by Mo McDonald
Luckily for Pauline, only a few years before her diagnosis, in 1978, a Harvard physician, Dr John Remmer, found the answer by realising that blocked airways was connected to snoring and poor quality of sleep, which he named as OSA – obstructive sleep apnoea. And better still, in 1981, the Australian physician, Doctor Colin Sullivan, created a solution by inventing a respiratory ventilation method called Continuous Positive Airway Pressure – in other words, the CPAP machine. It was a tremendous breakthrough in the medical world and patients were given hope by having air pumped into their bodies while they slept. I was, of course, pleased, but I couldn’t believe that the machine was celebrated as being a wonderful invention when I had witnessed the intrusive, almost barbaric, nature of its usage. Surely a better contraption could be devised. I made a point of contacting a journalist friend of mine to see if she could highlight the problem in one of the tabloids. She said that she would try to but not to hold my breath because it wasn’t a ‘sexy’ health issue, therefore not much attention would be paid to it. Heart disease or cancer was where the research was starting to be very well funded. I promised myself to make it my mission to seek attention in the area, but I have to confess that my work took over again and I neglected to pursue the matter in the coming months, indeed years.
I mention this about Pauline in my diary notes as a mark to myself of what a selfish bastard I was. I even underlined ‘selfish bastard’ in red. I feel it fitting to share this now because it highlights the man that I was. Marian was up against a dab hand, used to his own way, who could not allow her to rock the boat any longer.
However, to my annoyance, a moving letter arrived on Christmas Eve, which I read just before packing up for the break. It added to my depressed state of mind; with my nerves in a bad way, it took all of my willpower to remain unmoved when with my family. The role I played as a husband and a father was demanding, but never more so than during that particular Christmas when it took every effort to seem happy and to give happiness to them. The letter went as follows:
Dear Jack,
I don’t think you understand just how much it meant to me to hear from you. You were my dream; now you have taken that away from me and left me with nothing. I was so happy when I could just encourage you as an artist. I want nothing more to do with Art or my imagination. It means nothing to me now. Your name in ink was enough to please me because it came straight from you.
Jung and his ideas are all very well, but now that you have proven your faith in Jung, how do you think I feel? It is fine to be loyal to your wife and family, as indeed I am to mine, but why are you afraid for us to continue our friendship? When you ignore me the in-love illness state destroys me. I fell in love with you through your books, so I will always admire you, no matter what I am supposed to do. I must protect my marriage; it was safe in my imagination. Now, I am at a loss.
Marian
PS What good is the masculine side of my personality to me? I feel worse now than when I first wrote to you because I was content with my life then. M.
JACK
I started 1983 in the way that I saw fit to once and for all draw our correspondence to an end. I sent a letter that I hoped would do the trick to get her off my back, knowing it would take more than just the one attempt, as my similar previous letter, along the same lines, had not worked. I tried turning down the pressure still more, thinking that to be the only way forward, so that she would feel ignored and leave me alone. I didn’t need her in my life any more; why didn’t she see that? I had plenty of women writing to me. My fame spread far and wide and I was known overseas, too. I had a busy schedule for the forthcoming programmes and my strategy no longer included editing material that would spark any hidden meaning to Marian. Once again, I kept myself out of the message, sticking strictly to the subject concerned and subjects portrayed on the screen. The professional in me allowed me to continue to make interesting programmes as I retreated. I wanted to become inaudible to Marian’s ever listening ear.
My resolve to try to silence Marian continued, but she seemed oblivious to the fact that I had unplugged the plug and was no longer talking to her subliminally. Her obsession was such that she still felt the umbilical cord that bound us, ever vital to the nourishment of her very existence, I could tell. My experiment would no longer obey the laws of the unconscious and wanted to boil over as the Bunsen burner threatened to explode out of control. I tried in vain to lower the temperature. I decided to dampen the flame with all my might. I dictated a very similar letter to the one that I had sent back in September. Marian would have to see that I meant business now.
Dear Marian,
I am very concerned about your continuing correspondence; there really is no point, as we both know that you have got the wrong idea about me. Over the past couple of years, I have gone along with you so as to please you, but I must insist that you stop. And try to understand that it is to help you when I say that you must find someone to talk to about your problem.
All the best for the new year.
Jack K.
I worded that letter knowing it would be extremely difficult for Marian to convince anybody that I was at all involved with her psychological state. I was the intellectual and a man of letters and she was but the little housewife who wrote fan mail – end of story. I was sure that I could rest easy on that score. Making reference to her ‘problem’ was my way of saying, ‘Get lost, get a life!’ I wanted her to start to feel insecure about her thoughts and to question her stability. I had gained a position in the establishment of the UK and I didn’t want my psychological experiment to spoil my chances now that The Show of Shows had brought me even more to a place of huge respectability, not only in the world of the Arts but generally in the elite of London society.
Her reply by return of post was:
Jack,
Your advice has been noted. You will not be bothered again.
From,
Marian Davies
Then came a letter to my secretary:
Dear Hannah,
I am writing to you so that Jack will know that I am not going to bother him again. Please explain that I cannot talk to anyone – it will just not come out. I do understand that he meant me no harm, but being a psychological exercise is not very nice!
Yours sincerely,
Marian Davies
I was annoyed, but at the same time I was worried about her. I had played God by making other people talk for me. I had wanted to inspire her, as she had inspired me, but I could no longer tickle her imagination without fear of causing her to have a mental breakdown. I was aware that I, too, was very much on the edge. I used Art yet again to help me. In the meantime, I continued to receive strange messages from her. Open postcards were sent to my office indicating her desire to bring everything out into the open.
I allowed myself one last attempt to use the programme as the means to say goodbye. I skilfully edited the voice of Matt Monro to play over the long list of credits at the very end of a very inappropriate spool about the performing arts. No one on the team questioned it, but they must have wondered what it was in aid of, as the words rang out against the backdrop of people’s names on the screen. “Walk Away”.
The velvet voice of Monro said it all and surely Marian would understand as the picture faded from view. I was that conceited and I really thought I could woo her away with a romantic love song, just like that!
Then, ten days later:
Dear Jack,
As your psychological experiment has left me restless and ambitious, I would appreciate it if you find an interesting job for me.
Yours sincerely,
M. Davies
Quickly followed by:
Jack,
Please relax, I am not after you for a job – that would be quite ridiculous. I know I have to achieve it on my own. Resentment builds up from time to time. Sorry, I am coming to terms with it. By the w
ay, you must have had your ego fanned by the BBC, as you were one of their first guests on the sofa this week. Their new idea for Breakfast Television is proving to be very popular. No wonder you have become too grand for the likes of me. Don’t worry, I am ‘Walking Away!’
M
I pondered the situation and, after careful consideration, I decided to use Hannah to telephone her and explain how foolish it would be to continue our relationship. She read out a few scribbled sentences on the telephone. I was tearing my hair out to find a way to rid myself of her.
‘Jack says to be content with what you both enjoyed; don’t be greedy. He feels that the more he gives, the more he will hurt you.’
She tried to warn Marian of her dangerous ambition; the one thing that she didn’t do was to wait for Marian’s reply. After Marian picked up the phone and Hannah introduced herself, nothing was said except that which I had instructed. No polite conversation, just straight out with the words from me and…
‘Goodbye.’
By using Hannah, there would be nothing written in black and white from me. No give-away words leaving evidence of my conduct. Then, when I arrived in the office the next day, my secretary also had a message for me from Marian.
‘Please tell him that I do not wish to be kept for posterity. I really mean that. Send back my letters.’
Her response was unexpected. I really had had enough of her rollercoaster emotions and accusations. I had tried in vain to be kind. My family life was getting more and more difficult to manage, too, so taking the bull by the horns I decided on the next drastic course of action.
Dear Mr Davies,
I think it is only right to let you know that your wife has been causing me concern for some years now. Her letters have become full of fantasy and I have tried to be kind and suggest that she seeks the help of a doctor about her problems, but she has not stopped writing and keeps calling me at the office and making a terrible scene. I do not know her except for a brief visit that she made to the studio and I think I signed a book.
I am well known so, of course, I receive letters from many fans and I always try to answer them. However, your wife has been pestering me and it is only right that you should know about this. If you wish to talk to me, do not hesitate to call me on my direct line – the number is above. I am very sorry to bring you this news and I regret that I didn’t contact you earlier, but now frankly feel that you ought to know.
Yours sincerely,
Jack Kelly
I remember dictating this in an abrupt manner to Hannah, feeling as I did that I was metaphorically pulling the leeches off my skin to rid myself of Marian’s clinging ways. Hannah made no comment as she followed my instructions to type the letter and to catch the evening post. I am sure she felt uncomfortable being the instrument through which my words passed, her fingers striking the keyboard commanding the black letters to hit the white page, like a Coco Chanel moment of black and white. Innocent symbols, forming into words, conveying the poison in their stark meaning.
As I signed the completed letter, I underlined my name, feeling as if in one stroke I had drawn a line under the matter once and for all. A warrant for her arrest, case closed this time, for certain. I had no intention of speaking to Marian’s husband, even in the unlikely event that he did bother to ring me. My secretary was left under no illusions regarding that. So, I went home that evening feeling a sense of relief, a fait accompli. At last!
I ought to have known Marian better, though, because as soon as I got home my wife gave me the following message: ‘A Mrs Davies said that you have been looking at some correspondence belonging to her, dating back over the years. It is vital that you return it to her. She says that your office has her address.’
I was totally shocked to think that she had actually spoken to my wife on the telephone. I tried to remain casual in my manner when given the message. It was a blow, though. I was stunned, quite taken aback. The vital flux between us had worked again and she had thought along the very same lines as me. The same day that I had commissioned a letter to be sent to her husband, she had had the foresight and the nerve to find my home telephone number and to speak to my wife.
I got to the office early the next morning and explained to Hannah that I needed all Marian’s correspondence photocopied, front and back, and to be filed away. Then, the originals were to be sent to Marian immediately. I didn’t offer any explanation for this action, but I was determined to waste no time in complying with Marian’s request, per chance she might go to the media with her story if I ignored it. Her state of mind seemed so determined and she did, in fact, own them. As a writer, I was well aware of that. I can see now that I wasn’t thinking straight, though, because by sending the correspondence back I was admitting that it had been of some importance to me, otherwise why would I have kept it? I ought to have ignored her request and, if pushed, declared that, of course, they had been thrown away. I assumed that the large brown envelope would arrive the day after my letter to her husband. It was in the days when the post was most reliable and you could, in fact, guarantee next-day delivery without special payment etc.
The reason that I am able to read through the pile of correspondence now is due to the careful way Hannah had tied it together, making sure that the photocopies remained in date order, documenting the platonic relationship for posterity, as any good writer’s secretary would. Hindsight and the distance of time, plus my diaries, allow me to see what an arrogant fool I was then.
About five days after my letter to Robert Davies, I received a large postcard with the face of a woman on the front and down her face ran one huge teardrop. On the back in Marian’s handwriting were the words: ‘I will never forgive you! You ought not to have hurt my husband!’
I could only imagine the domestic scene when her husband had opened my letter to him and what a shock it must have delivered to them both. I had no way of knowing how he might have confronted his wife about the accusations that I made against her or what trouble I might have caused. All I knew at the time was that I needed to end her obsession with me and I understood her well enough, as I said before, that to tell her husband would put a stop to her secret imaginings. I knew it was her desire to be loyal and not in her nature to cause hurt to her family. I was not unaffected, though; in my diary I had commented on the weather, stating that red rain had actually fallen in droplets from the sky…
‘Even the sky is broken-hearted, crying all the way from the Sahara desert!’
JACK
I was right, it did stop her, but although her husband telephoned my office several times over the following weeks, he was always informed that I was not around and soon he didn’t bother any more. His attempt to reach me proved that my words had caused some concern on his part and I often wondered how he and Marian had managed to sort things out and whether I had hurt more than just her feelings.
The world seemed a lonelier place despite my rising celebrity. In my professional world, exciting things were happening, though. I went to a party to celebrate Richard Attenborough’s film Gandhi, which had just won him eight academy awards, and one of the event managers handed me a new concept from the music world. It was a compact disc containing the theme music from the film. It was the first time that I had held a CD in my hand and I marvelled at how tiny it was.
MARIAN
When Robert showed me the letter, I remember I was shocked and angry and upset. I was shocked because I didn’t like my inner world being exposed; I was angry because I didn’t think that Jack had the right to contact my husband; and I was upset that I would hurt Robert because I had never, ever intended that. After all, I had dealt with the matter and I had ended it by contacting his wife. There was no need to humiliate me and to cause trouble in my family. Robert held out the letter, forcing me to read it.
I felt my heart beat faster as the words sank in. I couldn’t believe that Jack could be so cruel as to put me in t
hat uncomfortable position and I felt sad to appear so foolish in the eyes of my husband, who I loved dearly. It didn’t feel good but I felt in control because of ringing Jack’s wife. I was astounded, though, that even at the end of our strange relationship, both Jack and myself had been on the same wavelength in bringing the problem to a head. We turned to each other’s partner in anger at each other; the situation was so out of control and horrible that it took drastic action by us both to end it.
‘I can explain,’ I pleaded. ‘I have been receiving Jack’s messages through the television set and when I challenged him about being a psychological experiment, he got cross with me and we fell out.’
‘You have been receiving messages through the television? Are you mad or what? You will be telling me that you are hearing voices coming through the walls next!’ Robert sounded angry and he looked very upset with me.
‘Look at this letter, read what he says. You have become an embarrassment, what were you thinking of? You are a mother; what has made you behave like a mad woman?’
He asked me through clenched teeth. I put my arms around him but he pulled them away.
‘Marian, what were you doing making a nuisance of yourself like that? You are not a child.’ His lips narrowed and he stared at me.