Читать книгу Kenneth Williams Unseen: The private notes, scripts and photographs - Russell Davies - Страница 11

The press was taken by surprise. ‘Secret Funeral for Carry On Ken’, reported the Sun. ‘The 30-minute service, held on Thursday, was so hush-hush that many of the staff at London’s St Marylebone Crematorium did not know it was taking place.’ This article appeared on the Saturday, so the secrecy had indeed worked. Not even those who attended the service were quite sure what was happening.

Pat Williams: ‘All we knew was that the car was going to pick us up at 4 o’clock. We’d said no flowers, because Ken hated flowers. We only had one wreath from the two of us and it looked so bare.’

Paul Richardson: ‘It was a blustery day and nobody knew where we were going. Pat, Lou, Barbara [Windsor] and I got into this car. We drove and drove and I thought, “I know where we’re going, we’re going to Marylebone Crematorium!” Pat said, “How do you know?” So I said, “We’re going that way!” Sure enough, when we arrived there was a choir and about a dozen people, close friends. It was a moving service. He was cremated and his ashes were spread over the lawns.’

Michael Whittaker: ‘I came back from Italy for the funeral. Many of his close friends were there. It was all rather secret. We had a lunch afterwards and that’s where I met Dame Maggie Smith, whom Kenneth was always very proud of and how she, more than once, credited Kenneth with a lot of her acting ability. He thought the world of her. I do remember asking about another famous actress, a very well-known person, what he thought of her. “Oh, very rep!” he replied.’

Paul Richardson: ‘Pat was in bits, and in actual fact, at the funeral at Marylebone Crematorium, she was to my left and as the coffin was leaving, Pat let out this yelp. Louie turned to me and said, “What’s wrong with that silly bitch?”’

Michael Anderson: ‘His sister was a bit of a drama queen, I think. She put on quite a performance during the funeral. Her attitude was like being at an Italian funeral almost, she did make quite a fuss showing she cared. His mother bore up very well.’

Pat Williams: ‘When we first came back here, Lou saw the photo of her with Ken and started crying, but I said, “You mustn’t be like that. We’re not going to take it down. We must talk about him and keep him in the open.”’

The clearing of Kenneth’s flat was a particularly wrenching experience. His intimates knew how spartan his living conditions had looked, so they were prepared for a cheerless spectacle; but at least there had been, during their visits, the bracing presence of Kenneth himself to offset the bleakness of the ambience. Now only the bleakness was left.

Paul Richardson: ‘It was terrible to go into Ken’s flat so soon after his death with a Mr Spanton, the executor of the will, and have to go through his personal belongings. In fact it was very upsetting. Angela Chidell went with a friend of hers to clear the flat because I couldn’t face it.’

Angela Chidell: ‘Going into Kenneth’s flat one last time was difficult. I believe his sister was asked if she would like to clear the flat and she didn’t want to, and Paul [Richardson] didn’t want to, so for some reason it fell upon me to do it. So over two days my best friend Jenny Copsey [daughter of Lord Healey] and I, with our cars, ferried things back and forth, odds and ends. Most of the furniture had already gone, things that Kenneth’s sister wanted. It was just a question of cleaning up. Most of the things I put in black bags and I simply got rid of. Some of the clothes went to the Salvation Army because his sister had said he was very fond of them and we had a good place at Wood Green so a lot of them went there.’

Robert Chidell: ‘We went round to his flat and walked around, picking things up and taking things. It was all a bit strange. Paperweights, lots of pens that I’ve still got. I was just taken to this old flat, it looked like an old person’s flat to be honest. It was tiny, tiny. A very simple place. It felt quite dark, it felt as though it hadn’t been decorated for a long time. It felt quite sad in a way…One of his suits fitted me perfectly when I was a teenager for a short while, because he was super slight. It was a tiny fitted suit. I loved it and remember being gutted when I grew out of it.’

Angela Chidell: ‘As I walked around the flat I saw photographs and personal things of ours which brought home yet again that the closeness I felt to him was real, and wasn’t imaginary or a celebrity thing. It’s so easy to think you can attach yourself to people just because they’re famous. It was very sad. All these records of wonderful music of Albinoni, Schumann, Beethoven, Bach, organ recitals, Albert Schweitzer, all the great pianists and autographed copies of Jorge Bolet, programmes of Liszt. But that was the other side of Kenneth. He was an entertainer but he was a quiet man, which is so true of entertainers, isn’t it?

‘The second day, clearing up, I don’t know…I just travelled through it doing what I had to do and then closed the door. And that was that.’

Man of Action, a BBC Radio 3 show which showcased his record collection, produced by Patrick Lambert, 21 December 1976: ‘This week the actor Kenneth Williams introduces his personal choice of records.’

There remained the unpleasant matter of the inquest. It was held in mid-June, two months after Kenneth’s death. Startlingly, his GP, Dr Carlos Clarke, testified that during the previous November he had given his patient 100 sleeping tablets, but not the kind that had killed him. But the most important testimony came from the London Hospital pathologist, Dr Christopher Pease, whose initial, inconclusive findings led to a second battery of tests, some of which had a bearing on Kenneth’s general state of health. Dr Pease now resides in New Zealand, but remembers the case with impressive clarity:

Dr Christopher Pease: ‘I was fully aware of Kenneth’s fame and had watched all of the Carry On series. As a doctor and pathologist, however, we are trained from a very early stage not to allow our own emotions to interfere with the task at hand. On that day Kenneth was one of fifteen autopsies I performed in several different areas in and around London, so my examination needed to be precise and comprehensive for future reference. I was particularly aware of the contention around Kenneth’s sexuality and made a specific decision not to examine parts of Kenneth’s anatomy which were not relevant to his death, choosing to perpetuate his privacy in that area.

‘The pills he took were Mandrax; these are a mixture of amphetamine and barbiturate. I have no idea how many pills he took. Kenneth was known to have a large collection of various medicaments and drugs, all of which were labelled and available for him to self-medicate when he chose to do so. I think he was known to be rather hypochondriacal. The bottle containing the remaining Mandrax tabs was unlabelled, in stark contrast to all of his other bottles. The levels of amphetamine and barbiturate in his blood were not a fatal dose of either compound, but in combination were lethal.

‘After the inquest I was besieged with reporters, almost all of whom misquoted me (apart from the Sun, as far as I remember). When asked if I thought that he had killed himself, as the Coroner had left an open verdict, my reply was, “It is most unlikely that an adult, if compos mentis, would take an accidental overdose.” There had been no evidence that he wasn’t, despite his fear of surgery for his gastric ulcer in the next week or two.’

As for the general state of Kenneth’s body, Dr Pease recorded a strikingly favourable general impression, blighted by one fairly horrific condition.

Dr Christopher Pease: ‘There was no mention of changes related to smoking or drinking in my autopsy report. There was no sign that he had damaged his body with either habit. In fact, Kenneth was in extremely good health for his age. In particular, he had a totally healthy heart. I have performed over 2,000 autopsies, and Kenneth’s coronary arteries were the most pristine of them all in the same age group, as healthy as a 20-year-old’s, in fact! There was no evidence of liver disease, and all other organs appeared healthy.

‘He did, however, have a very large (35 mm), deeply penetrating posterior (at the back of the stomach) gastric ulcer, and this was adherent to his pancreas. The stomach wall was intensely congested and inflamed. These findings were likely to be a combination of true inflammation of the stomach and barbiturate effect. Undoubtedly this ulcer would have been extremely painful and would have produced intense upper abdominal and back pain. There was no evidence to suggest the ulcer was malignant.’

From this it is distressingly clear that Kenneth had in no way exaggerated the intensity of his bodily sufferings. The pains he’d endured were every bit as severe as he said they were. In the event, the Coroner, Dr John Elliott, clung to the letter of the law, insisting, in the words of the Daily Mail’s report, that ‘there was no evidence to show why he took the lethal dose of sleeping pills’. No suicide note, in other words, or equivalent message of intent. How much weight was attached to Kenneth’s diary entries cannot now be known. Only the last volume, for the early months of 1988, had been examined in any case. So the Coroner cannot have seen the diary entry for 30 August 1987, which reads in part: ‘All that is in my mind now is the way to commit suicide…’, or indeed for 5 October 1987: ‘Counted my capsules of poison and I have got over 30 so there should be enough to kill me.’ On the other hand, the entry for 22 March 1988 (only three weeks or so before the death) was available to be seen and interpreted: ‘Came back to flat & got out the Sodium Amytal & then had cold feet. Took 2.’

Michael Whittaker: ‘I think he did commit suicide. Paul Richardson doesn’t think so, and obviously the Coroner didn’t, so we have to accept the Coroner’s verdict. But he always said he would. The idea of ageing or losing faculties didn’t appeal to him at all.’

One factor that seems to complicate the argument is Kenneth’s will, in which he shocked the world by distributing his goods around a small circle of male friends, leaving nothing to the 87-year-old mother who had been, in one way or another, his companion through life. If he had intended to kill himself, the argument runs, then he would have made some formal provision for Lou. But again, his diary indicates that he had considered the matter less than a month before the fatal night: ‘Thought of making an end of it tonight & then wondered whether things were left in proper order. Should I write a letter to Michael? best of people & best of my friends. Would it be fair to ask him to tell all the others?’ It would seem that the problem of Lou was already settled in his mind, and Michael now confirms that it was so.

Michael Whittaker: ‘He hadn’t left Louie any money because he thought that she would go into a home and the home would take her money. He thought she would never ever live with her daughter, which she subsequently did. He said to me, because I was being left some of his money, “Anyway, if she’s in the home I know you’ll keep your eye on her.” I thought all this was academic anyway, that she’d die before Kenneth. To find that she was living with her daughter, sleeping on her sofa in a one-bedroom flat in Camden, I thought if Kenneth was alive

The infamous last Will and Testament that seemingly left no provision for his beloved 87-year-old mother.

‘It never went off. Some of the papers, usual stuff, they said “Kenneth Williams leaves his mother nothing”, “Poor woman out on the street”, all this drama! That’s why I was going to make a statement but it wasn’t necessary in the end. It was drawn up by my lawyers to say that she hadn’t been completely abandoned and I did, indeed, look after her.’ (Michael Whittaker)

Draft press release to address the questions Kenneth’s will had raised.

now to see his ageing mother like this! So I arranged for her to get an annuity and also to buy the flat upstairs which had two bedrooms and two bathrooms.’

Leaving the welfare of his closest relatives in the hands of Michael Whittaker proved a safe policy, though at first Lou and Pat Williams saw only the slight in it and not the wisdom. When they talked to Woman’s Own, Michael’s arrangements had yet to be made.

Pat Williams: ‘One of Ken’s beneficiaries came round, and he said, “I’ve been left half of Ken’s flat.” I rang the solicitor and said, “At least you might have had the common decency to have advised my mother first.” He said, “Why should I tell you? Neither you nor your mother are mentioned in the will.” I said to him, “I’m not interested for myself but my mother’s very upset,” and he said he’d send us a copy of the will.

‘It wasn’t a shock that I hadn’t been left anything, but the only thing that niggles me is that as Mother devoted so much time and affection on him, the least he could have done was make a proviso when he made out his will. He should have said, “I leave everything to Joe Bloggs, providing he looks after my mother for the rest of her life.”’

Effectively that’s what did happen, once Michael Whittaker had realized that Pat and Lou were living together under cramped and stressful circumstances.

Michael Whittaker: ‘He always thought Louie would go into a home and she would never live with her daughter, because her relationship with Pat had been rocky, to say the least. But she did indeed live with her daughter, and after things were sorted out she lived quite a few more years. She had that great London vitality. She was a real Cockney sparrow. She went dancing at the Irish Club in Camden.

‘Pat found it quite stressful. Fundamentally she liked having Louie there, but it was stressful. One day the doctor said to Pat, “Look, you need a rest. I’ll think up some excuses for Louie to have tests at the hospital, she’ll go in for a few days and give you rest.” Well, Louie went in to University College Hospital, then got a bug and died. Pat felt terrible.’

Even in the later years of his life, Kenneth was torn between putting Lou into a care home and continuing to look after her himself, as he revealed in a letter to Michael Whittaker.

Paul Richardson: ‘He changed his will about two or three years before he died because I was actually with him. After seeing his bank manager, we walked down the road with him tearing up the old will and putting it into each of the bins we passed. “You’re in it!” he said. When he died, his flat was left to myself and his godson along with all the contents of it which included the diaries and letters. Michael Whittaker was left the flats and the bulk of the money, and Michael Anderson was left the royalties.’

Michael Anderson:’ “I’ve been to see my lawyer,” he said, pointing at me. “You can keep the royalties, and I don’t want to hear any more about it!” I’d forgotten all about it, and then his lawyer rang me up and said, “Mr Anderson, Kenneth Williams has left you his royalties.” Then it all came back to me. An unusual thing to happen, that an agent be left somebody’s royalties. My colleagues couldn’t believe it! I did ask them – because they represented some pretty important people – and not one of them had ever been left anything by their clients! I think he thought it was tidy. He did say to me, “Because it’s easy, you don’t want to start sending them to other people. You may as well keep them yourself. It’s tidier that way.” It was a very practical solution for him. His royalties included sales of tapes of Round the Horne, sales of Acid Drops and the other books. No Carry Ons, obviously, because they were buy-outs.’

Many of Kenneth’s friends complained in his lifetime that they were allowed to dwell only in one zone of his life, and never glimpsed the totality of his acquaintanceship. Their one chance to do so came in the autumn of 1988.

Nick Lewis: ‘Michael Whittaker rang and invited me to the memorial service, which was very generous of him to remember me, because I’d only met Kenneth once. So on the 29th of September, a Thursday, I went down to St Paul’s Church in Covent Garden, and pushed passed the photographers on the steps to get in. It was, as the vicar said at the beginning, a very happy service, we were there to celebrate Kenneth’s life, not to mourn him. It was more like a variety show performed by Kenneth’s old friends: Gordon Jackson playing the piano while Kenneth Connor did that wonderful pidgin French song, various poetry readings, and my favourite – and this has stayed with me ever since – was Barbara Windsor singing an old music-hall song called “The Boy I Love is up in the Gallery”. First of all I was stunned by what a good singing voice she had, and the way she was singing it to the back of the church, it was just full of meaning as though he was up there watching us and enjoying it all. It was truly, really touching.’

Angela Chidell: ‘That was very, very moving. Her voice never once wavered and she sang unaccompanied. I was carried away by the perfectionism of the woman. Being something of a performer myself I appreciate those moments when something is so right that it’s a rare moment. She shone like a star from above. Everything just stood still and there was a beam of light across the whole congregation. It was a moment of time that you can’t forget, like a teardrop.’

The memorial service running order, which featured ‘All Things Bright and Beautiful’—a song Kenneth would often recite in German! (Even though the Actor’s Church has hundreds of commemorative plaques, a lack of wall space prevents any further tributes to deceased artists, including Kenneth.)

‘On one occasion when we worked with Kenneth he performed “Ma Crepe Suzette” and, of course, it brought the house down. We completely adored it and, rather nervously afterwards, asked him if we could use it. He was delighted and said, “I nicked it off someone else so you might as well nick it off me!” When he sang it, he sang it to the tune of Auld Lang Syne. Collyer had given it to him and said that he should do it to the tune of Sorrento and, because Kenneth didn’t know what Sorrento was, he worked it around Auld Lang Syne. So he gave us his blessing that we should take it and perform it, and we did. He said that he’d get the lyrics to us and, because we’d established a closeness, one evening there was a ring at the door bell and there, at the bottom of the stairs, was Kenneth! He was huge at that time so I was well impressed that he hadn’t sent a minion round with it or put it in the post: he had bothered to walk round. I invited him up and he said, “Oh no, no, wouldn’t dream of it”, then just disappeared into the night.’ (Richard Bryan, Cantabile)

Kenneth’s infamous pidgin French song, ‘Ma Crepe Suzette’, his party-piece of many a chat-show, written by Derek Collyer and performed by Kenneth Connor at the memorial service.

Nick Lewis: ‘At the end, in the closing prayer, the vicar came out with the words “Comfort us in our loneliness”, which really gave me a pang. It was just the most beautiful service and we all felt enormously happy afterwards.’

Peter Cadley: ‘When we left the memorial service there were hundreds of cameras there because John Thaw and Sheila Hancock had split up the day before and she was doing something at the service. Click, click, click, went the cameras for Sheila. Meanwhile I had Lou on one side and Pat on the other, arm in arm, and all the photographers had no idea who they were. I thought, “You’re missing one of the shots of the day!” But they were far more interested in bags under Sheila Hancock’s eyes or Barbara Windsor’s bosoms. The lunch afterwards was far more fun because it was a tighter group of people. It was in a very interesting Greek restaurant in Camden that Pat had chosen. We had the whole of the downstairs. I was sat opposite Maggie Smith and next to Gordon and Rona Jackson. Lou and Edie were sitting at the head of the table.’

And those two had much to talk about, ranging back to 1926, and the beginnings of Kenneth’s story.