Roland Rocchiccioli

Iwas never in any doubt. As a child, I wanted, when I grew-up, to be one of only two-things: a teacher, or to talk on the wireless.

Often, I am asked, incredulously: “I read your book! How ever did you come to end-up in the theatre?”  While, parenthetically, it might seem an implausible notion, it was written in the stars! Seminal moments are nebulous. They occur imperceptibly. It is only in the remembrance we recognise the magnitude of a specific moment, or action. With the passage-of-time, fact and fiction become clouded. Ultimately, we are the sum total of our experiences. I have, consciously, transmogrified into the person I wanted to be—albeit an extension of the child. We are, what we are, by performance. There is no doubt, the ethos, and the circumstantial aggregate of my youth were decidedly imbalanced in favour of a creative career.

The first 13-years of my life were lived in Gwalia—a shanty, goldmining town in the North-eastern goldfields of Western Australia—147-miles north-east of Kalgoorlie. The population of about 500, was 60% Italian, 20% Yugoslav and other nationalities, and 20% British. When I wrote my childhood memoir, And Home Before Dark—a childhood on the edge of nowhere,I said of the little white-haired boy: “If I were to meet him today, I would recognise him, instantly, but I doubt he would recognise me.” I have returned many times to Gwalia, and Ronnie is still there—watching everyone, and listening.

Now a living ghost-town, Gwalia was a time-and-a-place, the like of which the world will never know again. As I wandered the town, the phonological variations of 28-lingoes rang-in-my-ears! The food, and the zeitgeist, was European. Spaghetti out of a can, on toast, and for breakfast, was a heresy! Mazza’s mini-Emporium had a European delicatessen; legs of ham and goat’s milk cheese, pasta, risotto, and Baccalà, were common fare. The music was cosmopolitan. Like the Welsh, the Italian miners sat outside their camps in the evening and sang the songs of their youth. The soulful, button accordion version of ‘Va, pensiero’ was as instantly recognisable as Ketèlbey’s evocative, ‘Bells Across The Meadows’. The Italian newspapers, la Fiamma and Il Globo, sold more copies than the Kalgoorlie Miner. Children switching between English and a parental mother tongue was not unusual. The Roman Catholic Mass was in the Latin—my spirit soared at Christmas midnight Mass when the Italian women’s choir—led by soprano Giulia Tagliaferri, sang the ‘Missa Angelorum’. The sisters at the Dominican priory rang the Angelus at midday. Its tintinnabulation pierced the deafening silence and was heard across the town. Its clangour lingered in the air long after it was heard no more. It imbued me with a life-long love of bell-ringing.

Gwalia

Mazza’s mini-Emporium

Herbert Hoover’s Italian immigration program made Gwalia quite unlike any other town in the Nation. Independently, the kaleidoscopic swirl of the multifarious ethnicities was inconspicuous; however, collectively decanted into the cultural cauldron of inculcation, they were an intensely overwhelmingly, creative influence. It was a culturally supercharged childhood. Subconsciously, it moulded the little white-haired boy; determined his destiny. 

Radio first took me on the journey of make-believe. Like Alice in Wonderland, I stepped through the looking-glass into the magical Bakelite world of words and music. It was mesmeric. The first and third networks of the Australian Broadcasting Commission (ABC) radio 6WN WF, on relay through 6GF Kalgoorlie, were comprehensive; 1950s ABC radio schools’ programs and educational publications were, unapologetically, Anglo-Saxon traditional. The names of Tito, Mussolini, Stalin, and President Nasser, were bandied with familiarity; the Hungarian Uprising, 1956, was a palpable event in the town. The 1954 horror film, Creature From The Black Lagoon, was too scary to contemplate. The wireless, books, and music, were my solace. They were the world into which I retreated to escape the isolation of the landscape, and dreadfulness of recidivistic, domestic assault.

Roland aged 4. Photo by York Studios.

Roland playing dress-ups

I was a solitary child. I was not enamoured of others kids, and besides, they were not interested in playing schools with me teaching them their times-tables. Consequently, my parents, Beria and Ginger (they separated when I was two) showered me with books. I read Enid Blyton’s Secret Seven,Famous Five,Noddy, Malory Towers, and St Clare’s. The illustrated, colour Classic Comicsintroduced me to all the great writers, including H.G. Wells, Jules Verne, and Charles Dickens. My father placed a permanent newsagency order for the British children’s publications, Jack and Jill and Playhour. My mother bought School Friend, Girls’ Crystal,and The Lion. Leslie Rees’ Digit Dick series and Shy the Platypus, and Grimms’ Fairy Tales, were well thumbed. Often, and encouraged by mother, I played dress-ups on my own.

From the about the age of four I was infatuated with the wireless. The opening, haunting notes of the Ronald Hanmer’s ‘Pastorale’, the signature tune for the ABC’s radio serial, Blue Hills, sent me running to locate Beria: “Quick, Mum. Gwen Meredith’s on!” Anne Haddy, with whom I later came to work in repertory at the former Community Theatre, Killara, played Elizabeth Ross-Ingham for 20-years plus. I listened, devotedly, to the red and white, Bakelite wireless which sat atop the kitchenette and played all day—tuned almost exclusively to the ABC, and which, in the 1950s, was at its broadcasting zenith. It would be impossible to over-estimate the influence and importance of the ‘wireless’ before the advent of television. It was my window to the world. The essential 25-foot aerial was attached to the side of the galvanised iron, Hessian and plasterboard-lined, four-roomed house. The signal came-and-went dependent on the existing atmospheric conditions.

Village Glee Club

In the first-half of the 1950s, The Village Glee Club was my favourite radio program. With the theme song, ‘A Voice in the Old Village Choir’, it was broadcast nationally on the ABC. An original program idea of the prolific, Light Entertainment Department scriptwriter, Philip Darbyshire, who worked for 3LO Melbourne, the music variety program had an unmistakeably British flavour, and presented old songs and mild comedy set in an Australian country choir. The singers and actors were supported by the ABC’s Wireless Chorus, and regular singers included Lauris Elms, Kathleen Goodall, Sylvia Fisher, and Lorenzo Nolan. Local actor Colin Crane (Mr. Crump, the conductor) was also a writer and producer. The program’s combination of genteel comedy, and sentimental music, survived the vicissitudes of radio entertainment. It became one of the longest-running, weekly Australian radio shows. Recorded in 1938 by the American singing cowboy, Gene Autrey, ‘There’s A Goldmine in The Sky’, was featured regularly on the program. Years later, every performance of Ray Lawler’s Summer of the Seventeenth Doll was a reminder. It is the same song Ma plays on the piano for Olive, Roo, Barney, and Pearl’s, disastrous sing-along.

The detective serial, Inspector West, starring Douglas Kelly, was based on John Creasey best-selling thriller novels and narrated by Roland Strong. Sponsored by MacRobertson’s confectionery it was Crawford’s longest-running radio serial. I was terrified of the dark, and the production’s style, timbre, and the blood-curdling sound-effects, set my nerves jangling! It was heightened drama.

The ABC broadcast the Coronation of Queen Elizabeth 11, 1953. It was my first encounter with unmitigated, dramatic theatre. I remember with clarity.  Beria was ironing on the kitchen table. The organ and choir performing the coronation anthem, ‘Zadok the Priest’, rendered me motionless. Still, the hypnotic opening 22-bars of semi-quaver arpeggios takes me instantly to an epoch which ended with the death of Her late Majesty. I had a collection of coronation books.

I was obsessed with the piano. I sang like a bird. Laurette Chamberlain was a gifted pianist. She played with the local dance band. She heard me singing, ‘Oh! My PaPa’, and said, as if to nobody in particular: “This little boy really can sing!” When the Dominican sisters declined to teach me piano because Beria refused to send me back to the convent: “They don’t teach you fast enough!” she said. I was devastated. Frantic to find someone in the town, I approached Kay Quarti. Serendipitously, she had returned home from boarding school in Perth with an Honours pass in Leaving Certificate music. She agreed. I ran home, crying with joy. Kay’s generosity-of-spirit marked a pivotal change in my life. It was the beginning of my career. Subsequently, I spent hours at the keyboard. “He’s got the gift,” I heard them say.

AWU Hall in Gwalia

Brides and wedding cakes triggered my fertile imagination. I loitered outside the church. I studied every detail of the bride’s dress. Nothing escaped my attention. I made exact line-drawings in a large Spirax sketchbook. Mrs. Chamberlain and Dot Matthews were skilled cake decorators. Square, round, or heart-shaped fruitcakes, the two-and-three-tiered visual extravaganzas were encased in a thick layer of marzipan, coated with gleaming, white royal icing, and painstakingly festooned with swags, swirls, tiny rosette peaks crowned with a silver cashous, trailing hand-made sugar-flowers and leaves, and panels of piped and latticed icing. The garlanding was done in the hours after midnight and before sunrise. The heat of desert day, and perspiring hands, made it impossible to fashion the icing sugar. The nuptial creations were veritable works-of-art! I needed to know. I knocked at Mrs. Chamberlain’s door and asked if she would explain the intricacies of her aluminium cake-decorating set. I stared in wonderment.

On holiday in Perth, Beria chose, rather than drag me around Boan’s department store while she shopped, to leave me in the ladies’ wear section: “You can roam around and look at all the dresses, but don’t touch anything; and don’t wander! I’ll come back and collect you when I’m finished.” Duchess satin, embroidered voile, and water-wave taffeta and tulle ballgowns in the palest of hues, were a source of infinite allure. Out of curiosity, I lifted the skirt of a display mannequin. I was astonished. I called across the lunch-time crowded department to Beria: “Mum, she’s go no pants on!” It was my first big laugh.

Ginger took me to Cottesloe beach on my first seaside holiday. Someone suggested we see Jack and the Beanstalk at His Majesty’s Theatre. Apart from Franquin, the Hypnotist, at the AWU Hall in Gwalia, this was my first encounter with live-theatre. I was overwhelmed by the magnitude of the production. I burst into tears when I was invited to join with half-a-dozen other children to be part of the on-stage, apple-eating competition. My father was bewildered by my reaction.

Boarding School, 1963

In 1960, having sold his only asset—a house worth 250-pounds, my father sent me away to boarding school. Excepting for my birth, it was, and remains, the single, most important event in my life. It marked the FINIS of my life in Gwalia. A door, which I did not know existed, was about to open. In a matter of weeks I was involved in Latin, French, and Art classes; weekly piano lessons; comprehensive English and history courses; and Speech and Drama, with an emphasis on poetry performance. I was gifted a whole new, magical world! I was a duck to water.

Eyeing me suspiciously, the manual arts master (wood and metal work/technical drawing), said: “Boy, it’s obvious you’re never going to earn your living from a trade. You’re wasting your time coming here. Go to the art room!”

On Sunday night, we lay in the darkened dormitory listening to a radio play: ‘More things are wrought by prayer than this world dreams of …’ Regular visits to the erstwhile Playhouse in Pier Street stirred a yearning which I did not appreciate, or immediately understand. The revered Speech and Drama examiner and accomplished actress, Anita le Tessier, wrote of my 6^th grade examination: “Not without taste and talent for this work.” I wondered, but never thought about earning-a-living working in the theatre. It seemed too preposterous an aspiration. I left school not knowing. My brother badgered and poured scorn when I refused to apply for a job at a suburban supermarket: “It’s a good job. You could end-up the manager.”

In 1966, having passed the ABC’s rigorous audition, I was employed as a cadet in the children’s department under the supervision of actress/producer Nancy Nunn—mother of the actress and writer, Judy Nunn. Nancy was an actress of considerable talent, and an audience favourite at the Perth Playhouse, the home of the National Theatre—a professional repertory company.

Roland in 1965

The Playhouse, Perth

The artistic director, English-born/Australian naturalised, Edgar Metcalfe AM, led a monthly repertory company of actors including Peter Collingwood, Rosemary Barr, Jennifer West, Margaret Ford, Eileen Colocott, Joan Bruce, Frank Baden-Powell, James Beattie, Harriet Craig, Judy Wilson, Peter Morris, Alfred Hurstfield, Neville Teede, Cliff Holden, Peter Rowley, Alan Lander, James Bailey, John Orcsik, Leonie Martin-Smith, Gerry Atkinson, Frederic Lees, and Chris Pendlebury; with stage managers, Ken Gregory, Greg Tepper, Colin Griffith, and Jan Kenny; costume and set designer, Edward (Ted) Dembowski; musical director, Harry Bluck; head electrician, Mal Hough; wardrobe mistress, Betty Pearson; mechanist, Robert(Bob) Staples; accountant, Lila Woodall; and box office supervisor, Ivy Atkinson. Under Edgar’s dazzling stewardship The Playhouse was a well-oiled shop-of-magic.

Nancy Nunn suggested I audition for Edgar Metcalfe who was about to direct a production of the Marat/Sade. She felt sure, with such a large cast, there would be something for me. It was arranged. The meeting with Edgar was the most exhilarating experience. He talked with me about the play. I was too excited and heard little of what he was saying. Much of the Marat/Sade is written in rhyming couplets. I recall him being complimentary at my ability to handle the text. While a theatre career was not something I had contemplated—‘I wanted only to be on the wireless’—standing on-stage at The Playhouse seemed extraordinarily natural; afterall, I had, over the years, seen many productions, and the auditorium was familiar. Even the abstract amoebic shapes painted onto the auditorium walls were like old acquaintances.

Marat/Sade is a play within a play. I was cast as the French writer, Voltaire, and a patient. Set in the asylum of Charenton, I broke a toe as Ken Gregory and I scampered-up, and precariously dangled from, a wall of Ted’s magnificent set. It was a painful beginning to my life in the theatre. In English repertory tradition, rehearsals started at 10.10, and finished at 2 o’clock. Edgar worked at a pace, and without hesitation. He knew precisely what he wanted and was detailed in his direction. He wasted little time. “Rehearsals,” he reminded the company, “are not for learning your lines! You do that at home!”

Axiomatically, the Christmas pantomimes were strictly traditional. Edgar wrote the scripts and was the consummate Dame. In a slinky backless, halter-neck, silver lame creation, he was full bosomed long before Dolly Parton. The pantos opened on Boxing Day and played six-matinees and two-nights to full-houses. At the evening performances Edgar transmogrified into an hilarious amalgam of Dick Emery and Benny Hill. The double entendres landed with machinegun rapidity. Audiences squealed! He was a masterclass to watch. Dick Whittington and His Catstarred Jennifer West as principal boy, and Rosemary Barr as principal girl, together with local television star and pop-singer, Johnny Young, and his band, The Strangers. Ken Gregory was the cat. Rosemary Barr was the Prince Siegfried in Goldilocks and The Three Bears at the Circus. Edgar was Dame Dolly Dishwater, and Pixie Hale was Goldilocks.  One irate child scoffed at Pixie: “You’re not Goldilocks. You’re Alice In Wonderland. Mum took me to see you at Boan’s store yesterday!” I was the front-end, and Greg Tepper the back-end, of Mavis, the dancing horse. She was a triumph and on her first  entrance executed the most brilliant Charleston!!! One occasion the audience cheered so loudly at Mavis’s prowess, Dame Dolly asked if they wanted her to “do it again?” The second entrance from upstage prompt was cheered even more loudly. Edgar was delighted.

Edgar Metcalfe, artistic director of the National Theatre Company of WA at The Playhouse, 1963-1984

A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum: Edgar Metcalfe (top left) with Peter Collingwood, Chris Johnson, Peter Morris and James Beattie

Edgar Metcalfe was a legitimate man of the theatre! Of all the artistic directors with whom I have worked, he is—and I have, by good fortune worked with some of the best, the one whom most I admired. It was Mr. Metcalfe who sensed there might be something worth nurturing. I never ceased to marvel at his capacity; his comedy timing. I created opportunities to seek-out his company. In 1966, Edgar directed and starred as Pseudolus in a superb production of A Funny Thing Happened On The Way To The Forum. He was, simply, quite brilliant. It was a genre with which he was particularly comfortable. During Henry 1V, Parts 1 and 11, I stood every performance, in the dark of the wings, and watched perfection as his King Henry delivered the ‘Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown’ speech.

I have worked on a string of Ibsen, Shaw, Chekhov, and Shakespeare plays; and others that have long since disappeared from the performance cannon. Who, today, would consider mounting Hugh and Margaret Williams’ The Irregular Verb To Love, or Plaintiff in a Pretty Hat?; Captain Carvallo, Getting Gertie’s Garter, or The House On The Cliff? Edgar’s production of Arnold Ridley’s comedy-thriller, The Ghost Train, was incomparable. Whether it was Oh! What A Lovely War, or John Chapman’s farce, Brides of March, Edgar brought a gravitas. He loved actors. He started-out in weekly repertory in England; consequently, he was possessed of an encyclopaedic knowledge of plays, and was a master of on-stage, comedy business; equally, he understood the power of the dramatic effect. Like John Sumner and George Ogilvie, he understood repertory theatre, intimately. He moved between periods and genres with ease and assurance. He was not an academic, but he knew his stuff! To the end, I remained in awe. He gave generously of his time and experience. He encouraged, and occasionally, disapproved. He taught me about the theatre; how to behave; to respect the audience; and to honour the text. I strove, always, for Mr. Metcalfe’s approval. I am a product of the repertory system, and like many, I lament, profoundly, its demise.

Sydney calling: Roland in 1969

Roland in 2008 at the launch of And Be Home Before Dark

Years later, when Paul Dainty, Kenn Brodziak (Aztec Services), and Garry Van Egmond (Garry Van Egmond Promotions), were mounting a production of Doctor in Love with Robin Nedwell, Geoffrey Davies, Lyndel Rowe, James Beattie, Kerry Armstrong, Suzanne Dudley, David Allshorn, Michael Haeburn, Sue Jones, and David Nettheim, I was able to repay Edgar’s kindness. I engaged him as director. The production toured Australia playing to capacity houses. Doctor in Love was an amusing but inconsequential piece. Its artistic and box-office success was testament to Edgar Metcalfe’s directorial brilliance!

In mid-1967 Edgar, Ken Greogry, and Rosemary Barr sailed for England. For me, it marked the end-of-the-golden-weather at The Playhouse, and the beginning of a new chapter in my theatrical life. Jim Sharman—with whom I later worked on HAIR; King Lear at the Melbourne Theatre Company; and the Rocky Horror Show for Harry M. Miller, came to direct a production of the J.B. Fagan musical, And So To Bed. Miraculously, March 1968, I left for Sydney to start a life which was totally unimaginable in the Western Australian goldfields of my childhood.

Gwalia was, ostensibly, an Italian community transplanted into the  Australian outback. It takes a village to raise a child—and Gwalia was a unique village. On the balance of probability, it is not so extraordinary I ended-up in the theatre!

HMM and Johnny Ray

Chequersnightclub, owned and operated by importers and restaurateurs Keith and Dennis Wong, was located at 79 Goulburn Street, Sydney (1959). They presented a cavalcade of international cabaret artists. It attracted a colourful and often notorious clientele of the good, the bad, and the ugly! With a staff of 120, and seating 550-patrons, Morris Lansburgh, the Miami and Las Vegas hotel-millionaire, said Chequers was “better than either the Copacabana or the Latin Quarter in New York”. The Wongs paid weekly fees of £7500 to Sarah Vaughan; £6000 to Tony Martin and Shelley Berman; and £5000 to Frances Faye.

Garry Van Egmond

Louis Armstong and HMM

HMM was introduced to Dennis and Keith Wong (1963) by Sol Shapiro, an internationally influential agent with the prestigious Wiliam Morris Agency, New York, and with whom HMM had negotiated earlier concert contracts. Subsequently, in 1963 the Wong brothers and HMM formed Pan-Pacific Promotions. They were a formidable triumvirate. Garry Van Egmond was their Melbourne representative. He worked from an office in the now-demolished Southern Cross Hotel, Bourke and Exhibition Streets. It was ‘THE’ hotel of the day. It was where The Beatles stayed. When the concierge denied actress Joan Brokenshire entry, she removed the offending trousers and was allowed to proceed wearing an obscenely mini coat-dress—showing her superb legs to great advantage!

HMM with Judy Garland and Patti Amphlett

HMM and Shirley Bassey

Pan Pacific brought Sarah Vaughan (a financial disaster, and most patrons paid to see the support act—DON LANE), Johnny Ray, Dizzy Gillespie, Ella Fitzgerald, Chubby Checker, Shirley Bassey, Tom Jones, Leslie Uggams, The Rolling Stones, Sammy Davis Jr., Eartha Kitt, Judy Garland, Artur Rubenstein, Louis Armstrong & Trini Lopez, The Merseybeat Sound, Starlift '64, Surfside, The Folk Festival, Leslie Uggams, Frances Faye, Tom Jones and Hermans Hermits to Australia.

Miller's partnership with the Wong brothers continued until early 1967 when he bought-out their share of Pan-Pacific Promotions and established Harry M. Miller Attractions Pty. Ltd., principally, as a consequence of the financially disastrous, Fortnight of Furore,tour by, The Who, The Small Faces,and Paul Jones, January 1968; and The Monkees—September-October 1968;  Subsequently, HMM abandoned concert promotion and concentrated on theatrical production in Australia.

 

The Noël Coward Festival—Present Laughter and Private Livesat the Palace Theatre, Sydney (1968) starring British actress Rosemary Martin (Noël Coward’s choice), and Stuart Wagstaff, marked one of his first forays. Sue Becker—known for her television physical jerks programme on ABC television, played Monica in Present Laughter.

HMM promoted only two other rock tours—the controversial Joe Cocker in 1972, and David Cassidy, 1974.

Television director, Ron Way, was an HMM client, and one for whom I was logistically responsible. Ron directed the acclaimed television specials featuring Shirley Bassey—her dress caused people to ask if she was wearing knickers; Louis Armstrong; Sammy Davis Jr., and Matt Monro, who convinced himself my name is Mervyn!

Ron Way

Shirley Bassey in that dress

Ron directed 45-episodes of My Name’s McGooley,What’s Yours?; 22-episodes of Good Morning, Mr Doubleday;Rooted;10-episodes of Seven Little Australians;Shannon’s Mob;the film Frenchman’s Farm;The Mavis Bramston Show;Boney;Spyforce;Woobinda; 182-episodes of This Is Your Life; and countless television commercials, most notably, Graham Kennedy in the famous Bowater Scott paper towel commercial produced by Ross Wood Productions Sydney, and for which Graham was paid an incredible amount of money—and for two-years!

The BP Super Show was a loosely scheduled series of musical specials 1959–70. Ron directed the last of the shows, Hans Christian Andersen—scripted musical film which starred the British actors Patrick Wymark, and John Fraser, in the title role—both of whom were appearing in HMM’s production of Sleuth at the Theatre Royal, Castlereagh Street. The Dick Van Dyke Show, comedy duo, Morey Amsterdam (his 5th visit), and Richard Deacon, were touring Australia and joined a cast including Patti Newton, Bryan Davies, Rosie Strugess, and Stuart Wagstaff—another HMM client. A Nine Network production, it was produced by Stefan Haag, under the musical direction of Geoff Harvey. It was Patrick Wymark’s last television performance. The film of Hans Christian Andersen went to air five-weeks after Patrick’s death at his hotel in Melbourne. He was due to open in Sleuth at the Comedy Theatre.

*Ron Way, 1933–29 June 2019. He was 85.

Hutchinson Scott’s set for The Secretary Bird

In 1969, Patrick Macnee, who played John Steed in the television series, The Avengers, came to Australia to star in a Sydney season of William Douglas Home’s drawing-room comedy, The Secretary Bird; directed by Philip Dudley, with a glorious set designed by the acclaimed Hutchinson Scott. It was an event—a financial bonanza!

There were queues at the stage door wanting Patrick’s autograph. His name made the work of the party-booking ladies so much easier. They were coming to see John Steed—he could have been reading the telephone book. It changed audience’s perception of the theatre. While many English and American film and theatre box-office names had, over the years, accepted invitations to lead productions in Australia—and with great success—Patrick was the first of such television star-names to appear. His television persona resonated with audiences. The Secretary Bird was the first time producers witnessed the seismic power of ‘the box’, and its overwhelming potential to attract a whole new audience. It proved a watershed in Australian theatre. It broke-down the barrier of perceived elitism. For the two-decades following, and as a direct consequence of Patrick’s phenomenal success, producers brought a cavalcade of television stars—some good, some not so good, to the perform in Australia productions. While it did create some understandable consternation in the rank-and-file of local actors, there was no doubting the import’s capacity to draw an audience—that section of the public who did not, as a rule-of-thumb, attend the theatre. Conversely, Nancye Hayes, and not the American import Anne Hilton, should have played the lead in the J.C. Williamson production of Promises, Promises.Equally, the male American import, Orson Bean, was not a box-office name, and he sang quite nicely!

*Orson Bean 1928-2020, aged 91.

Nancye Hayes

Promises, Promises program

In the Sydney Mirror newspaper, critic Frank Harris wrote: “As for the Australians, Nancye Hayes stole the spotlight effortlessly with her gorgeously comic performance as the pick-up girl, outwardly bland and disarming, but as cunning as a wagon-load of vixens with her lead-on talk to the bedroom.”

No expense was spared on Patrick’s costumes which came from John Lane, Double Bay. They cost many hundreds of dollars. At the end of the Sydney season Patrick commandeered the lot—including the silk scarves, Turnbull and Asser shirts, wool and suede cardigan, and knee-length, black, silk socks. The selection of shoes were from Bally—loafers/slip-ons in premium brown suede; black velvet, embroidered loafers; and black, patent leather evening shoes with a grosgrain bow.  

Patrick Macnee

Mary Miller

Patrick’s English co-star, Mary Miller, arrived with an impeccable pedigree. She was a founding member of the London’s National Theatre. She played Melinda to Laurence Olivier’s Captain Brazen in the restoration comedy, The Recruiting Officer, by George Farquhar. Other cast members in the legendary production included Maggie Smith, Robert Stephens, Michael Gambon, Derek Jacobi, Lynn Redgrave, Colin Blakely and Sarah Miles; directed by the celebrated William Gaskill; Mary played Emilia in Laurence Olivier’s Othello, directed by John Dexter, with Frank Finlay as Iago, and Maggie Smith as Desdemona.

Mary was the better actor. Patrick complained constantly about her performance. He said, unkindly, she played the part as if it were Chekov. Like many women’s roles in such drawing-room comedies the wife was a mostly thankless part. Her character was a theatrical device to create the plot—in this instance for the husband to outwit the wife’s proposed divorce and her intended new and younger husband.

The casting of Mary is a puzzlement. She was unknown to Australia audiences, and the role could have been played by a number of actresses. British-born, Carol Raye, would have been perfect. Mary bought her costumes with her from London, including the ugliest pair of butter-cup-yellow patent leather, stumpy-heeled shoes which served only to draw attention to her thick ankles. HMM saw them for the first time at a dress rehearsal and they never made onto the stage again! Their fate remains a mystery. At HMM’s insistence, a pair of dark-brown crepe, ill-fitting, bell-bottom, slacks were replaced. He hated the colour!

Fredric Abbott was an Australian actor based in London. He, too, was brought home for The Secretary Bird. He was an agreeable man, if slightly dull, and his casting was equally unexpected. Fred was not conventionally good-looking, and he attracted minimal media interest. Actor Frederick Parslow might have been a better choice.

Other cast members were Jan Kingsbury and Betty Dyson.

Bill Dowd (later a designer), Terence O’Connell (later a director), and Sonia Humphrey (a former Australian Ballet company member who suffered a career-ending injury, and later an ABC presenter/newsreader), were stage management and props. Each performance they were required to cook-up a full English breakfast—including scrambled eggs—to be consumed onstage.

Frederick Parslow

Fredric Abbott

*Philip Dudley died 1981 aged 45. In a short but illustrious career, he directed Margaret Leighton and Noël Coward in a television version (1969) of Coward’s play, The Vortex; Nigel Havers in the acclaimed television series (1978) of R.F. Delderfield’s novel, A Horseman Riding By;The Corn is Green starring Dame Wendy Hiller;numerous episodes of Z Cars, Softly, Softly: Task Force,with Stratford Johns, and Tales of the Unexpected,starring, Frank Finlay, Siobhán McKenna, and Amanda Redman.

*Patrick Macnee died 2015, aged 93.

*Janet Kingsbury died 2024, aged 85. She and director, Philip Dudley, enjoyed a closeness during his time in Australia.

*Mary Miller died 2020, Denville Hall, London, aged 90. Mary was, for a time, married to the Scottish actor Bill Simpson who played the title role in the long-running television series, Dr. Finlay’s Casebook.

*Frederic Abbott died July 1996, aged 67.

*Frederick Parslow died 2017, aged 84.

*James Fishburn—stage director, died 1989, aged 57.

*Sonia Humprhey died 2011, aged 63.

Patrick, Mary Miller and Philip Dudley on their way to rehearsal

The Secretary Bird was the final production at the Palace Theatre, Castlereagh Street, before its demolition, 1970. Built in 1896, it was a glorious Victorian theatre, although the underground dressing-rooms were a labyrinth. Also, the theatre shared a common wall with the adjoining hotel’s kitchen. As a result, you could smell, throughout the whole theatre, whatever it was they were cooking for dinner!

The Avengers, 1961–69, with his co-stars Honor Blackman, then Diana Rigg, and latterly, Linda Thorson, was internationally successful. It changed the course of Patrick’s life. He went from a successful, jobbing-actor to a leading man. Paradoxically, Patrick’s fame came by default. The original leading man, Ian Hendry, filmed one season of The Avengers then elected to leave to make films. Patrick, who played his side-kick, was handed the role on a platter! Ian Hendry was in the mould of James Bond. Patrick was dapper and podgy. He wore an elasticised girdle!

*Ian Hendry 1931-1984: aged 53.

William Douglas Home watching a rehearsal in Australia

Patrick was a capable, reliable actor who delivered a perfectly acceptable performance. There was a predictable speech cadence to his every character, regardless. While the reviews were not fantastic, The Telegraph newspaper was particularly caustic. It read: “four-hours on a pendulum is a long time!” HMM was incandescent with rage and complained to the editor—berating the critic. In full-flight he was something to behold! He threatened to sue, arguing the review would affect the box-office. People would be scared-off because of the inaccurate running-time.  Consequently, they apologised, and accorded the production much positive publicity. The Secretary Bird did sell-out business. HMM was unaware, and I confess for the first time, I, together with several other of his employees, left at the interval. I thought it dull! I was required to be in the theatre for 5– of the eight-weekly performances, and to report back to Freddie Gibson. 

The Secretary Bird schedule was demanding: Monday-Thursday 8.15pm. Friday and Saturday 5.30pm and 8.30pm. There was no Wednesday matinee.

Patrick, who was between his second and third wives, was a most agreeable man. He was tall—6’1”, with a florid complexion, and a full-head of dark, thick, curly hair. He was given to anxiety, and carried a string of Greek worry beads with which he fiddled, constantly. While he appeared socially confident he was, for the most part, a nervous Ned! Patrick was an overweight vegetarian—by 14-pounds, he claimed,

He came from good-stock and identified as a Scot. His parents separated after his mother announced she was a lesbian and moved-in with her partner, Evelyn Spottiswoode, whose fortune came from Dewar’s whisky business.  Patrick dubbed her “Uncle Evelyn”. She helped pay for his schooling at Summer Fields School (Harold Macmillan was a pupil), and Eton, in the shadow of Windsor Castle, and from where he was expelled for selling pornography and acting as a bookmaker. Without notice, his father took-off and went to live in India!

Ironically, Patrick enjoyed being feted by the great-and-the-good! He was treated like a movie star and he relished being a big fish in a small pond. There were several dalliances, including a production assistant who thought he might help to advance her career. The fan mail was phenomenal. I answered every letter, and they were signed by Patrick. He was ensconced in the renowned Sebel Town House for 16-weeks. Also, Mary Miller was there for the rehearsal period. After a very late opening Friday night, and a matinee on the Saturday, she stayed one extra night before moving to a house in Paddington. HMM docked her salary for the cost of the additional night’s accommodation. According to Mary, soon after she arrived from London HMM invited her to dinner. To her surprise she found it necessary to specify in the clearest-of-terms the inviolable parameters of their professional association. The type of welcome she was being offered was most unexpected and of the kind she did not want! Perhaps it goes some way to explaining HMM’s accommodation stinginess—which was most unusual on his part.

Patrick with Mary Miller

Googie Withers and Alfred Sandor in Plaza Suite

In 1969, Australian audiences were in awe of imported stars. At the same time as The Secretary Bird, Googie Withers and Alfred Sandor were two-blocks down Castlereagh Street at the Theatre Royal doing Neil Simon’s, Plaza Suite.

*Googie Withers—Karachi, 1917, died Sydney 2011. Aged 94.

*Alfred Sandor—Budapest, 1918, died Sydney 1983. Aged 64.

The 1970 Melbourne season opened at the Princess Theatre. Patrick was having none of Mary Miller and Anne Charleston took-over the role; Noel Trevarthen replaced Fredric Abbott; and Barbara Stephens was the secretary bird, replacing Janet Kingsbury, whom Patrick considered “too old” for the role. Esme Melville played the housekeeper. James Fishburn directed, and Norma Tullo did the décor and costumes. Anne Charleston was a single mother and touring with her infant son, Nicholas Ravenswood. Patrick was horrified when he saw the standard of her Brisbane accommodation. He complained, bitterly, to HMM: “It’s like Tobacco Road!” he bellowed. “She can’t stay there!” Anne, and infant Nicholas, were moved, immediately, into same hotel accommodation as Patrick, and at no cost to her! 

HMM horseriding

In the April of 1970, HMM’s horse threw him and he broke his leg. It proved a trying-time for everyone; however, it did not stop him from working, and only served to exacerbate his  irascibility. He went, on crutches, to Canberra for the opening night of The Secretary Bird. He borrowed from me a magnificent walking stick which had been gifted by a friend. He never did return it, and I was too embarrassed to remind him.

Predictably, The Bulletin magazine critic, Rex Cramphorn, wrote contemptuously: “Husband (to errant wife), ‘My poor old darling, you have got it bad’. WIFE: ‘You make it sound like measles’! The quotation alone is a complete review.” The production of The Secretary Birdplayed to capacity houses across the country—and in New Zealand, something none of Mr. Cramphorn’s productions managed to achieve—ever! While the play was not Shakespeare, it was what the audience wanted, and it was not without social merit.

William Douglas Home wrote some 50 plays, most of them comedies in an upper-class setting, including The Reluctant Debutante;The Kingfisher (which I did with Googie Withers, John McCallum, and Frank Thring, directed by George Ogilvie—John Frost was the stage manager), Lloyd George Knew My Father—Sir Ralph Richardson and his wife Merriel Forbes played it in Australia;The Chiltern Hundreds;and,Now Barabbas—the film version of which was written by Douglas Home and Anatole de Grunwald, and starred Richard Greene, Sir Cedric Hardwicke, Kathleen Harrison, Kenneth More, and Richard Burton.

The Secretary Bird played for a total of 10-months:

Palace Theatre, Sydney 18 September–10 December 1969

Princess Theatre, Melbourne— 31 March 1970

Hunter Theatre, Newcastle— April 1970

Canberra Theatre, Canberra—14-21 May 1970

SGIO Theatre Brisbane—June 1970

Comedy Theatre Melbourne—July 1970 (return season)

New Zealand (1970) Auckland, Wellington, Palmerston North, Christchurch, Invercargill.

Ken Delo and Jonathan Daly

Anthony Marriott

No Sex Please, We’re British ran in London’s West End from June 1971 until September 1987, for a total of 6,761 performances, and in three different theatres. It was directed for 16-years by Australian, Allan Davis. Written by Alistair Foot, who died a few weeks before opening night in London, and Anthony Marriott, who readily acknowledged the serendipity of his good fortune, saying about the play: “Let’s face it, the thing’s a freak! I thought it would run for about six-weeks.”

HMM contracted Jonathan Daley to star as Brian Runnicles. His previous television fame in Australia—the comedy duo of Delo and Daley—suggested a likely success. No Sex Please,is a perfect British farce—a barrage of double entendre, mistaken identities, physical high-jinks—real people in unreal situations! The show opened to predictable reviews—not that it mattered. The audience adored it. They shrieked with laughter. Jonathan Daly was a triumph. The director, Tony Marriott, provided exactly what the public expected—and wanted! 

The Australian cast were Malcolm Steed, Marion Heathfield, Alan Kingsford-Smith, Ken Fraser, Tony Hawkins, Frank Garfield, Norman Kaye, Robyn Moase, and Liddy Clark. HMM asked for me to be out-front for a dress rehearsal of No Sex and to report back. Sitting in the stalls with the director, Tony, and about 20-minutes into the play, I whispered to him an observation, not a criticism, regarding an actor’s performance. To my horror, Tony shouted, stopped the action of the performance, and called to the actor: “Roland wants to know why you’re playing it like an old queen!” I was horrified. The actor never spoke with me again! Still, I am embarrassed, and he has been dead since 2003!

Bob Grant

Bob Grant and Kim Benwell

The show opened and was playing to capacity business. The box-office was humming. There was the “sweet-smell-of-success” at the Metro. HMM was thrilled. Then, overnight, it all went very wrong. The whole thing went pear-shaped!

On Sunday morning, 23 September, three-weeks into the run, Jonathan Daly packed his bags and departed the country—without so much as a by-your-leave. On his way to Tullamarine airport, headed for California, he called into the home of the stage manager, Lloyd Casey, and left one of two letters of explanation: “Too many injuries, doctors, pressures, anxieties, and the fear of being wiped-out financially in the courts here.” The latter being a direct reference to an impending, problematic, and HMM suspected, acrimonious divorce from his Australian wife, model, Marlene Saunders, who later married actor Terence Donovan. When HMM was told the news, all hell broke loose. He was ropeable. To keep the curtain-up, the understudy, Allan Kingsford-Smith, stepped into the breach. Bob Grant from the British television series, On The Buses, came to Australia as Jonathan’s replacement. I am not sure HMM ever forgave Jonathan Daly. Sadly, the show had lost its momentum. Despite his television fame Bob Grant did not have quite the same audience appeal. Overnight it went from a howling success to a break-even proposition. The show transferred to the Metro, Kings Cross. It played for a month and enjoyed some success. What should have been a box-office bonanza proved a moderate financial investment.

Bob Grant was married to Kim Benwell, an ex-Raymond Revue girl. Located in Soho, the Raymond Revue Bar was for many years the only London venue which offered on-stage, full-frontal nudity. She and Bob Grant were newly married. He was a gentle soul. Mrs. Grant proved more demanding! She was one of the few about whom executive producer Garry Van Egmond spoke unkindly! Bob Grant trained at the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art and had done excellent work before he landed the lead role in On The Buses. The fame was double-edged. Paradoxically, the vulgar character of Jack Harper ruined his career. He became typecast as a comedic “nudge-nudge, wink-wink” actor. He was capable of more …

*Bob Grant died 2003: suicide, carbon monoxide poisoning. He was 71.

Jonathan Daly and Malcolm Steed

Jonathan Daly said: “No Sex Please, We’re British was a very physical show. Harry M. Miller flew me to London to meet Michael Crawford who was doing the West End production. He said to me: ‘You’d better be in good shape, you’re going to get killed in this’. And I did! I got my arm broken—twice. The first time the St Kilda VFL team was in the audience. After the show they came backstage to meet me. The coach (Allan Jeans) asked: ‘What happened?’ I explained, when door came down I broke my elbow. He told to come the next morning to the Football Club and their trainers would be put at my disposal and they’d have me back on the stage that night. So, every single morning I would go to the St Kilda Football Club to meet the trainers. They got me through the play.

“When I broke my arm the second time the stagehands were on strike. The stage management were doing their jobs. They were supposed to put a mattress in place for when I dived through a window. The mattress wasn’t there. I landed on the stage and broke my arm. The next day I left Australia. Harry Miller was livid; he said he was going to kill me! I cost Anthony Marriott, who wrote and directed the play, a lot of money. Some years later I was living in London when I ran into Anthony in Piccadilly. I thought he was going to hit me! We became best friends, and together we wrote plays!”

*Anthony Marriott died April 17, 2014. Northwood, Hillingdon. He was 83.

On 21 February 1979 No Sex Please, became the longest running comedy in the history of world theatre.

Gordon Chater

Diana Perryman

You Know I Can’t Hear You When The Water’s Runningstarred Gordon Chater and Diana Perryman, together with Chris Johnston, Maggie Kirpatrick, Kerry Maguire, and Peter Reynolds; directed by Stefan Haag; designed by Robert Lloyd; and written by Robert Anderson—who wrote Tea and Sympathy, opened at the Playbox Theatre, Phillip Street, 15 March 1969, at approximately the same time I joined Harry M Miller Attractions. It was an HMM/Kenn Brodziak production. Originally the 2GB auditorium, and refurbished by HMM, The Playbox opened with An Evening with Maggie and Frank, 17 May 1968, written by South Africans, Frank Lazarus and Maggie Soboil. The production transferred to the Russell Street Theatre July 1968. The show was designed by Desmond Digby, a New Zealand-born, Australian stage designer, painter, and illustrator of children's books. Having seen them in South Australia, HMM put Maggie and Frank under a long-term contract. It was not the most successful of arrangements.

*Frank Lazarus settled in London. Maggie Soboil and her husband, jazz musician Eddie Reyes, relocated and live in LA.

*Desmond Digby—1933–2015.  

Maggie and Frank

Frank and Maggie

The thing I remember most about You Know I Can’t Hear You When The Water’s Running was the urgency of having Gordon Chater’s weekly cheque to his agent—either Vaude Vision or Telecast—in readiness for Mr. Chater’s arrival at 11am, precisely. It was delivered by courier from 647 George Street, and God forbid it should be late. Gordon stacked on a such-a-turn! “He was not going on that night!”; “Everyone was a f***** amateur”. It was, as they say in the north of England: “Better than a Saturday night turn at Empire!”  Years later, especially when I was living in London, and Gordon was doing The Elocution of Benjamin Franklin, we became great chums. Sunday lunch in his Bloomsbury flat was a regular occurrence. We remained good friends and met and talked regularly. Whenever he was in Melbourne he phoned—every morning—8 o’clock precisely, and we talked for about half-an-hour. He would say: “I’m bored, now. I’m going. Goodbye” and he would hang-up. I still have a collection of his letters he wrote me. He used a broad-nibbed, Mont Blanc fountain pen. He gave me the same pen as a gift.

You Know I Can’t Hear You, was four, one-act plays with a split set, and a lot of costume changes. Gordon wore one of the worst wigs—ever! It was a dubious piece with pretentions to 1960s anthropological relevance. Each play dealt with a specific topic: 1. male genitalia: 2. Sexual boredom, menopause, and infidelity; 3. masturbation and contraception; 4 sex and marriage recollected in senility.

Peter Reynolds

Stefan Haag

Rex Cramphorn wrote in The Bulletin magazine: “It is the worst, nastiest, play I’ve seen.” … “grindingly obscene little plays whose similar prurience is now disguised as the ‘frankness’ of the ’sixties.”

Mr. Cramphorn continued: “The cast, not surprisingly, look woeful, and Stefan Haag, the director, compromises his artistic integrity by undertaking the project without even achieving a superficial gloss. The set, to which my eye constantly wandered in an effort to avoid the actors, is an equally dispirited utility.”

Mr. Cramphorn was not yet done: “If you find a ticket in the street, don’t tear it up, send it to Mr. Willis (NSW Chief Secretary and censor). If we are going to have censorship, we might as well be spared a horror like this.”

So dubious was the content, the ticket carried a management disclaimer of responsibility-for-offence, on the basis the purchaser knew what they were paying to see. The run was short, and unsuccessful. It was not a play which, to the best of my knowledge, HMM ever applied his mind, again!

*Gordon Chater AM, 1922–1999 aged 77.

*Diana Perryman died 1979 aged 54.

*Peter Reynolds moved to Australia from the UK, 1969. His brother lived in Sydney. Tragically, Peter Reynolds, and his dog, died in a fire in his flat in Oxford Street, Paddington, Sydney, 22 April 1975. The fire was caused by a cigarette from Reynolds smoking in bed. He was 53. In the UK appeared with Viven Leigh in The Skin of our Teeth, directed by Laurence Olivier; and The Hat Trickstarring Dame Gladys Cooper.

*Stefan Haag—1925–25 December 1986. He was aged 61.

Born in Vienna, he sang with the Vienna Boys’ Choir. They were touring Australia (Perth) when war broke-out (1939) and were stranded for the duration. The boys were re-settled at St. Patrick’s Cathedral, Melbourne. Stefan decided to stay and enjoyed a successful career.

*Rex Cramphorn died Sydney, 1991, AIDS related, aged 50. 

Patrick Wymark

Sheraton Hotel, Spring Street

There were three productions of Sleuth. The first, with Patrick Wymark (Patrick Carl Cheeseman) and John Fraser, opened at the old Theatre Royal, Castlereagh Street. The reviews were brilliant, and it did excellent business. Patrick, who brought a certain gravitas to the show, came from the successful television series, The Power Game. He was a real actor—respected by all. He died in the Melbourne Sheraton Hotel, Spring Street, from a heart attack three-days before he was due to open at the Comedy Theatre. On the night of day he died, Patrick was to make an appearance on In Melbourne Tonight, hosted by Stuart Wagstaff. When he failed to arrive, they made jokes about his absence. Later in the show, Stuart announced Patrick had died. HMM and the Wymark family arranged for Patrick’s body to be repatriated. His daughter, Jane, played Joyce Barnaby—the wife of Inspector Barnaby, in Midsomer Murders.

*Patrick died October 20, 1970. He was 44.

John Fraser—photo by Angus McBean

Richard Todd

Patrick’s co-star, John Fraser, was the stage and screen actor known for, The Trials of Oscar Wilde, playing Lord Aldred Douglas, with Peter Finch as Wilde; The Dam Busters with Michael Redgrave and Richard Todd. As of the 1970s, it is now considered a breach of the Geneva Convention to attack a dam if it will release dangerous forces and consequent severe losses among the civilian population; and Tunes of Glory with Alec Guinness. John was extremely handsome—for a time he was described as “the most beautiful man in England”. He did not have a bad angle, and the camera loved him. John was a fine actor, and excellent in the part of Milo Tindle; however, the production was not without its vicissitudes. In his 2004 book, Close Up,John devotes a chapter to Sleuth. He recalls, correctly, Wymark's drinking made it difficult to rehearse: “by noon he was slurring his words and forgetting his lines”. Patrick was an alcoholic.

When Wymark mishandled the prop revolver used on stage—the barrel of which had been packed with wadding and rendered safe—John gave him an ultimatum, threatening to call-in the understudy if he thought he was drunk, again. Whether it was the ultimatum, or the shock at the thought of nearly killing his co-star (most improbable), Wymark would visit Fraser every evening, "ostensibly a social visit, but in truth to let me see that he was sober”.

Sadly, John was starting to lose his hair, and was having what was called in those days, “thatching”—a tedious hair-by-hair replacement process. Like Patrick, John brought a certain gravitas to the stage. They were an excellent coupling in the play. John was extremely charming, and it was hard to believe he had come from worst Glasgow’s slums!  Curiously, John believed his sexuality thwarted his career. Frustrated at its progress he retired and devoted his creative talents to other areas.

Sir John and James (Jimmy) Woolf founded the British production companies Romulus Films and Remus Films which were active during the 1950s and 60s. The first Romulus release was Pandora and the Flying Dutchman with James Mason and Ava Gardner, whom I visited when she lived in Ennismore Gardens and I was in Sloane Ave, Chelsea. They produced many fine films including Moulin Rouge (1952); Oliver!; The Day of the Jackal; and The Odessa File.

While the official records do not support the story, John Fraser claims the British film producer, Jimmy Woolf, had “taken a fancy”—showering him with gifts while considering which actor for title role in the epic, Lawrence of Arabia, directed by David Lean, and produced by Sam Spiegel. According to John he resisted Jimmy’s advances and the coveted role went to Peter O’Toole.

*John Fraser died, London, 2024, aged 89. He lived for many years in Tuscany with his partner of 42-years, the artist Rodney Pienaar.

*The director, Harold Lang, who was quite brilliant, and clever, died a month following Patrick, of a heart attack in a Cairo hospital, 16 November 1970. He was travelling home from Australia to the UK, via Egypt.

Stratford Johns

Gary Waldhorn

In the second production, Patrick was replaced by (Alan) Stratford Johns, whose cannon of work was substantial, including the film of Cromwell. A formidable and demanding actor, he appeared in 126-episodes of Z-Cars, and 91-episodes of Softly, Softly. He was extremely popular with audiences, and a great box-office attraction. The Comedy season proved a great success. He was married to the actress Nannette Ryder(died 2006).

*Stratford Johns, 1925–2002. He was 76.

Gary Waldhorn replaced John Fraser. Later, Gary starred as the Lord of the Manor in The Vicar Dibley. British born, Raymond Westwell directed. Curiously, Mr. Westwell was resident artistic director at The Perth Playhouse in the years I was attending productions with my boarding school. Having directed the HMM production in Melbourne, he later appeared with Gary Waldhorn in a London production at the Fortune Theatre, directed by Clifford Williams. Westwell clocked-up 2359-performances as Andrew Wyke.

Following on the success of Patrick Wymark and Stratford Johns, HMM was confident in mounting the third production starring Richard Todd and, again, Gary Waldhorn. It opened in New Zealand, 1972, at His Majesty’s Theatre, Auckland, to mostly indifferent reviews. There was a negative media campaign, orchestrated by New Zealand actors, objecting to a production which did not employ any local talent. It affected the box-office, and, I suspect, the reviews. Sleuth is a two-hander, patently its success in London had not filtered through to New Zealand. The objectors were fooled by the publicity poster which, like all good thrillers, erroneously listed a number of fictional actors—red herrings! The name Gilbert Frederick was a play on Freddie Gibson, executive producer; Irving Scott was Syd Irving, General Manager, JCW, Sydney; and Jon Fine on John Finlay, director of marketing. The ruse was necessary to protect the plot and playwright Anthony Shaffer’s inspired dénouement! In their blissful ignorance, their ridiculous militancy helped to kill-off the show. Interestingly, the failure of Sleuth was a portent. It marked the beginning of the demise of Australian productions touring New Zealand and the break-up of the J.C. Williamson theatre circuit. Four-years later, 1976, marked the ending of the world’s largest theatrical firm.

Raymond Westwell

Sleuth program

Following Auckland, Sleuth played the Opera House, Wellington, and the Palmerston North Opera House, to disappointing houses. When it opened in Melbourne at the start of an Australian tour the reviews were, again, lukewarm. The production was directed by Nick Renton—with whom I had a frosty relationship. While we have never met again, Mr. Renton has gone-on to enjoy a successful UK television career—the list of credits is mightily impressive; however, he was an inexperienced theatre director, and his production was tediously pedestrian. He was too inexperienced to service such a difficult genre—and thrillers are one of the most difficult. You have to convince the audience to suspend their disbelief. Not an easy task! He failed. In his defence, Richad Todd was not in the same calibre as Stratford Johns and Patrick Mymark.

Richard Todd and Gary Waldhorn rehearsed in London, which resulted in a temporary creative disconnect between us and them. Consequently, I, as stage director, but more importantly, John Frost, who was stage manager, did not know the show as well as was needed. In the week preceding Mr. Renton’s arrival in New Zealand, I spent days lighting the show, based on the original lighting plots from London and Australia. The set, designed by Carl Toms, was a glorious Tudor Manor house in the Wiltshire countryside. I was somewhat astonished when Mr. Renton decided he wanted to relight the show. I had learned at the lighting desk of some of the best designers, including John Sumner at the Melbourne Theatre Company, and Len Fisher, based at the Canberra Theatre. It was my opinion Mr. Renton was flexing his artistic muscle simply “because he could”. Having appraised the situation, I said: “Do what you like. I am going home!” John Frost and I left the theatre. The next morning Freddie Gibson telephoned expressing some concern at the ferocity of Mr. Renton’s complaint about me. I listened but chose to ignore. I had been spoiled for directors and I had scant regard for his limited ability. I found no reason to talk with him again and he departed on the days after the opening night, leaving me to take care of what I judged was a heavy-handed, mediocre production. Judging by the box-office, so, too, did the audience.

Richard Todd, who had been a 1940s and ’50s British heart-throb, film star—A Man Called Peter,The Dam Busters,and Reach for the Sky, was a dullish stage actor. He had serious projection problems in the large theatres. On the opening night in Auckland, HMM rushed backstage during the first act, and was stage whispering to Richard from behind the set: “Speak-up! They can’t hear you!” It did not help …

Bizarrely, Richard carried around a review of his performance in a West End production of An Ideal Husband, in which he played Lord Goring. He thought it most amusing. The review read: “Richard Todd, as Lord Goring, delivered Oscar Wilde’s epigrams like a fishwife throwing dead mackerel on a marble slab!” I knew exactly what the reviewer meant. It was exactly what he did in Sleuth!

Richard Todd was not especially tall. Having worked on several Walt Disney films, he was once referred to as “Walt Disney’s eighth-dwarf”; nor did he use a deodorant. He washed his armpits with a flannel in the interval. On unpacking Richard’s shoes, John Frost—without consulting me—thought they needed attention and took them to the local Auckland cobbler. Having never seen such shoes, he instructed the cobbler to remove the fitted lifts which added inches to Richard’s required height on stage. Handmade by Rayne Shoes, London, they costs many hundreds of pounds. Richard, naturally, was furious. John’s explanation was so amusing, all I could do was laugh. The tales of that tour are too many, and too funny, to tell!

*Richard Todd died: 2009 aged 90. For all his success, it was a life tinged with great sadness.

Garry Waldhorn was a talented and experienced stage actor, including a stint at the Royal Shakespeare Company. His Sergeant Doppler was masterful, and no-one guessed. When he made an entrance in Act 11, having discarded the padding, wig, glasses, and false nose of Doppler, and wearing only a pair of snug-fitting, burgundy, stretch jocks, there was an audible sigh from the audience. Tall and muscular, and stripped to almost naked, he was something of an Adonis.

*Gary Waldhorn: died London, 2022, aged 78. In the end, he rather locked-out the world.

RR with Maurice McCarty—Sleuth, New Zealand

The JCW mechanist on the tour of Sleuth was New Zealand born, Maurice McCarty. For a time, Maruice and I lived as distant-neighbours in Carlton. He bought a magnificent two-manual, American reed organ, even though he could not play a note. It was a glorious instrument. Many-a-time he invited me to his house to play for him, and his friends. They sat enthralled while I worked my way through the Anglican hymn book, Ancient and Modern, Revised, and Allan’s Organ Voluntaries!  

Twenty-years later, 7 April 1991, Maurice was murdered in a Sydney gay-hate crime.

On 24 November 1993, a NSW Supreme Court jury acquitted Christopher Paul McKinnon, a 22-year-old Artarmon man, of assaulting and ramming Maurice’s head against the wall of his Newtown home. McKinnon, 19, and unemployed at the time of the murder, claimed: “McCarty had made sexual advances to him and he was defending himself”. Despite hearing evidence the assailant had told friends he “rolled a fag”, the jury, which was directed in relation to both self-defence and provocation, believed McKinnon.

Those who knew Maurice did not believe the assailants claims of alcohol and the selling of cannabis. There was a suggestion a second person was involved and the murder was planned. Cunningly, McKinnon made a dock statement—an unsworn statement which cannot be subjected to cross-examination. While McKinnon had an extensive criminal history, including robbery, he had not previously committed offences of violence against homosexual men. He stole objects belonging to Maurice, including his car.

Despite emergency treatment at nearby Royal Prince Alfred Hospital, McCarty died early the next day. A postmortem examination revealed Maurice’s cause of death was blood loss and hypoxia (deprivation of oxygen), caused by significant head injuries. Maurice, who was working as head mechanist with the Australian Ballet, had been in Sydney for a month. He was 46.

*McKinnon died 2014. He was about 43.

RR with John Frost in NZ—Sleuth

The propsman on Sleuth in Auckland was a most agreeable Māori. One matinee he came in drunk, and, as a joke, he painted all the ‘soon-to-be-smashed-on-stage’ Dresden shepherdesses and Toby Jugs as Māori warriors—tongues pocking-out, and all that! I confess, I was, in those days, more earnest, and failed to see the humour. Only Maurice’s pleading allowed him to keep his job. Today, I would laugh—possibly encourage—his joking handywork.

*When it came time for me and John Frost to fly to Auckland in preparation for the New Zealand tour of Sleuth, I packed the revolver in my hand-luggage and took it with me into the cabin. It never occurred I might be breaking International Aviation Law—indeed, so egregiously, I could, if found guilty, have been sentenced to a term-of-imprisonment. I cannot recall, but I guess I brought it back to Australia in exactly the same fashion!

Patrick Macnee with Joanna Lumley and Gareth Hunt

Six Degrees of Separation!

The New Avengers, 1976–77, was a joint UK-ITV/French/Canadian production which cost £125,000–per episode to produce at Pinewood Studios. It was seen in 120 countries. Patrick revived his role as John Steed, and he was joined by Joanna Lumley (Purdy), and Gareth Hunt (Mike Gambit).

Joanna Lumley is a cousin of the one-time Australian theatre producer, Wilton Morley, whose father is the late actor, Robert Morley; his grandmother was the actress, Dame Gladys Cooper. His late brother, Sheridan Morley, was the renowned London theatre critic and best-selling author. His sister, Annabelle, is married to the Australian actor, Charles Little, one of original cast of The Boys in the Band.

It would seem Joanna Lumley spent some time in Western Australia, apparently on the coast, south of Broome, around the 80– or 90–mile beach area. I assume, through Wilton, she arrived, ultimately, in Sydney and met with HMM. While my memory lacks clarity, certainly I remember her being in his company for a short period. He told me, later in life, he was rather “taken” with her, and was delighted with her success in Absolutely Fabulous. We had a discussion about offering her a play which would be his final production. I suggested, The Kingfisher, by William Douglas Home. 

Sadly, it did not come to pass. A stylish drawing-room comedy would have been a fitting exeunt!

To be continued

Note on images

All images courtesy of the author