The James Bond Bedside Companion

by Raymond Benson

  At one point, Fleming visited the training camp for subversive actions run by Stephenson in Oshawa, Canada, and even took a few of the training courses himself. One of these demanded that he swim a lengthy distance underwater and plant a limpet mine on the hull of a derelict tanker—an experience he later used in his book LIVE AND LET DIE. Fleming also furthered his knowledge of ciphers, and the use of explosives and other subversive weaponry. But he never passed the test to determine whether he was capable of killing a man. It was actually a trial of nerves which required him to break into a room and open fire on a man sitting in a chair. As Fleming approached the door with gun in hand, he simply couldn't bring himself to continue the exercise.

  Ernest Cuneo eventually became the liaison between William Donovan and the British Security Coordination, with immediate access to the White House. Often, he was the only American present at the meetings at Rockefeller Center. Cuneo remembers that he and Fleming developed a friendship which consisted mainly of sporting jabs at each other's homeland. Cuneo would denigrate anything British, and Fleming would do the same to everything American. But it was all in good spirit, and the two men became very close friends. Cuneo remembers that Fleming was quite the ladies man during the war. There was a shortage of nylons in Britain, and one day Cuneo walked into the room and threw a few pairs of stockings on Fleming's desk. "Long, medium, and short," Cuneo said. "I assume you're playing the field." Fleming said, gallantly, "Actually, I'm not." Cuneo said, "Good, there are others who are," and he proceeded to take back the nylons. But Fleming snatched them with the speed of a card shark "I'm not," he said with a straight lace. "But some of my friends are." And the two men roared with laughter.

  Perhaps Fleming's closest American friend, lawyer and newspaperman Ernest Cuneo. (Photo courtesy of Ernest Cuneo.)

  In late 1941, Fleming created the Number 30 Assault Unit, something he liked to call his "Red Indians," an outfit of Intelligence Commandos who specialized in cleaning out Nazi hideouts after their capture. Fleming's idea for the unit actually came from the Germans. After the battle of Crete in May 1941, a German unit overran a British one and seized all ciphers and technical equipment Fleming thought the notion of a commando spy outfit was exciting and adapted it for Naval Intelligence. The men in the 30 A.U. were trained in counterespionage techniques and capturing enemy intelligence documents. The outfit began operating in the Middle East, working with the Eighth Army. 30 A.U. worked in North Africa, Sicily, and Italy, and had a strong participation in D-Day. Other units tended to resent them, for at times they were a rowdy bunch who thumbed their noses at discipline. But the accomplishments of the outfit were impressive and 30 A.U.'s reputation was justly famous. Eventually, its control passed from Fleming's hands.

  In 1942, Admiral Godfrey became Flag Officer of the Royal Indian Navy, and he was replaced as D.N.I. by Commodore E.G.N. Rushbrooke. Fleming, who retained his close working relationship with the D.N.I., liked to refer to his new commanding officer as "Rush Admiral Rearbrooke."

  The air raids had begun in London and the threat of death from bomb blasts existed every day. The war took its toll on Fleming's personal life during this period. First, Muriel, his girlfriend, a dispatch rider, was killed when a bomb struck her flat one night. Then Ian lost his younger brother Michael, who died as a result of wounds as a P.O.W. after Dunkirk.

  In the autumn of 1944, Fleming was back in Washington for routine meetings and to attend a special Intelligence conference in Kingston, Jamaica, an island he had never visited. He met his friend Ivar Bryce, who was working for William Stephenson, in Washington, and helped clear Bryce's passage to Jamaica. Bryce owned a home in Jamaica, called Bellevue, and invited Fleming for a three-day visit before the conference. After taking the Silver Meteor to Florida, as James Bond did in LIVE AND LET DIE, the two men departed for the Caribbean. At Bellevue, they were greeted by an enthusiastic housekeeper, an empty cupboard, and terrible weather; it rained the entire three days. But surprisingly, at the end of this time, Fleming asked Bryce to help him search for a piece of land where he could build a house. He had fallen in love with the island. In March of 1945, he began construction of his retreat—which he named "Goldeneye." Fleming was very proud of Goldeneye, especially since he designed it himself. The three-bedroom house was modestly furnished, with a shower adjoining each bedroom. His island neighbor, Noel Coward, complained that the house didn't face the sunset, and called the place, "Goldeneye, nose, and throat," The house is still looked after by Violet, the cook and housekeeper. Violet remembers that sometimes for fun, Fleming would purchase cow and donkey carcasses and pitch them into the sea, to watch the sharks feed on them. "Usually he'd invite friends from all over the island to watch with him, and they'd have lots of fun." When Fleming described the sound a shark's jaws make in his books, he knew what he was talking about!

  The ambience in and around Goldeneye. (Photos by Mary Slater.)

  Ian Fleming made valuable contributions to his country during the war, only a few of which have been noted here. It was a serious and demanding time for him, and many said it was his finest hour. Throughout it all, Fleming kept his sense of humor, sharing it with others and helping them through the trying times. His friend Clare Blanshard, who was personal assistant to the Chief of Naval Intelligence—Eastern Theatre recalls a letter from Fleming in May of 1945 in which he wrote that except for filching the archives of the German Navy on the Czechoslovak border and lashing a few German WRNS (women's naval force), he had had no "devilry" for some time. Work had increased since Germany's defeat but it mostly involved fighting over the corpses of the German Navy and bickering for the "wish-bones"! The war provided Fleming with the opportunity to expand his expertise in many fields, create new circles of friends, and fill his need to make his mark, as his father had done, in the British war effort. He was discharged on November 10, 1945.

  Immediately after the war, Fleming took the position of Foreign Manager at Kemsley Newspapers. The job offered many opportunities to travel abroad while pursuing stories for the Sunday Times. Fleming's work for the newspaper was outstanding, and he did some of his best writing during this period. He was particularly good at travel-adventure stories. Buried and sunken treasure fascinated him, and he wrote a series of articles on the subject He went diving with Jacques-Yves Cousteau, and joined an exploration led by Norbert Casteret, a noted French archaeologist, in the Gouffre Pierre Saint-Martin on the Franco-Spanish border. In the spring of 1954, he persuaded Somerset Maugham to allow the Sunday Times to serialize a number of articles Maugham was writing on "the ten best novels of the world." Maugham had never allowed a newspaper to serialize his work, but Fleming's enthusiasm for the project, along with the promise that his material would not be edited, convinced Maugham to agree. It was a major coup for Fleming.

  In the autumn of 1953, Fleming was offered the role of "Atticus." Although it had prestige, the Atticus column was basically high-class gossip. Nevertheless, it was an honor that Fleming was asked. He took the job on the condition that none of the writing would be altered. John Pearson worked as one of Fleming's assistants on the column. He remembers Fleming's unusual story ideas. Once, Fleming asked Pearson to identify the most ridiculous and expensive Christmas present one could purchase in London. After seeing Pearson's research, Fleming chose to write about a very expensive gold-plated "egg decapitator," which sliced off the top of an egg without breaking the shell. Since Fleming didn't have to sign his own name to Afficus, Pearson notes, the author could reveal his personality without fear of ridicule or direct personal criticism.

  In the summer of 1955, Lord Kemsley decided to sell his distinguished bibliographical journal, The Book Collector, which was not meeting its expenses. Fleming, who was fond of the publication, bought it from Kemsley. Fleming left the running of the journal to its editor, John Hayward, but managed to obtain funds from American foundations to secure its future. Though he never wrote for The Book Collector, Fleming was proud of saving and owning this exceptional so
urce of information.

  During the period immediately after the war, Fleming met his future wife. For a better understanding of the effects marriage had on Ian Fleming, one must first look at his attitude toward women in general. His reputation as a ladies man was a controversial one. He reportedly was very cruel and ruthless with the women he courted. His close friend Robert Harling confirms that Ian had "some kind of contempt" for women. According to Lisl Popper, Ian, if given the choice, would much rather have dined with a man than a woman.

  One girlfriend from the thirties says that "Ian was cozy and sympathetic when he was in a good mood, but he was never in the same mood two days together, which I suppose was part of the attraction." This same woman also says that Ian would pretend that ordinary events were adventures, or make out that some well-known restaurant was special and secret He claimed the etiquette of walking on a lady's right was "to have his sword-arm free." He was somewhat ashamed of being a stockbroker because he thought it so unromantic. "The only 'incident' I can remember," she says, "was when he made me hide in his bedroom when a couple of friends were coming in for half an hour. There was no earthly reason why I shouldn't have stayed and talked to them, particularly as it was in the afternoon, but he thought it exciting to have a girl hidden in his bedroom. I thought it rather silly."

  Fleming seemed to tire quickly of the women he knew. Fionn Morgan, his stepdaughter, says that most of the women in his early life were "housekeepers" rather than lovers. In his memoir, You Only Live Once,Ivar Bryce tells of receiving a telegram one day in 1938 to meet Ian in Boulogne for a "journey." Ian was there with an American Graham Paige sports car and an American girl named Phyllis. All Ivar could get out of Fleming was that their destination was Kitzbuhel. Ian put Ivar in charge of the luggage, placed Phyllis in between them in the seat and took off. Apparently, Ian and Phyllis had met at a party the previous evening. The girl was intelligent and witty, but Ian soon began snapping at her. By the second day, the tension had increased between them. That night, in Munich, Ian tersely told her he was taking Ivar to dinner where only men could come. Over dinner, Ian said he couldn't take any more of her Anglophobic American prejudices. Even though he was pro-American, Ian disliked spoiled American girls loaded with culture. Afterwards, Ivar found a note in his room from Phyllis, begging him to come to her room for a talk. She was very upset. She said she was in love with Ian, but he treated her so cruelly she didn't know what to do. Ivar advised her to forget him and go back to Massachusetts. In the morning, Phyllis appeared at the car, ready to go on but Ian said, "No, Phyllis, no. You are a good girl and I'm sorry this trip has been a flop, but the place for you is home in America. Now goodbye and grow up and be happy. Get in, Ivar, we're late." They drove away, leaving the girl with her baggage in the street. Ivar was distressed and embarrassed by Ian's behavior, but Fleming justified it by saying, "She's got no place, traveling alone with us. She would madden us with her demands, make herself miserable, and achieve nothing. We could have stayed there arguing with her all day. She ought to go home and she has plenty of money to get there, so stop fussing."

  If a girl expected love from Ian Fleming in his bachelor days, she was destined to suffer. Bryce remembers that Ian would say to his girlfriends: "You must treat our love as a glass of champagne," which supposedly meant sparkling, delicious, and leaving a euphoric memory in its wake. Yet despite his enormous appetite for women, Fleming once told a close Mend that he had never received much pleasure from a woman. He hated the fact that "men depended on women." Fleming's bitterness toward women may have been caused by the demands and pressures placed upon him by his authoritarian mother when he was younger and from disappointment over the breakup of his engagement to the Swiss girl, Monique. But a close Mend contends that it was Muriel, the dispatch rider during the war who was killed in a bomb raid, who was the love of Ian's life. After her death he always said he'd never marry.

  A snapshot taken at the airport prior to Ian and Anne Fleming's departure from Jamaica as newlyweds in March, 1952. The calypso band behind them was hired to send the Flemings off with a festive farewell. (Photo by Josephine Bryce.)

  But he broke that promise in 1952, at the age of forty-three, when he married a woman who couldn't have been more his opposite. The love affair between Ian and Anne Fleming was a stormy and passionate one. They first met before the war, while Anne (née Charteris) was married to Lord O'Neill. Anne (called "Annie" by her friends), had two children from that marriage, which ended when O'Neill was killed in action during the war. Anne had begun to see Fleming occasionally by this time, but Ian avoided any serious entanglement. So Anne married Lord Rothermere. As the forties drew to a close, Ian and Anne saw more of each other, especially in Jamaica during Ian's winter sojourns. They became good friends with Noel Coward, who entered in his diary on July 10, 1949: "I have doubts about their happiness if she and Ian were to be married. I think they would both miss many things they enjoy now."

  Anne was an extremely beautiful, strong-willed woman. It is quite well-known that she enjoyed the company of men over that of women, and she gained distinction by entertaining a long list of notable celebrities at luncheons or dinners which she would host. Among her closest Mends were Somerset Maugham, Evelyn Waugh, Sir Isaiah Berlin, Peter Quennell, Cecil Beaton, Malcolm Muggeridge, Noel Coward, and Cyril Connolly. She did have female Mends as well, notably Loelia, Duchess of Westminster, Lady Diana Duff Cooper, and Lady Avon (formerly Lady Eden). Anne had a sharp wit and enjoyed that quality in others. Intellectual conversation stimulated her and men reportedly delighted in her company. But Anne could be very cutting with her wit. One close friend of the Flemings remembers a time when three couples were relaxing in the sun at Goldeneye. The men, in jest, each told the story of how they'd had their first woman. After all was said and done, Anne spoke up with, "All right, now I'll tell you how I had my first woman!"

  The passion and intensity of the relationship must have changed Fleming's mind about marriage. The fact that Anne was already pregnant with his child was merely tangential to his decision. After Anne's divorce from Lord Rothermere, she and Ian were married in Jamaica. According to Noel Coward, one of the witnesses, on the BBC's Omnibus documentary: "It took place in the parochial hall of Port Maria, and Annie was very nervous. And she had on a silk dress—she shook so much it fluttered. I don't know why she was so terrified, but she was. . . The principal official of the ceremony spoke very close to them—he put his face very close—which I don't think they cared for, and so they had to turn their faces away when they said, 'I do, I do.' Very lovely ceremony."

  Fionn Morgan, Anne's daughter, says that Ian was a good stepfather and was very interested in his stepchildren. But even she agrees that the marriage was not made in heaven. John Pearson seems to think there was some kind of "sadomasochistic" strain, mentally, in their relationship. Both partners were egocentric, and ultimately this destroyed their happiness. Noel Coward wrote in his diary on Sunday, November 14, 1954:

  On Tuesday I dined with Annie and Ian and it was somehow tiresome. Annie is such a darling when she is alone with Ian but when surrounded by her own set—Judy (Montagu), Alastair (Forbes), etc.—she changes completely and becomes shrill and strident, like one of those doomed Michael Arlen characters of the twenties. I am really surprised that Ian doesn't sock her in the chops and tell her to shutup.

  Years later, on January 29, 1961, Coward wrote:

  . . . their connubial situation is rocky. Annie hates Jamaica and wants him to sell Goldeneye. He loves Jamaica and doesn't want to. My personal opinion is that although he is still fond of Annie, the physical side of it, in him, has worn away. It is extraordinary how many of my friends delight in torturing one another.

  In an interview for the Evening Standard in 1960, Fleming openly admitted to not caring for his wife's dinner parties. "My wife," he explained, "fully understands my attitude, that I don't care for her parties and literary friends. For one thing, you know, if you are married to a hostess, you find
that she will seat the most interesting men next to herself and saddle you with their boring wives. So whenever possible I avoid going to my wife's parties." He went on to say that he would much rather go to a Hamburg striptease joint than to one of Anne's parties. "Give me a cheap joint any day," he said.

  It was almost immediately after the birth of their son, Caspar, in August 1952, that the physicality went out of Ian and Anne's relationship. But Fionn contends the couple loved each other in their own way through the end, and couldn't leave each other even though the romance had gone out of the relationship. It is obvious that Anne had a profound effect on his life. Once he became a father, he was very proud. He looked forward to his weekends and arranged his work schedule so that he put in what was called "The Fleming Four-Day Week." The time he spent alone with his family was precious to him. Still, the loss of his bachelor existence frustrated Fleming, and from the beginning of the marriage, he found another outlet from which to release these frustrations—he began writing the James Bond novels.

  Ian and Anne Fleming in January, 1962. (Wide World Photo.)

  "For Ian, marriage was an admission of defeat," Robert Harling says. "Hence, the Bond books were an escape." John Pearson also believes that James Bond was a wish fulfillment for Fleming. Noel Coward said that "James Bond was Ian's dream-fantasy of what he would like to be, you know—ruthless and dashing." There is evidence to support this theory. When Fleming sent Ivar Bryce a copy of his most recent book, he wrote in a note that it was the latest installment of his "autobiography." But Fionn Morgan says that "wish fulfillment' ' is an oversimplification. Ian created the character and it simply grew as Fleming grew as a writer. Ernest Cuneo commented: "I think Bond was a thing apart from him. Though created by him, he seemed to be as detached from Bond as a scientist who has created a robot, and indeed, there were a considerable number of times when I thought Bond bored Fleming to tears. I had the impression that Bond was the mere instrumentation, perhaps unconscious, of this craftsmanship, which is most excellent. Indeed, I think some of Fleming's paragraphs are all but Keatsian, and that a good deal of his writing will survive James Bond. Fleming didn't. As a matter of fact, at that time, he was striving to get James Bond living and wasn't too sure he wouldn't die before."