of the house was away.
Tarquin had been traveling in Indonesia, writing while he lived with the people. He returned to London a short time before she and Jack had left for the Australian tour. One night Vivien and Tarquin sat up late surrounded by many of her beautiful possessions that had once graced Notley’s rooms. Everyone else in the house was asleep, and in those quiet hours Tarquin and Vivien were trading private thoughts.
“Leigh taught me how to live,” Vivien said softly, “your father how to love, and Jack how to be alone.”
Tarquin understood what she was saying. For the first time in her life Vivien—who had been married to or living with a man continually since she was eighteen—believed in her own identity. Jack’s position was not easy, and Tarquin and those close to Vivien admired the manner in which he handled a most compromising situation. And Suzanne, with Jack now at her mother’s side, appeared more relaxed in her visits, frequently accompanied by her family. The house at Tickerage had a more comfortable atmosphere than any Larry and Vivien had shared. To Suzanne it was “Mummy’s house,” to her boys “Grandmama’s house.” They loved visiting, and Vivien truly liked having them there.
On May 26, 1961, shortly before the tour, Vivien had written Ted Tenley:
Dearest Ted— Your beautiful little cup arrived this week and goes down to Tickerage today. Thank you for the dear sweet pet. The house is an absolute dream and I am miserable at the thought of having to leave it [for Australia]. The swan had 7 cygnets—the Moor has had 4 Moorlets or whatever they are called—the duck had 3 ducklings—and to cap it all a pigeon with a message around its leg landed on the lawn! We soon discovered what the message read—“Get the hell in and learn your lines!” [Helpmann’s practical joke.] Rehearsals going well. Bobby is being marvelous. The company are charming and they are ach-tung! All the costumes are lovely but the ones for Lady of the Camellias are just the most ravishing I have seen. Poo comes home today [from quarantine]. It is 7 a.m. and I am so excited I cannot sleep for he will be here at 9:30. We have a tiny poodle at Tickerage called Sebastian and a small fry pussycat called Nichols. I do hope they all get on together!
She was home—for Tickerage, not Eaton Square, would from this time represent home to her. Curiously, she never referred to England as home, never thought of herself as English, for that matter. She was an International. “After all, my parents were French and Irish and our family even has Spanish blood—and I do so love the United States and consider myself part American,” she would often say.
Jack and Vivien spent a few days at Sands Point, New York, with Cindy and Howard Dietz after the long tour. When they got back to London, Dr. Conachy had seen her a few hours after her arrival at Eaton Square, and within a few days and after a series of shock treatments she was well enough to travel down to Tickerage. On arriving, she wept with joy as she cradled Poo Jones in her arms and was careful not to step on Sebastian and Nichols, who were fighting for equal time. Jack wanted her to rest, but that was an impossibility for Vivien. She was home, with people and friends sharing her days and evenings. A new member of the staff, Mrs. Macaulay, immediately became her right arm. Mrs. Mac, as Vivien called her, was of a much easier, calmer nature than Trudi, possessing the ability to cope under any circumstances, and Vivien felt safe and protected in her care.
While Jack and Vivien had been in Australia she had been sent a playscript of a musical version of Tovarich, a play by Jacques Deval and Robert Sherwood.
“Ridiculous. I can’t sing,” Vivien had said, putting it aside without even opening the cover.
“Now, just a minute,” Jack had reminded her. “I remember that story. The part of the Grand Duchess is ideal for you, and certainly you dance. God knows you are always complaining you have no one to dance with and chiding Bobby Helpmann about his neglect in this matter.. [Helpmann was a great dancer long before he moved to acting and directing.] And Rex Harrison did not think he could sing when he was first handed the playscript of My Fair Lady”
Vivien had picked the playscript up dutifully, if rather reluctantly, found it enchanting, and considered accepting the role. Shortly after, the producer, Abel Farbman, had flown to New Zealand to see her, and she had even stood on the stage of the theatre where she was appearing one hot afternoon and sung a chorus of “Alone” for him. Obviously her rendition had not been too bad, because he had become so persistent that he then flew to Mexico City when she was appearing there and had her listen to a recording of the score, and from there to Buenos Aires to discuss the script alterations. Finally she had agreed to open with the play in New York that following spring. It gave her time to take some singing and dancing lessons and to rest up at Tickerage for five or six months before flying to New York for rehearsals. More important, she could plant the gardens and finish decorating the house and with the arrival of summer fill it with friends and flowers.
The parade of dear friends began from the start of June 1962. Rachel Roberts and Rex Harrison were among the first, with Harrison giving Vivien advice on singing in a musical. Her brown leather guest book with “Tickerage Mill—April 1961” hand-tooled in gold on its cover was filled with a scramble of famous names during that period. Tarquin wrote his name in Chinese, Gielgud’s neat small script appears and reappears, as does Leigh’s open, friendly hand. The Red-graves came, Terence Rattigan, George Cukor, Noël Coward, and many others.
Vivien, who loved and needed the stimulation that the intelligence and wit of her friends gave her, thrived on good conversation. Although Tickerage was minuscule compared to Notley, there still was enough room for five or six houseguests on a weekend and many more for luncheons and dinners. Mrs. Mac was a marvelous cook; and mealtimes, either in the dining room or on the terrace overlooking the mill pond, were as elegant and as much fun as they had ever been at the Abbey.
It was obvious to everyone that she adored Jack for “saving her.” But no one speculated anymore that they would marry. With Tickerage Vivien seemed to have found peace. She seldom spoke of Larry, but his picture remained by her bedside, as well as a small box containing the arrow ring she had received from him when the film plans for Macbeth had fallen through. And in the drawer of her bedside commode inside a leather wallet were two letters he had written her, worn thin from constant folding and unfolding. When he was at Chichester in Uncle Vanya she had gone to see him twi
ce but had not stepped backstage. Writing Lucinda at the time, she said, “What a rare thing Larry has made of Uncle Vanya. His Astrov was one of my favorite of his performances. I have seen it twice.”
She still thoroughly enjoyed the role of Lady Olivier; it seemed most unlikely that she would ever give it up by remarrying.
On November 5, 1962, she celebrated her forty-ninth birthday with a weekend of festivities at Tickerage. Her guests came on the second, a Friday, and remained through the fifth, which was a Monday, and included Alan Dent, Hamish Hamilton, Gertrude, Jack, Bumble, and Leigh.
The day before her departure for New York to do Tovarich, Vivien, with Gertrude and Jack, returned to London. Judy Garland, married at the time to Mark Herron, was living near Eaton Square and invited the three of them for dinner. At least Vivien assumed Gertrude had been included in the invitation. Judy seemed happy to see them, but nonetheless was in an agitated state. Dinner was announced, and they all went into a small dining room. The table was one place-setting short, but neither Judy nor Herron did anything about repairing the mistake. Judy filled the seats with her guests, leaving none for herself. Then she dashed in and out of the kitchen during dinner, hovering over the table, seemingly not eating a morsel of food. Gertrude sat through the dinner in appalled silence, Vivien and Jack chatted about superficial. Eventually Judy disappeared into her bedroom. It was a terribly upsetting evening for everyone, especially for Vivien.
Since Jack was scheduled to appear in a John Huston film, The List of Adrian Messenger, he remained in London, and Trudi accompanied Vivien to New York on November 12. Jack was already apprehensive about letting her go alone, but he knew he had to pursue his own career. She wrote him during the flight: