No Ordinary Woman

by Valerie Byron

  My life was full and Granada Television was my world. I had eventually managed to get out of my job in Engineering and was happily back with Johnny Hamp, enjoying every minute of it. It was thrilling to see such a variety of actors who usually travelled from London to perform in the various plays that were being videotaped at the studios. (Film was not used in the 1960’s, so everything was videotaped and then edited.)

  One day I arrived in the canteen to see Sonny and Cher sitting in a booth together. She had long black hair, and he was wearing a sleeveless sheepskin jacket. Everyone turned around in their seats to take a good look at the unusual pair. We had no idea who they were, but were intrigued by their strange dress. Just another couple of crazy Americans, trying to make a name for themselves, we thought.

  Paul Anka, Donald Sutherland, Oliver Reed, and many other unknowns made their start at Granada. On one occasion, Johnny Hamp, asked me to do him a favour. He wanted me to take care of an American client who had come to Granada briefly to star in a television special. Her name was Ernestine Anderson, a black blues singer. I agreeably took her under my wing and drove her to my flat in Sale for dinner, later returning her to her hotel. She was a charming woman, and appeared delighted to spend an evening with me. Who would have imagined that I would meet Ernestine again in 1969 when she appeared at Ye Little Club in Beverly Hills? But that was a year and a lifetime away.

  There were many actors and directors I dated whose names and faces I have long forgotten. There are others I will always remember. One day, a young actor by the name of John Thaw arrived at the studios, to perform in a television drama.

  I was sitting in the canteen with my friends, when John caught my eye. He smiled at me, and I thought he was sweet. Not exactly my type, but a lovely face. He came to sit with us, and we started to talk. For some reason, I thought he was younger than me, but it turned out we were the same age, he being six months older. We were both twenty-five years old. Our conversation led to a date and that evening, John took me through the streets of Manchester in his fast Lamborghini. I felt sophisticated and daring as we sped along hoping people would notice and envy me in his fancy car. He was a strange looking young man, with a birth mark on his cheek and small baby-like gapped teeth. Nevertheless, he was modest and quite innocent, and I enjoyed his companionship. People at Granada were talking about him, exclaiming over his talent, and I was quite pleased with myself for having captured his attention.

  I wrote to my mother in America, telling her about this fascinating young man. I told her that I felt, somehow, that he was destined to become a great star. I am not certain how I knew this, since he was totally unknown at the time, but of course John went on to become the famous “Inspector Morse” and later married the comedienne, Sheila Hancock. We never became intimate, but remained good friends during the time he spent at Granada and I have a feeling that had I stayed in England, we might have become more to each other.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  I was constantly in one romance or another, usually with actors, especially when I had fallen out with Les. Mark Jones, Bryan Marshall and Ray Lonnen were only a few of the seemingly endless stream of handsome young men I dated. I cannot believe how many there were, and how difficult it was to settle for just one.

  Val and Bryan Marshall – Granada TV – 1967

  Ray Lonnen and I developed a deep friendship and were constantly writing letters back and forth. Whenever he came to Granada to work, he would call me, and I would occasionally travel to London to spend time with him. After he got a starring role in the television series “Market In Honey Lane,” the letters grew fewer and I saw less of him. He was always worried about his nose and finally made the brave decision to have plastic surgery to get rid of the bulb on the end of it. I always thought he was very handsome and couldn’t understand why he was so fixated on his nose. On the other hand, I understood how he felt, as I had gone through the same thing myself.

  Ray Lonnen – 1967

  I was also able to become incredibly good friends with certain older actors, but purely on a platonic basis. The late Ray McAnally (The Mission, Jack the Ripper), a renowned Irish actor, was a gentleman and good friend to my flat mate, Chris and me. On his visits to Granada, he would regularly come to my apartment to play Scrabble, and then take the pair of us out for a wonderful steak dinner in Manchester.

  Bill Moore, Molly Sugden’s husband (Are You Being Served) was an actor around my mother’s age, who often appeared in dramas for Granada. I spent many a happy lunch hour with him, just chatting about his twin sons and his wife, Molly, who was then a radio actress.

  William Mervyn (Mr. Rose) was one of the few older actors that I didn’t like. He was supercilious and full of himself – and would often make belittling remarks when he saw me coming. “Oh, there’s the sniffer,” he would say, referring to my habit of sniffing when I had a cold, which was often in those days.

  It was now late 1968 and I was twenty-six years old. About this time, I met a very attractive, funny young Scots woman named Marian (Min) Pattullo. She had green eyes and short dark hair, with a sweet Scottish accent. She was new to Granada but we became friends very quickly. She was working as a secretary on the show “Nice Time”. We were having tea in the canteen one day when she mentioned that her apartment had flooded and all her clothes were wet. As she was looking for somewhere new to live, I immediately offered my flat. I told her that I had twin beds, and she was welcome to stay. Min took me up on my offer, and I brought her back to Sale to meet Chris. The three of us were a perfect trio, and life began to look up again.

  I was prancing through the halls of Granada one day in one of my very short mini-skirts, when I was approached by a photographer for the Daily Mail newspaper. He asked if I would consider having my picture taken for a contest they were running in the paper. It was called “Thursday Girl” and each week the front page featured a different attractive girl from the North of England. Readers of the paper could vote for their favourite.

  I was delighted and flattered to accept, and hurried out to buy a sexy set of baby doll pyjamas for the shoot. The photographer came to my flat and took many pictures of me, lying on my bed, supposedly writing poetry. He took other pictures of me wearing a mini dress, posing in front of the piano. The picture was to appear in the paper in mid-July, 1968, days before I was to leave for my trip to America to visit my mother. She was still living with Betty and Ernest, but had a good job and had put a deposit on an apartment in Los Angeles. I spent hours buying appropriate clothes and gifts to take to America, and finally took a flight to spend two weeks with my family. The newspaper article appeared just as I was about to leave for my trip, and I enjoyed seeing my photo. As it turned out, I didn’t win, but I really didn’t care either way.

  Thursday Girl – Daily Mail – 1968

  In those days, England was the height of fashion, in hair styles, dress and music. We were way ahead of America in this regard, so when I arrived in Los Angeles, wearing a micro mini-skirt and a beehive hairdo, I was a sight to behold. It was strange returning to Betty and Ernest’s house after ten years. Now I was an adult, full of confidence in my attractiveness. Things had definitely changed. It was great fun to see all my relatives again after so much time. I caught up with my cousin, Jackie, who was newly married, and of course my other cousins and their children. Friends fixed me up on blind dates, but I preferred to lie out in my aunt’s garden, working on my tan and reading saucy novels.

  My mother was still friendly with Jean, who had lived with us in Beverly Hills all those years ago, and was now married to Gerald Deskin, the psychologist. She had two children and a lovely home in the San Fernando Valley. She and my mother took me to Las Vegas for the first time and we stayed at Caesar’s Palace. On our return to Los Angeles, my cousin Jackie fixed me up on a blind date with a young movie producer called Danny Renet. Danny was handsome and full of himself, telling me about all the films he was about to produce. I enjoyed my brief vacation in America, got a great tan, b
ut was anxious to return to England as I missed my friends, especially my life at Granada. My mother asked if I would consider returning to the States permanently, which caused me some pause. I didn’t want to leave England, yet I felt sorry for my mother. I knew she wanted me to share a flat with her, and make a home. I was torn, but out of pity for her, foolishly agreed to make arrangements to immigrate back. Once again, my inability to just say “no” caused me anguish and regret.

  On my return to England, I put in my application to emigrate from the UK to America, and waited for to hear when an appointment could be set in London for my physical examination. I was told it could take many months as there was a waiting list, and a background check had to be performed. Oh well, I was in no rush and put it on the back burner of my mind.

  In the meantime, my mother agreed to buy me a car which I could have shipped to the States. The reasoning behind this was because there would be no taxes applied, and it would only cost six hundred pounds for a new vehicle. It was quite exciting picking out a car that would be within her price range, yet meet the smog codes of America. In the end, we selected a brand new 1969 MG Midget convertible, with left-hand drive. Chris came with me to collect it from the showroom and it was with great excitement that I was finally able to drive my own brand new car home.

  Once I had the car, I spent weekends washing and waxing it, despite the terrible weather. Min and I would drive to work together each morning, rather than taking the bus or train, singing off-key all the way. In the evenings, we would go to pubs or clubs, feeling very independent with our own transportation.

  On one occasion, Min and I were driving through the Cheshire countryside, on our way to some party, when we passed a police car, parked on the side of the road. I was probably doing 80 miles per hour, but the police didn’t seem to want to chase after me. Unfortunately, when I got to the end of the road, I realised it was a dead end, and had to turn around. Of course the policemen looked up as we drove by, and started to follow us. I was a very cheeky young lady, so when I stopped the car, I smiled and flirted with the fresh faced young constable. He tried to look stern, but when he saw the two of us in the sports car, he leaned over and started chatting. After several moments of chit chat, he asked if I would accompany him to the Policeman’s Ball. Laughing, I said “No, but she will”, pointing at Min, sitting beside me in the passenger seat. We exchanged phone numbers, and then drove off in gales of laughter, never thinking the policeman would take us up on my offer.

  It was only a few weeks later that we received a call from the policeman, and poor Min had to accompany him to his party. I think she had a good time, but was very nervous about the whole thing. Min and I became closer and closer, and spent our tea breaks and lunches together every day and, of course, partied hard at night. There were more celebrities arriving each day, and we were overwhelmed and enthralled by it all.

  While sitting at my desk one day in the Light Entertainment office, a very tall, dynamic young man burst into the room. With a grin and a wave, he picked up my phone and started jabbering away to someone in French. I had no idea who he was, but found him quite fascinating to look at. His name was Julian Chagrin and he dressed in the fashion of the ‘60’s with wide lapelled flowered shirts, and bell bottom trousers. He sported side burns and long shaggy dark hair. Lanky, with a large nose and dark brown eyes, he was absolutely charismatic. Over the next few days he came to my office several times and started to chat with me. We started dating very quickly, and I decided (again) not to see Les any more.

  Julian Chagrin 1968

  Julian was larger than life, and filled my world with wonder and new experiences. He was like a Technicolor presence, demanding attention when he walked into a room. He was at Granada to perform in his one man show, A Man and His Dog. I was pulled along in the excitement of being his girlfriend and my life started to change dramatically. We would go to local theatres or movies, and once even took a trip with his director friend, Braham Murray, on a barge in the south of England. On other occasions we spent lovely evenings at my flat, eating gourmet dinners and drinking wine. I discovered that Julian was married, but separated, and had a young son, who lived with his wife, Claude Chagrin. Julian and Claude had appeared as mimes in the movie “Blow Up” with David Hemmings, and Claude was now directing a play in New York. These arrangements seemed more acceptable to me, especially since Julian was determined that we would have a life together and was planning a divorce. He took me to a birth control clinic since I was still totally naïve about protection, and insisted that I be fitted with a “Dutch cap,” or intrauterine device, as it was technically called.

  Whenever Julian drove from London to Manchester to work at Granada, he came straight to my flat. He always had unique gifts for me – a beautiful turquoise necklace, a sandstone ring, or a valuable antique Chinese box. Sometimes they would be records or books. I had never, ever had a man give me gifts, except for Dave Brown when I was sixteen. He had given me a pearl heart necklace, engraved on the back, which I still wore ten years later.

  Julian gave me money to pay for food and Chris and I would prepare delicious meals for the three of us. He took me to interesting pubs and sometimes let me accompany him when he went out on location for his one-man show. It was so exciting to drive to the seaside with Julian and his producer, tracking down props and meeting old-time musical hall performers who were appearing in pantomimes. He even took me to a celebrity cricket match once, hosted by celebrity presenter, Mike Parkinson, and I stood proudly to one side as youngsters flooded to Julian, asking for his autograph. One child came up to me and shyly asked for my autograph. Before I could say anything, Julian hopped over, took the pencil out of the child’s hand, and scrawled “Valerie Chagrin” on the proffered piece of paper. Life with Julian was a roller-coaster of excitement and thrills, and I hoped it would never end.

  Julian had befriended the young Mike Parkinson, who was the presenter of Granada's Cinema series, and introduced me to him at the cricket match. With his working class accent, Michael was a breath of fresh air and over the next eleven years he interviewed many of the leading celebrities of the time. Mike was knighted years later and has become a British institution. In those days he was natural and friendly, and he probably remained that way his entire life.

  When Julian left Manchester to return to London, I was able to wangle a visit for a week. There was a temporary opening in Granada’s London office, working for company head, Cecil Bernstein. I was able to fly for free on the company’s six-seater plane, “The Dove,” which was available on a first-come, first-serve basis to anyone who worked for the company.

  I worked at the Golden Square office during the day, and spent my nights with Julian at his flat in St. John’s Wood. My visit was eventful and exciting. He took me one evening to meet his parents and his dancer, brother, Nicolas, which was quite daunting. His father, Francis Chagrin, was a composer for films and his mother was very imperious. When we arrived at their flat for dinner and an evening of charades, I was feeling extremely nervous. I wanted them to like me but felt very out of place in their sophisticated surroundings.

  However, after impressing them with my ability at charades, I started to feel more comfortable and relaxed. During the next few days, Julian took me browsing through antique shops in London, where I secretly purchased a very expensive chess set for him. On another occasion, the actor Tom Courtenay showed up for a marathon game of Risk at the flat, and I was assigned to making tea and sandwiches. It was all a little out of my comfort zone being this close to celebrities, and I felt somewhat tongue-tied.

  Julian did his best to make me feel special and wanted, but it wasn’t until the phone rang one evening while we were lying in bed, and Julian spoke in French to his wife, Claude Chagrin, that the reality set in. I had once again become emotionally entangled with a married man. I lay there listening to him jabber away, feeling more and more awkward, when all of a sudden he switched to English.

  “Claude,” he said loud
ly, “enough. I need to tell you that I am lying next to the woman I love,”

  I was blown away by this outburst, and a feeling of love and belonging flooded through me. It was hard to believe that a man like this could really want me, but apparently he did.

  As time went on, our relationship grew deeper, and I felt very strongly that Julian was the man I was meant to marry. I had introduced him to my best friend, Moira, and she loved him. My flat mate, Chris, was also taken with Julian as she had come to know him well through his constant visits to our flat. His brother, Nic, came to visit with his girlfriend and the four of us shared my bedroom over one weekend. Life had taken a new direction and I was starting to believe that maybe my dreams were finally coming true.

  Julian had the opportunity to perform his one-man mime show on Broadway. He was overjoyed and we made plans for me to join him in New York, shortly after taking the barge trip. However, things did not work out as planned, and the New York offer was rescinded. Julian fell into a deep depression and our relationship started to fall apart. It seemed to happen so fast. One moment we were in love, making plans for our future, and the next he could not cope with life. Weeks later, I received a phone call from Julian, informing me he had decided to give his marriage another chance, and wanted to say goodbye. I was devastated and could not understand what had happened. All my hopes and dreams for a future with this man had been dashed to the ground. Julian went on to act in the famous “R. Whites Lemonade” commercial which ran for seventeen years, the longest running commercial in British television history.