My Week

with Marilyn

The Prince, the Showgirl and Me

My Week with Marilyn

Colin Clark

Contents

Title Page

Introduction

The Prince, the Showgirl and Me

Dedication

Illustrations

Preface

The Prince and the Showgirl

Production Crew

The Diaries

Postscript

My Week with Marilyn

Dedication

Introduction

Tuesday, 11 September 1956

Wednesday, 12 September

Thursday, 13 September

Friday, 14 September

Saturday, 15 September

Sunday, 16 September

Monday, 17 September

Tuesday, 18 September

Wednesday, 19 September

Postscript

Appendix

Resurrecting Marilyn

Picture Section

About the Author

Praise for Colin Clark

Copyright

About the Publisher

Introduction

By Simon Curtis, Director of My Week with Marilyn

‘A fairy story, an interlude, an episode out of time and space which nevertheless was real’ is how Colin Clark describes his account of working on The Prince and the Showgirl. He published his first diary of his experiences, The Prince, the Showgirl and Me, in 1995 and in it he invites the reader to share his excitement as he gets closer and closer to the inner sanctum of the business and witnesses the complex process of a film being made. I loved the diary from the moment I first read it and was drawn both to the compelling detail of the making of a film in 1956 but also to the magical fantasy of a young man having an intimate relationship with Marilyn Monroe at the height of her powers on his very first job. Since my first job was as an unpaid assistant director on a theatre production of Measure for Measure during which I worked closely with its leading lady Helen Mirren, running errands for her and helping her with her lines, I was familiar with the territory that Colin was in.

Of course, this was no ordinary film – Marilyn Monroe had bought the rights to Rattigan’s play The Sleeping Prince under the auspices of her newly formed production company (Marilyn was far ahead of her time in that way). She hoped she could control her destiny by becoming a producer and looked forward to working with the great Olivier. He, in turn, was not only prepared to work with her in place of his wife Vivien Leigh, who had played the same part opposite him on stage, but hoped that working with the biggest movie star in the world would rejuvenate his career. I believe he also hoped for a romance with Marilyn but she arrived in London on the arm of her brand new husband Arthur Miller so that became unlikely.

It is hard not to see Olivier, then aged 50, as emblematic of fading Britain and Marilyn, aged 30, as the poster girl for brash, new America. 1956 was a seminal year in English culture – the year of Look Back in Anger and Lucky Jim, the birth of rock and roll and commercial television. It was the moment England finally shook itself from under the shadow of World War Two. Unfortunately The Sleeping Prince, for all its charm, belonged to the old theatrical tradition and, surprisingly for Marilyn, who wanted to break into roles more challenging than ditzy blondes, her part of Elsie is a giggly chorus girl.

The culture clash between these two icons is evident right from the start and Colin has a ringside seat for it all. He is amazed to watch the struggle for common ground between Marilyn, now devoted to The Method (a way of acting in which actors internalised, rather than simulated, the feelings of their character) and always accompanied by her coach Paula Strasberg, and Olivier who believed in a more external way of working. Rattigan’s play had worked on a West End stage, when it cashed in on the excitement generated by the Queen’s coronation, but it was hardly bursting with cinematic potential. Colin gets it right when he describes himself telling Marilyn, in a remarkably bold and perceptive moment, ‘We are all trying to make a film which absolutely should not be made.’

I was entranced by Colin’s first diary but it was the publication of the second, My Week with Marilyn, in 2000 that convinced me that there was a film to be made by combining the two. In the second volume Colin at last reveals his secret: during the making of the film, when Arthur Miller has left the country, he and Marilyn have a remarkably intimate week together. She finds herself able to trust Colin and, for the first time in a life of romancing powerful older men, she is drawn to someone younger than she is. Theirs is not a passionate sexual affair but an erotically charged connection of great intimacy. Colin longs to rescue her from her entourage and a life fuelled by pills and alcohol (‘I desperately wanted to save her but what could I do?’) but it is enough for Marilyn that he is a trusted friend who listens and does not take advantage of her as men usually do.

For all my passion for the material, it was a long seven years before the first day of filming and we would never have got there at all without Michelle Williams and Ken Branagh committing to play Marilyn and Olivier. I still cannot believe my luck that two such magnificent actors were courageously prepared to take on these iconic roles. They both bring fierce intelligence and detail to all their performances and I learned from each of them every day. Our production was based at Pinewood Studios where The Prince and the Showgirl had been made and on her first day Michelle was put in Marilyn’s old dressing room. We filmed on the same stage as they had and it was a magical moment to witness Michelle recreating Marilyn’s dance from the film in Donal Woods’s recreation of the original sets.

We tried to film at the authentic locations and unusually gained access to Eton College and Windsor Castle. I was particularly excited to be at Parkside, the house the newlywed Millers had rented whilst in England. We filmed Colin observing an emotional Marilyn sitting on the stairs after discovering Arthur’s journal in the exact spot it had actually taken place.

In some ways the film plays as a love letter to a lost England and all of us working on it paid great attention to detail. There was so much reference material for us to look at and Colin’s books were the best source of all. His tone of voice guided me and his portrait of Marilyn as a very bright woman who, despite her troubled childhood, was trying to make the best of her life was important. Thanks to Colin’s insights, I saw her as an ambitious actress, desperate to be taken seriously, struggling with a very thin part. She was not helped by a director who insisted on working in a way that made her uncomfortable.

I admire Lord Olivier very much and remember seeing him towards the end of his life at the opening of the National Theatre. He was scathing of Marilyn’s performance whilst they were making the film but later generously acknowledged how much the camera loved her and came to see how very good she actually was.

Marilyn had come to England with such high hopes. She was newly married to Miller, a producer apparently in control of her own destiny and about to work with the greats of British theatre. The sadness of our story is how each of her dreams collapsed during the making of the film. Her marriage lasted a few more years and sadly she was only to live six more years.

I regret that I never met Colin Clark but I am truly honoured to have made the film of his two diaries. I am grateful for the support of his family and delighted that on their visits to the set they appeared to recognise and admire Eddie Redmayne’s excellent performance as ‘Colin’. I have taken a cue for what we have done from the tone of Colin’s wonderful books and hope very much he would have liked the film we have made.

The Prince, the Showgirl and Me

Dedication

For Christopher and Helena,

with love

Illustrations

Marilyn Monroe and Arthur Miller arrive at Heathrow, escorted by my friends, the policemen. (© Press Association Images)

Crowds of reporters force MM and SLO to take refuge behind a counter at Heathrow. (© Mirrorpix)

Laurence Olivier and Vivien Leigh greet MM and AM at the airport. (© Getty Images)

AM, MM and SLO on arrival at Parkside House. My head can just be seen through the window. (© Popperfoto/Getty Images)

MM, standing between Victor Mature and Anthony Quayle, meets the Queen at the Royal Film Premiere of The Battle of the River Plate. MM and HM were almost exactly the same age. (© Popperfoto/Getty Images)

I was given the job of third assistant director on The Prince and the Showgirl because my parents were friends of Laurence Olivier.

Vivien Leigh and SLO in The Sleeping Prince, Phoenix Theatre, 1953. (© Popperfoto/Getty Images)

MM at the start of filming. (© Milton H. Greene Collection © 2011 Joshua Greene www.archiveimages.com)

Roger Furse’s original design for the salon, much changed for the actual filming. (British Film Institute)

Production unit photograph of The Prince and the Showgirl. (British Film Institute)

Marilyn at the London first night of Arthur Miller’s A View from the Bridge. (© 2011 Getty Images)

All images listed below © The Weinstein Company

Dougray Scott and Michelle Williams, as Arthur Miller and Marilyn Monroe, arrive in London.

Dougray Scott, Michelle Williams, Kenneth Branagh as Sir Laurence Olivier and Julia Ormond as Vivien Leigh, on arrival at Parkside House.

Director Simon Curtis talks to Eddie Redmayne on set.

Elsie Marina, played by Monroe, was the female lead in The Prince and the Showgirl. Here, Michelle Williams re-enacts Elsie’s dance in the purple sitting room.

Echoing the classic photograph taken at the start of filming The Sleeping Prince.

Kenneth Branagh as Sir Laurence Olivier. The clashes between him and Monroe entered film legend.

Simon Curtis, Dominic Cooper as Milton Greene, Dougray Scott and producer David Parfitt taking a break on set.

Michelle Williams capturing a classic Monroe pose.

Michelle Williams as Monroe, the icon.

Eddie Redmayne as Colin Clark, leading Monroe and Miller away from the paparazzi.

While every effort has been made to trace the owners of copyright material reproduced herein, the publishers would like to apologise for any omissions and would be pleased to incorporate missing acknowledgements in any future editions.

Preface

In 1943, when I was ten years old, my boarding school decided that my class should see Gone with the Wind. Film shows were a monthly treat then, and we had already seen several stirring black-and-white wartime epics, but Gone with the Wind was different. It was in colour, it was very long, and it contained some gruesome scenes of wounded soldiers, the sort of thing which was obviously never included in British films of the time. Our teacher took great trouble to explain to us that the film was just an illusion, made up of clever special effects. Nevertheless, watching it in that bare school hall had a dramatic effect on all of us.

At about the same time my father, Kenneth Clark, had been made controller of home publicity at the Ministry of Information. This meant that he was responsible for extricating British actors and actresses from the armed forces so that they could work in patriotic films. He made frequent visits to the studios around London to see how they were getting on, and I persuaded him to let me come too. His principal ally was Alexander Korda, who was the most powerful British producer at the time, and whom my father had persuaded to join in the ‘war effort’. Through him my father and mother met all the stars of the film world. Laurence Olivier and Vivien Leigh became their close friends, and William Walton, who was composing the music for Olivier’s Henry V, was made my godfather to replace the original one who had been killed by a bomb. Another Hungarian producer, Gabriel Pascal, had managed to persuade George Bernard Shaw to let him have the film rights to all his plays. He came to our house in Hampstead with a beautiful young American actress called Irene Worth, and promised to buy me a pair of white peacocks if I would act for him, offering me the part of Ptolemy in his production of Shaw’s Caesar and Cleopatra (with Vivien Leigh). My parents said no, but I was not the least bit disappointed: I knew that I could never be an actor, and I also knew that those white peacocks were as much a product of Pascal’s imagination as Caesar and Cleopatra was of Shaw’s.

I had become completely fascinated by the concept of a fictional idea being made into a real film, which is in itself an illusion. It is a fascination which I have never lost. At the age of twelve I explained this to my father, and told him of my determination to be a film director. My only worry was that all the directors I had met were fat and ugly. To my surprise he took me seriously. Although he was involved in all the performing arts – opera, ballet and theatre as well as film – his main love was painting. He pointed out that painting contains the same elements of illusion and reality as film, and that Michael Powell and David Lean were both successful directors, and they were thin.

From then on, a visit to a film set was like a dream fulfilled. I saw Noël Coward in a tank of oily black water making In Which We Serve; I saw Vivien Leigh being carried on a very wobbly litter in front of a plaster Sphinx on the set of Caesar and Cleopatra; I saw her again in Anna Karenina – she had offered me the role of her son, again refused; and many more. I was not in love with the magic of film the way many children are with theatre or ballet: I was in love with the way in which that magic was made.

When I got to Eton in 1946 it became clear that I had chosen a pretty eccentric path. ‘Art’ did not then have the respectable connotations that it does today. My family, though wealthy enough, was as far from the typical ‘hunting, shooting and fishing’ set as it was possible to be. None of my more conventional contemporaries had ever heard of an art historian, and I was forced to describe my father as a professor (he had been Slade Professor of Fine Art at Oxford). My friends could not understand me at all – many still can’t – and as if to underline the difference between us, I chose to be a pilot in the RAF during my National Service rather than to go into the Guards, and then to get a job as a keeper at London Zoo rather than work in a merchant bank.

In the summer of 1952, while on vacation from Oxford, I went on a motoring tour of Europe and found myself stranded in a little palace in the mountains of north Portugal. It belonged to an Englishman called Peter Pitt-Millward, and apart from his occasional guests, I had no one else with whom to converse for over two months. To make things worse, I fell passionately in love with someone who could speak nothing but Portuguese. I could not even confide in Peter about this as he was also in love – with the same person. So I started to keep a daily journal in which I could explore my emotions, and my loneliness. This feeling of isolation persisted throughout the remainder of my time at university.

By the time I got the job on The Prince and the Showgirl in 1956, my diary had become a firm friend. However tired I was, I could not sleep before I had written down some of the things that had happened during the day, and confided some of the opinions that I had not dared to express to anyone, scribbling away in an old ledger which I kept wrapped up in my pyjamas. I did not always get things right, and as I never expected anyone else to read what I had written, I had no need to be what we now call ‘politically correct’. Even so, in this published version of my diary for June to November 1956, I have cut very little out. I was a well-brought-up boy, and when you see ‘f—’ in this book it is because I wrote ‘f—’ in my diary.

When the filming of The Prince and the Showgirl was over, it was many, many years before I dared to read my diary of that time again, just as it was many, many years before I could bring myself to see the film in a cinema. Even now I have trouble seeing past the pain and anxiety in Marilyn Monroe’s eyes.

This book is really all about Marilyn. For five months, whether she turned up or not, she dominated our every waking thought. I was the least important person in the whole studio, but I was in a wonderful position from which to observe. The Third Assistant Director is really a kind of superior messenger boy. I got to meet everyone and go everywhere, unencumbered by responsibilities which might tie me down, or narrow my viewpoint. No one can feel threatened by a 3rd Ast Dir (except perhaps the ‘extras’, who he has to keep under control), and most of the people involved in making the film felt they could be more open with me than with a possible rival. When the filming was completed I was almost the only person who was still on speaking terms with everyone else. That alone probably makes this diary unique.

The Prince and the Showgirl

Cast List

ELSIE MARINA Marilyn Monroe

THE REGENT OF CARPATHIA Laurence Olivier

THE QUEEN DOWAGER Sybil Thorndike

MR NORTHBROOK Richard Wattis

THE KING OF CARPATHIA Jeremy Spenser

MAJOR DOMO Paul Hardwick

MAISIE SPRINGFIELD Jean Kent

LADY SUNNINGDALE Maxine Audley

FANNY Daphne Anderson

BETTY Vera Day

MAGGIE Gillian Owen

FOREIGN OFFICE MINISTER David Horne

THEATRE DRESSER Gladys Henson

HOFFMAN Esmond Knight

LADIES-IN-WAITING Rosamund Greenwood Margot Lister

VALETS Dennis Edwards Andrea Melandrinos

Production Crew

PRODUCER AND DIRECTOR Laurence Olivier

EXECUTIVE IN CHARGE OF Hugh Perceval

PRODUCTION

EXECUTIVE PRODUCER Milton Greene

ASSOCIATE DIRECTOR Anthony Bushell

FIRST ASSISTANT DIRECTOR David Orton

DIRECTOR OF PHOTOGRAPHY Jack Cardiff

PRODUCTION DESIGNER Roger Furse

PRODUCTION MANAGER Teddy Joseph

ART DIRECTION Carmen Dillon

EDITOR Jack Harris

CONTINUITY Elaine Schreyck

CAMERA OPERATOR Denys Coop

SOUND RECORDISTS John Mitchell Gordon McCallum

LADIES’ COSTUMES Beatrice Dawson

MAKE-UP Toni Sforzini

HAIRDRESSING Gordon Bond

SET DRESSER Dario Simoni

SCREENPLAY Terence Rattigan

MUSIC COMPOSED BY Richard Addinsell

DANCES ARRANGED BY William Chappell

The Diaries

SUNDAY, 3 JUNE 1956

Now that University is behind me, I’m going to get a job – a real job on a real film. At 9 a.m. tomorrow I will be at Laurence Olivier’s film company to offer my services on his next production. The papers say it will star Marilyn Monroe, so it should be exciting.

Two weeks ago, Larry and Vivien came down to stay at Saltwood¹ for the weekend. Mama told Vivien that I wanted to be a film director. I was mortified, but Vivien just gave a great purr and said ‘Larry will give Colin a job, won’t you Larry darling!’ I could see Larry groan under his breath. ‘Go and see Hugh Perceval at 146 Piccadilly,’ he said. ‘He might have something.’

So that is where I have an appointment in the morning. And every night I am going to write this diary. It could be fun to look back on, when I am old and famous!

MONDAY, 4 JUNE

This is going to be really hard. I know absolutely nothing about making films. I’m totally ignorant. Did I really think they were actually shooting a film in Piccadilly?

At 10 a.m. I turned up at the office of Laurence Olivier Productions, punctual and sober.

The offices themselves are very few. A large luxurious reception area with sofas, a secretary’s office at the far end, and Mr Perceval’s office leading off that. It is clearly the ground floor of what was once a private house. The secretary, friendly but detached – would I wait. Mr Perceval was on the phone. Soon I was ushered in, anxious now. There didn’t seem to be enough going on. Mr P is a tall, thin, gloomy man with black-rim spectacles. His sparse black hair is brushed back and he has a black moustache. He puffs a pipe continually.

‘Yes. What do you want?’ (No introductions whatever.)

‘I want a job on the Marilyn Monroe film.’

‘Oh, ho, you do? What as?’

‘Anything.’

I suppose he could see that I was a complete fool and he softened a little.

‘Well. We don’t start filming for eight weeks. You really should come back then. At the moment we have no more offices than you can see here, and no jobs. I only have my chauffeur and my secretary. I am afraid I misunderstood Laurence. I thought you were coming to interview me about the film.’

Blind panic set in. I must say something.

‘Can I wait here until there is a job?’

‘For eight weeks??’

‘In the waiting room – in case something comes up?’

‘Grmph.’ Very gloomy, and bored now. ‘It’s a free country, I suppose. But I’m telling you, it’s going to be eight weeks. And then I can’t promise anything.’

Gets up and opens door.

‘Good day.’

I went out and sat down on one of the sofas in the waiting room. The secretary gave me a very cold look. She’s quite pretty, but is certainly not flirtatious.

I just didn’t know what to do. I had expected huge offices, even studios, lots of work going on – willing hands needed in every department, and a bit like the London Zoo when I turned up there and asked for a job as a keeper in ’53 (and got one!²).

So I just sat and waited.

At lunchtime I was saved by a friendly face. Gilman, Larry and Vivien’s chauffeur came in, brash and cockney as ever.

‘’Ullo Colin. What you doin’ ’ere?’

I explained.

‘Hmm. There’s no work here. I’ve got to get his nibs’ lunch. Come and have a drink in the pub.’

I went gratefully (but only ½ of bitter). Gilman told me what was going on. He was on loan to Perceval. Every morning he did errands, for Perceval or for Larry, and then came back here to get Perceval’s lunch. This never varied: two cheese rolls and a Guinness.

‘You won’t get work from him, Colin. Miserable bugger.’

‘Well, I’ve got nothing else in the world to do but wait, so I might as well wait.’

‘OK. Good luck. We can always have a pint together at lunchtime.’

We went back with Mr P’s sandwiches and drink and Gilman sped off in the Bentley. I waited until 6 p.m., when they all packed up and left.

‘Night all,’ said Mr P gloomily, without a glance at me. I had a large brandy and water in the pub. I’ll be back in the office tomorrow.

TUESDAY, 5 JUNE

I was there at 8.30. The secretary arrived at 8.55. Mr P punctually at nine. He just gave me a grim stare as he came in. Then he gets on the phone and stays there most of the day. He never smiles and he never raises his voice. The secretary gets the calls for him and then taps away at the typewriter. She is polite but not friendly. She treats me like a client. I wonder if she knows that ‘M and D’³ are friends of Larry and Vivien?

She went to lunch at 12.30 with her handbag and gloves. Gilman arrived at 12.45. Then we went to the pub, and got back with Mr P’s lunch at 1.15. I wonder if this is a regular situation. Maybe I can make something out of it. Mr P grumbles at the delay but Gilman is irrepressible.

Vivien had told me why she had hired Gilman. He was a relief driver, sent along when their old chauffeur was ill. On the first day, as he drove her and Larry down Bond Street, he suddenly slammed on the brakes. ‘Cor. Look, what a lovely waistcoat!’ he cried, pointing to a very exclusive man’s-shop window. Vivien adores that sort of unspoilt character and hired him on the spot. Needless to say he now worships both of them, and is fanatically loyal. He is a Barnardo boy and very tough, so Larry probably thinks he is a good bodyguard for Vivien too. He certainly is a good pal to me and saves my life when he appears.

I get a bit nervous in my role as the invisible man. But I was more relaxed there today, and so was the secretary.

Now I’ve got to use my head.

WEDNESDAY, 6 JUNE

Yes. There is a pattern, and it should be possible to exploit it.

I am completely ignored all morning, but as there is no door between the waiting room and the secretary’s office, I hear quite a lot. Also, she often leaves Mr P’s door open when she is in there with him.

Today I didn’t go to the pub with Gillers. I just gave him a wink which he picked up immediately. This meant Mr P was alone for 45 minutes. During this time, he keeps on working and the phones keep ringing.

He has three lines. I just ignored them, but after five minutes he opened his door and glared at the empty secretary’s desk. Then he slammed his door shut again. Two minutes of phone ringing later, he opened it again and glared some more, this time at me.

‘You still here? Well you might as well answer the phone. Don’t think you’ve got a job, though. There’s no chance of that at all.’

He slammed out.

Phone rings. Mr P answers. Next phone rings.

‘Hello. Is that Laurence Olivier Productions?’

‘Yes. Can I help you.’

‘Is Sir Laurence there?’

‘No, I’m afraid he’s in America until the end of the week.’

‘Oh. Thank you. I’ll ring next week.’

‘Any message?’

‘No thank you.’

Click. Mr P’s door opens.

‘How did you know that Sir Laurence is in America until the end of the week?’

‘I heard him tell my mother.’

‘Hmph. Why didn’t you put the call through to me?’ (There is a buzzer on each phone.)

‘There didn’t seem to be a need to bother you. But if you want every single call . . .’

‘Hmph.’

Door slams again. Phone rings.

‘Laurence Olivier Productions.’ I’m chirpy now!

‘Is Mr Perceval there?’

‘Certainly. Whom shall I say is calling?’

‘The Daily Mirror.’

‘Hold on please.’ Click. Bzzz. ‘Yes?’

‘The Daily Mirror for you.’

‘Hmph.’

I put through about eight calls, and I was beginning to enjoy it when the secretary (Vanessa) came back at 1.30. She didn’t look very happy at first, but I had left her a note of all calls and messages, so she began to smile again.

Finally Gillers returned with Mr P’s rolls and Guinness. He was 20 minutes late and he gave me another terrific wink, which I was frightened that Mr P saw, but he gave no sign.

I had hoped to go back to the pub for my lunch with Gillers, but Mr P sent him straight down to Notley.⁴ So I had to go alone. I had a large pink gin with my sandwich, and sure enough no one addressed a word to me all afternoon.

But it doesn’t matter. At least I have a role to play from 12.30 to 1.30. I must make the most of it.

FRIDAY, 8 JUNE

By now Mr P takes it for granted that I am on duty at lunchtime. Only one week here and already I am part of the furniture.

Being efficient is the easy part. Suppressing one’s ego completely for hours at a time is really hard. Gilman phoned in to say he was staying with Vivien all day, and what Vivien wants, Vivien gets; no question of that.

I went round to the pub and got two cheese rolls and a Guinness before Vanessa left at 12.30. Then at 12.45 I walked silently into Mr P’s office and put it on his desk. Mr P was on the phone – a long-distance call to America (he must have got someone out of bed). He puffed at his pipe and gave me a mournful stare over the top of his hornrim glasses. I think he realises I’m going to win in the end! I crept out and shut the door without a word from either of us.

When Vanessa came back, I left. ‘See you Monday,’ I said. ‘8.30 sharp.’ She just laughed, but in a friendly way. I’ll bet she reports every word I say to Mr P. At the same time, her private life is obviously more important to her than her job – unlike Mr P, or me for that matter. So she is really a non-combatant.

After lunch I got in the car and came down here to Saltwood for a break.

‘How is the new job?’ asked Mama.

‘Very good.’

‘Settling in nicely? It was kind of Larry to give it to you.’

But she is too shrewd to be convinced. Actually I don’t think she believes either of her sons can get a good job or ever will.

I told Celly⁵ the minimum. She is incredibly sympathetic as usual, but she leads such a busy life that I didn’t think I could quite explain my ‘wait eight weeks’ policy. It does sound a bit hopeless when looked at from down here, but I am committed to it.

MONDAY, 11 JUNE

I was surprised to find myself glad to be back at 146 Piccadilly at 8.30 this morning.

Vanessa turned up at 8.55 with another girl. Are there to be two secretaries from now on? Mr P has moved faster than I thought, hence the mournful stare. My heart went to my boots, but incredibly, at 12.30 they both went out together for lunch. By this time I had already rushed out to the pub and got Mr P’s two cheese rolls and Guinness. If Gilman had turned up I would have explained, but luckily he didn’t, so I was alone as usual. Vanessa and her companion regard me with complete indifference and don’t seem to be bothered by Mr P either. They chattered away all morning as if he hardly mattered, except for phone calls and typing. I think he is scared of them. When I took his lunch in at 12.45 he didn’t even look up. ‘War of nerves’. However, by 1 p.m. he needed help.

‘I need to find the telephone number of someone called Noël Coward.’

He pronounced the name very carefully as if I was an idiot.

‘It won’t be in the telephone book. You will have to call X, and he will know the number of Y, and Y should know Mr Coward’s number. He will give it to you if you say you are calling for me.’

‘Yes, Mr Perceval.’

I rang Saltwood.

‘Oh Col, how lovely to hear you.’ (I had only been gone 14 hours.)

‘Mama, this is urgent. I need Noël Coward’s phone number in England, right away.’

‘How exciting.’ I could hear Mama looking at her voluminous card index. ‘Here it is.’

Straight into Mr P’s office with the number on a piece of paper. No time to check it. I put it on his desk: noël coward and the number.

‘Hmph.’ Dark look. ‘That was very quick.’ Grudgingly: ‘Good.’

Ah, these tiny triumphs! And it must have been the right number or he would certainly have complained.

I stayed late to savour my success and try to glean something from the girls’ gossip. Absolutely nothing.

But Mr P said ‘Goodnight Colin’ as he went out.

TUESDAY, 12 JUNE

At 11 o’clock, a boring morning was interrupted by much kerfuffle outside.

Then in strode Larry. He was taken aback to see me (probably couldn’t recognise me at first) but managed ‘Hello, dear boy’ before disappearing into Mr P’s office. I expect his first question was ‘Who the hell’s that?’ and the second ‘What the hell’s he doing here?’

A few seconds later in comes Vivien, followed by a grinning Gilman. (He will have briefed her after Larry left the car. Vivien is never caught off guard!)

‘Colin, darling.’

Vivien comes up so close to me that our noses are almost touching. She gives a pleading look: ‘Please look after my darling Larry for me, will you?’

She flutters her eyelids, gives a small quick confidential smile and sweeps off into Mr P’s office, ignoring the two girls. I am left standing in the middle of the reception room, as if struck by lightning. Vivien does pack about 100,000 volts, and she completely stuns me. The two secretaries are equally dumbfounded.

After 10 minutes, Vivien reappears, kisses me on both cheeks, with her lips pointing at my ears, and goes off with Gilman. Larry stays about an hour. As he goes out he says: ‘Do find this dear boy something to do, Hughie.’

Then a very charming and sincere goodbye to each secretary before he and Mr P go off for lunch at the Ivy.

After five minutes, the girls had recovered their composure and went out to lunch, again together, leaving me to answer the phones and take messages. They now regard me as a convenient fixture, but I wonder what they would have done if I didn’t exist. The same I expect.

When Mr P comes back he says: ‘I might have a job for you tomorrow, Colin. (Colin!!) Just one day’s work, mind. Nothing permanent, you hear. No chance of that. So be in early in the morning.’

Hasn’t he noticed that I am always here first? Maybe it’s part of his ‘Keep Colin in his place’ strategy. Anyway I’ve refused a really good party tonight. I hope my virtue is rewarded.

WEDNESDAY, 13 JUNE

Work at last.

I arrived at 8.30 and Mr P came in almost immediately. Vanessa too. (She must have been warned!)

‘Come straight in, Colin.’

Mr P had a problem.

MM’s publicity man is coming to London tomorrow. He wants to see the house MM is going to stay in while she is in England for the filming. Mr P hates publicity men and thinks this one is fussing much too early. Naturally no one has started to look at houses yet.

Mr P wants me to find a suitable house today. It must be no more than 40 minutes’ drive from Pinewood Studios and no more than 40 minutes’ drive from central London. Minimum three double bedrooms and three bathrooms plus ample servants’ quarters. It must be surrounded by gardens and well off a main road. It must be ultra-luxurious. Price no object.

‘Check the estate agents. You can have one of these phone lines all morning. Report back to me by 5 p.m. I’m putting my trust in you. Don’t let me down.’

My mind was racing. I walked out of the offices and went and sat in the car. 40 minutes was about 20 miles. I didn’t even know where Pinewood Studios were. I got out the AA map, found Pinewood and made a rough 20-mile arc around it. Ah-hah. Ascot. I walked down Piccadilly to the St James’s Club.

‘Morning Mr Colin.’

‘Morning Lockhart. Mr Cotes-Preedy in yet?’

‘Not yet, but he’s always in by noon.’

‘Good.’

Enough time for a hearty breakfast. Last year Tim R⁶ and I had rented a tiny cottage from Mr Cotes-Preedy’s wife. They lived in the big house, Tibbs Farm, opposite Ascot Racecourse. It was up a long drive and was exactly what Mr P had specified. Mrs C-P is a splendid lady – much older than her husband and looking like a macaw, but somehow attractive and even sexy. They were both very fond of money, like all the Ascot crowd.

After breakfast, I still had a long wait, and I made a lot more phone calls. I’m going to try to pull off a stunt. If I don’t do something to surprise Mr P I’ll be sitting in that waiting room forever.

By the time Mr C-P arrived I was all fired up. Mr C-P is a lawyer. He was surprised to see me but he did remember me – he’s seen me occasionally in the bar. I put the proposition to him in stages.

‘Rent the main house? Out of the question. Mrs C-P would never agree . . . £100 per week!!! For 18 weeks? Famous film star?’ He simply shot to the phone to call Mrs C-P and came back all smiles.

Copious drinks bought for everyone in the bar. (Only one for me.) Some more frantic phone calls, lunch, and back to Mr P by 3 p.m.

Raised eyebrows. ‘Hmph. Hmph. Hmph.’ But he didn’t dare call my bluff.

‘Have you got a car?’

‘Yes.’

‘You are to be at the Savoy Hotel at 9 a.m. tomorrow and ask for Mr Arthur P. Jacobs.⁷ He’s MM’s publicity man and he has to approve the house. Take him to see it in your car and then bring him back here to me.’

I left and came straight home. I rang Mr C-P to confirm that Mrs C-P would be ready for us, and then washed the car, inside and out.

Now I can’t sleep because of my gamble, but, to be honest, I haven’t that much to lose. Just an awful lot to gain.

THURSDAY, 14 JUNE

I got to the Savoy at 8.45 a.m. At nine I went in and told the concierge. He looked up Jacobs and said he had a wake-up call booked for 10 a.m. (!) so I went back and sat in the car until eleven, then checked again. ‘Yes, he had been called at 10 a.m.,’ and ‘Don’t bother me again, you serf,’ implied.

At 11.30, APJ emerged. Close-cropped black hair, pugnacious, bad tempered, puffy face. Naturally no apology – not even good morning or hello. He looked at my car with great disgust and got in.

He was carrying one copy of every single newspaper you can buy, and these he proceeded to read until we were on the A4 by the airport. Then quite suddenly he wound down his window and threw the whole lot out. I could see them in my mirror, blowing all over the road, blinding other drivers. It seemed to me the single most anti-social act I had ever seen. I couldn’t resist a protest.

‘In England we do not normally behave like that,’ I said icily.

‘Whadja talking about?’

‘Throwing all those newspapers out of the window. They caused a terrible mess.’

‘I’d finished with them.’

Nothing more to say.

I can’t believe everyone does that in America. He’s just a totally egocentric and insensitive boor, and that’s that.

But I soon had my revenge. The passenger seat back on the Bristol rests on two chrome ‘cams’. If I corner too fast to the left it slips off these cams, and falls back flat. The first corner I came to off the A4 was a left-hander. I was grinding my teeth with rage and consequently driving faster than normal. Suffice it to say that for a fraction of a second Mr Jacobs thought that he was falling through the bottom of the car onto the road. Of course I stopped and helped him to sit up again, with many sincere apologies. But he looked pale, and at last he actually noticed who I was for a fleeting moment.

We were very late for Mrs C-P at Tibbs, but the house is exactly as I remembered it. Thick gold Wilton, heavy curtains, eau-de-nil bathrooms etc. surrounded by dark foliage. Mrs C-P all charm and very excited: ‘Your friends were here,’ she said to me but APJ, unremittingly odious, took no notice.

After 20 minutes we drove back to Piccadilly. No lunch of course. I suppose APJ had had a healthy breakfast at the Savoy, but I’d had nothing since seven and I was in a bad temper.

‘Well?’ said Mr P, after giving APJ a patently false show of comradeship.

‘Not bad, I suppose,’ said APJ – just as I thought he would – and shut Mr P’s office door in my face. I went out for lunch and made another phone call.

At 5 p.m. I wandered back in. It was now or never. Luckily it was now.

Mr P’s office door was open. ‘They want to see you right away,’ said Vanessa. ‘I’m afraid they’re rather angry.’

‘Good,’ I said and marched in. APJ was in a corner, his face black with rage. ‘Colin,’ said Mr P, very growly, ‘Have you seen this?’ He held out the Evening Standard.

Headline: ‘This is the house Marilyn Monroe will live in while in England blah blah.’ Picture of Tibbs Farm.

‘Yes, I have.’

‘There is only one person who could have given the papers this story.’

‘You must have given it to them before I even saw the house,’ said APJ through clenched teeth.

‘Of course I gave it to them.’

‘Well now you’ve ruined everything. It was the perfect house, but once the press know of it, it is out of the question. Couldn’t you have realised it had to stay a secret?’

‘It wasn’t the perfect house this morning.’

Mr P: ‘Colin. What’s going on?’ He is a shrewd old bean. He knows that I like and admire him. He can’t stand APJ and can see that I can’t stand him either. Suddenly I saw it cross his mind, ‘Maybe I can trust Colin after all.’

‘When you told me to get a house for MM yesterday, I took the precaution of finding two. I showed Mr Jacobs the least good first. Now the press will always think that MM is staying there and we can rent the second house for her to live in. The second house is much better. It belongs to a Lord. I can take Mr Jacobs to see it now, or tomorrow morning, if he’d like. It is only a couple of miles from the first house, but it is much more elegant.’

Mr P: ‘And what are we going to say to the owners of the first house?’

‘I thought perhaps the production team could use it.’

‘What do you know about production teams?’

Before I could admit to total ignorance, APJ suddenly recovered his composure. ‘Hey, Milton and Amy could use it. It would be perfect. Near the studio, near Marilyn.’ Now he was the PR man, selling it to us. I suppose that in Hollywood people like him have to jump backward somersaults every day.

Mr P: ‘OK, that’s settled then. Arrange for both houses to be rented from 9 July, for four months. By the way, how much are they?’

‘£100 per week, each.’

Mr P’s eyebrows went up. Then he brightened. ‘Well, it comes out of Marilyn Monroe Productions’ budget.’

‘Don’t you want to see the other house?’ (I was really proud of it.)

‘Nah, no need, we trust you boy.’ Arthur had completely changed sides, and probably did not fancy another trip in the Bristol. Mr P nodded towards the door, and I left. Soon APJ left too. ‘See you, kid,’ to me. ‘Bye, sweetheart,’ to the secretaries. Then Mr P: ‘See you tomorrow, Colin.’ Just a hint of a smile.

I call that victory.

FRIDAY, 15 JUNE

And a victory it is.

On Monday I start working on the staff of LOP Ltd, at £8.10s. per week, as Mr P’s assistant. When I came in this morning, Mr P called me into his office and actually gave a grin. Somehow Arthur Jacobs had persuaded himself that the whole house business was his triumph and had gone away (to Paris) happy. Mr P loathes him – quite rightly, he’s a bullying shit – and sees it as his success, a problem neatly solved by a member of his staff (!).

‘Never trust that Hollywood crowd, Colin. The better you are, the more likely they are to stab you in the back.’

The secretaries already knew of my appointment and offered friendly congratulations. I’ve been living in their office for two weeks only now am I officially one of them. It means that I can share the gossip with Vanessa, which will be useful as well as fun.

Gilman bounded in and gave a whoop of delight. ‘You can get his lunch now – official!’

It did seem rather wasteful for Sir Laurence and Lady Olivier’s Bentley and chauffeur to be sent in every day just to get Mr P a cheese roll. The pub is only 100 yards away, but that’s showbiz.

It seems that as from Monday there will be another LOP production office at Pinewood. They will have the job of hiring all the personnel and facilities needed to make the film, and the Pinewood accounts office will pay people too – including me. Mr P promised to take me down to look over the studios in a few weeks’ time.

‘We’d better try to get you a job on the production side for later on. You won’t want to stay with me once filming starts.’

He has become quite fatherly. I rang Cotes-Preedy who is very excited. Naturally he believes the newspaper report that MM is going to stay in his house, and I did not disabuse him. Then I rang Garrett Moore,⁸ who owns house No 2. A bit of panic when he said the whole thing was off, but I guessed the problem. ‘£100 a week is not enough,’ he said severely. He is extremely astute and can somehow tell he has me over a barrel. I had told him, on pain of death to keep it a secret, that MM was going to be the tenant, and since he fancies himself as God’s gift to women, I knew he was not going to refuse. I’ll bet he secretly thinks that he will get to meet her and that she will be unable to resist his languid charm. Eventually we settled for £120 per week. Mr P had said ‘Price no object’, so I didn’t bother to check back with him. But I did insist on going down to Parkside House over the weekend. I just can’t resist meeting Garrett’s wife, Joan.⁹ She is incredibly beautiful. I hope the house is also as attractive as I remember it. Right now I’m going out to get sloshed at the Stork.¹⁰ To eat, drink and, as Al Burnett would say, ‘Make Merry.’

MONDAY, 18 JUNE

A great weekend. On Friday night I told all the girls about my job. They were very impressed and I succeeded in getting Yvonne into bed at last. She is tough as an alley cat on the surface but quite scared underneath – like an alley cat is, I suppose. She is really too moody for me, but she was just the company I needed to stop me getting big-headed. After all, I’m not exactly going to direct MM in a movie yet.

I had quite a hangover on Saturday, but I spent Sunday sleeping in the garden and today I felt really good.

This morning Mr P gave me quite a cheerful, for him, ‘Hello Colin,’ when he came in. Mind you, if you didn’t know him, you’d have thought he was going to a funeral. He must have a wardrobe full of the same clothes as he never varies what he wears, day by day. Brown tweed suit, dark brown shoes, pale brown shirt, brown tie etc. Gilman said he’d never ever seen him in anything else. (There is a Mrs P. I wonder what she thinks?) After a bit, Mr P called me into the office.

‘You might as well know everything we are doing if you are to be any use.’

He showed me a huge squared-off sheet of paper, covered in columns and names and shaded squares.

This is really Mr P’s pride and joy, his chef d’oeuvre, his bible. It is called a cross-plot. It has been cunningly worked out so that Pinewood’s studios A and B can be alternated, with different ‘sets’ being built on one stage while the other was being used for filming.

To get the most out of each set the film is not shot in chronological order. If there is a scene in a particular room at the beginning of the story and another scene at the end in the same room, then they will both be filmed together. This is especially hard for film actors who have to develop a character in fits and starts.

The major actors also have to be fitted into the cross-plot so that we get the most out of them in the shortest time. Dame Sybil Thorndike,¹¹ for instance, is going to play Sir Laurence’s mother-in-law (no more ‘Larry’ now that I’m officially working for him). But she is also booked for a West End stage play, so all her scenes have to be shot first if possible and most should be finished before the play begins. (Some of her scenes need special effects and these can be put in later.) SLO¹² and MM and Richard Wattis¹³ are in virtually all the scenes so they don’t influence the cross-plot much.

MM has a terrible reputation for being late on the set, and not turning up at all on some days. Mr P has scheduled her to do all her scenes first with a long list of alternate shots, cutaways and reactions which can be put in at short notice if MM is not available.

‘What happens if shooting gets a week behind? The whole plan will collapse.’

Mr P grinned a Machiavellian grin and pulled out a second sheet and a third.

‘We just switch sheets. Warner Bros will never know.’

I gather that Warner Bros is lending LOP and MMP the money to make the film. Already I hear Mr P say: ‘Charge it to MMP’ pretty frequently. I wonder if MMP is MM herself, or a group of people backing her.

I don’t dare ask anything about MM. It seems in bad taste, like asking about childbirth. Anyway my job is to be preparing for MM’s arrival. Police, press, chauffeur, bodyguard, servants, redecorations, everything to delight her eye and soothe her nerves. She must be a very difficult lady. I can’t believe anyone is so unreasonable and silly, that they have to be spoiled so much. What would Nanny have said?

TUESDAY, 19 JUNE

Six weeks until filming starts and a lot to prepare. Mr P depends on me a lot now but of course he won’t need me at all when it does. Today a David Orton came in, and Mr P warned me that on him my future in the production would depend. He is going to be 1st Assistant Director. This does not mean SLO’s assistant (SLO being the director), but the man in charge of seeing that everyone in the studio does what they are told.

‘He’s a sort of sergeant major,’ explained Mr P.

This didn’t sound very attractive and I can’t say I liked him at all. Blondish-mousy hair, a thin face and glasses which he is forever pushing up onto the bridge of his nose with his forefinger. He did not take to me either:

‘Have you worked on a film before?’

‘No.’

‘Then forget it. If you haven’t made a film already then you aren’t in the union, and there is no way in which you can work on a film, in any capacity.’

Very funny! It seems the union is the ACT, the Association of Cinematograph Technicians, and they are a famous ‘closed shop’. (No card, no film; no film, no card.)

So Mr Orton advised me to stay in Mr P’s office. This is very disappointing. Mr P has already told me I can’t stay in his office after production begins. And anyway I want to be a film director, not producer.

Mr P cheered me up by telling me to go down to see Diana Dors’¹⁴ house tomorrow. It is somewhere near Ascot or maybe Henley. I’ve only got the phone number so far. Her agent has learned that MM is looking for something for the summer and thinks it might be good publicity if they could swap houses. Of course we already have two houses, for MM and her manager, but I suppose some other creeps like APJ might arrive from America so I’ll go and look.

Diana Dors always seems very sexy, even if extremely common. A bit of a tart.

WEDNESDAY, 20 JUNE

Diana Dors is divine. She’s as vulgar and cheeky as I imagined from her films, but with a hilarious sense of humour. She never stops cracking jokes and telling stories. Her conversations peppered with F—s and C—s.

Her house is near the river, although I couldn’t see it, as she has a huge indoor pool. She and a starlet friend were sitting by the pool in bikinis when I arrived. DD is smaller than you would think in real life. I suppose the camera exaggerates her on purpose. She is quite a pretty girl, and her friend was even prettier but not so vivacious. DD could not care less about the house swap but she did want to hear about MM. It was quite a let-down when I was forced to admit that I hadn’t met MM yet. DD got bored very quickly, so to liven things up she and her friend both took off their bikini tops and jumped into the pool. That got my attention all right. There were two workmen hammering at something at the far end and their eyes stood out like organ stops. They just downed tools and stared.

Both girls have beautiful, quite small breasts but I must admit that they were so brazen that I was more embarrassed than rapacious. They must have been on the game together in the old days, is my guess.

The house is much too small for MM or her retinue, and has no class at all. With this film, MM is trying to go up in the world, not down. So I left silently and reported back to Mr P. He just chuckled. He hates film stars really.

THURSDAY, 21 JUNE

Thank goodness, I was completely wrong about David Orton. Underneath that severe exterior he is a very nice man. He is just awkward with people until he knows them.

He is married to a pretty, jolly make-up girl called Penny, who picked him up this evening. His world is the film studio, where he is in charge of course, and he is very experienced. He gave me a long explanation about how film studios work. Like in every job, there is a hierarchy which is very important. This is true in each department – the lighting cameraman is head of one group, and pretty much above everyone except the director, the designer has his crew – set-dressers, down to chippies (carpenters); there is wardrobe, make-up, film editing etc., each with their own structure. The Director has an Associate Director, but his right-hand man is the 1st Assistant Director – David in our case.

The lowest of the low is the 3rd Assistant Director who is known as a ‘gofer’. Anyone can tell him to ‘go for this, go for that’.

This is the job he’ll try to get for me, but even a 3rd Ast Dir needs a union card and that is the hardest thing in the world to get: actually it is the same card as a director needs to work on a film, but it is a different grade. David has promised to try and come up with a scheme to get round the union ‘closed shop’ rule. I trust him.

Mr P has other worries and so has SLO. I’m not surprised. I saw the play on which the film is going to be based: The Sleeping Prince. Larry and Vivien did it together – at the Phoenix Theatre in 1953–4¹⁵ – and it was a very slight piece indeed. Typical Rattigan¹⁶ – theatrical, charming and that’s all. Vivien was enchanting as ever, despite a funny accent. But I thought Larry was at his worst. He has an old-fashioned notion that it is funny to play European royalty, and he gets wooden and mannered. The whole play ended up like a sort of 1930s in-joke – hardly Hollywood. I can’t see it being a good role for MM. I suppose she thinks it will enhance her new ‘intellectual’ image. She will certainly have been told what a fantastic opportunity it is to play opposite the greatest classical actor of the generation etc. But Rattigan is no Shakespeare. Unless MM is cleverer than she looks, she will find it jolly hard to mix her style with Olivier’s. She is said to be reading Dostoevsky or War and Peace or something so maybe she will surprise us all. Diana Dors surprised me, but she’s more a crafty cockney than an intellectual.

FRIDAY, 22 JUNE

SLO came in, in quite a state. Problems already. After a bit I was called in to Mr P’s office to ‘join the discussions’ – providing I do not speak unless asked a direct question! It seems that MM is going to marry Arthur Miller¹⁷ this weekend. What sort of an effect will that have on her? And on the production? Will Miller persuade her not to come, and whisk her off on a glamorous honeymoon? SLO says he is a self-satisfied, argumentative, pseudo-intellectual. Charming. Will he help MM or make her argumentative too? She has a dreadful reputation already among movie directors. She is always late on the set, often does not show up for days on end, and can never remember her lines. What on earth can be the matter?

Her producer, and the co-producer of the film, with SLO, is called Milton Greene.¹⁸ It is for him that I have rented Tibbs Farm. He will be responsible for MM while she is here, making sure she does turn up and keeping an eye on the expenses. But it seems he does not like Arthur Miller. He got MM out of her 20th Century contract, together with a lawyer called Irving Stein.¹⁹ Evidently Milton Greene has given SLO his assurance that he can make MM behave herself.

After all it is her own money that is involved this time. Marilyn Monroe Productions (MMP) has a big share in the profits, just like LOP. If MM doesn’t turn up for work, then she (and her partners, Greene and Stein²⁰) start losing money. That is the theory. I don’t know if it has occurred to any of them that while the three men involved (MG, IS and AM) want money, MM may be more interested in her career, but I didn’t dare say so. Poor SLO. He is already upset enough. He doesn’t trust any of the Americans and is out of his depth.

‘What have I got myself into, Colin?’

‘I think it will be a fantastic success, Larry,’ I replied (using Larry for the last time, I swear it).

Mr P beamed in the background. His prodigy had said the right thing. ‘Success for her or success for me?’ said SLO but he was comforted for the moment (so easily?!).

And on top of AM there is the problem of the Strasbergs.²¹ Lee Strasberg is the head of the Actors’ Studio in New York, where MM sometimes studies (like once??). He is her god. He doesn’t want to come over to London and desert his other students so he is sending over his wife, Paula. Paula Strasberg is a famous menace. As MM’s ‘drama coach’ she could undermine SLO.

Naturally SLO wants a professional actor’s approach. MM learns the role and decides how to play it; SLO makes suggestions, they discuss them, MM alters her performance accordingly etc. What will Paula’s approach be? How will she fit in between them?

Throughout all this, a new idea has occurred to me. A couple of years ago, Lee and Paula’s daughter Susan completely stole my heart in a film called Picnic. Susan played the kid sister of a blonde called Kim Novak. KN was meant to be the beautiful one and SS the ugly duckling – aged about 15, I suppose. Needless to say SS was 100 times more attractive than Novak in every way. I am a complete sucker for little skinny girls with big brown eyes. At the time I fell in love with Susan Strasberg, I had only just got over Pier Angeli marrying some dreadful Hollywood crooner.²² I could hardly stop myself from asking whether Paula was bringing her daughter with her. I suppose not, but with luck, Susan might visit her Mum.

Anyway, I kept quiet.

Mr P and SLO had a long moan about Hollywood and Hollywood types and agents, lawyers, producers, stars. I don’t think SLO is jealous. After all he and Vivien have both had huge Hollywood successes. He just can’t stand the lack of professionalism. He sees ‘the Method’, which originates in New York, of course, but influences all the new Hollywood stars, as an excuse for self-indulgence.

Everyone is seduced by MM’s particular form of glamour and SLO fears he has fallen into a trap. MM is not like any leading lady he’s ever known and he can’t fathom it. He can’t figure out whether she has a brain in her head or not. He knows he’s a very attractive man, but she doesn’t seem to have really noticed him. She only sees his reputation. She’ll be here in three weeks and then we’ll find out.

It’s true that I don’t think of SLO as a movie star, despite Henry V and all the films he’s made. I think of him as a great actor. How will a ‘star’ and an actor mix. They’ll have to find somewhere to meet between the sky and the stage.

I know I want to be a professional, like SLO. If I get a job on the film, I must stick to him like glue!

MONDAY, 25 JUNE

The whole office is busy planning for MM’s arrival. Frequent directions arrive from America about the colours she likes, the materials she likes, the decorations she likes. The dressing-room suite at Pinewood is to be all beige. In fact beige is the only colour everyone agrees is safe. Red is out. Blue is out. Green is out. It is as if these colours were enemies.

Garrett and Joan are having the master bedroom suite at Englefield Green repainted white. They say they hate beige and won’t change it. I told them I was having their village renamed Englefield Beige. For the money we (well, MMP to be accurate) are paying them, they could repaint the whole house many times over, but Garrett is too mean.

I made an appointment for Thursday with the police at Heathrow Airport to plan MM’s arrival on 14 July. The Inspector thought I was kidding at first. But when I threatened 3000 fans he took me seriously.

Evidently when the crooner Johnny Ray came through, he – the Inspector – had his little finger broken in the mêlée. Johnny Ray’s publicity people had gone down to the East End and filled up four buses with slum teenagers. They gave each one 10 shillings to cause as much pandemonium as possible when Ray appeared. This they duly did, and Johnny Ray’s arrival was instant front-page news.

The Inspector says if we plan something like this he will personally have me arrested. I assure him that SLO himself has entrusted me with the job of getting MM into the country as discreetly as possible. He is still doubtful but I can tell that even he cannot resist the chance of meeting MM in the flesh. Her name has a magic effect.

People who are going to be associated with the production of the film drift in.

Roger Furse²³ is going to be the designer. I have met him before with Vivien – I think at Notley. He always seems to have a hangover, never stops smoking. He ran out of Capstans and cadged three of my Woodbines. (I never get time to smoke anything larger.) Mr P won’t allow me to smoke in his office, despite his continual pipe puffing. I find Roger very sympathetic but Mr P clearly does not.

‘Never trust the dirty fingernail brigade, Colin,’ he said after Roger had left. ‘They pretend to be only doing it for their art, but they are always trying to wangle more money.’

I took a quick squint at my fingernails – not that clean. I need the job, not the money, but I suppose that I must admit I am prepared to wangle.

My worry is that Roger is rather too ‘stagey’. The more SLO surrounds himself with stage people, the more ‘stagey’ the film will be. Perhaps that’s the intention – to make the film a sort of period piece – rich, theatrical and far from MM’s normal image.

Jolly hard to pull off though. SLO may like it and MM may like it, but will filmgoers pay to see it?

TUESDAY, 26 JUNE

Another ‘old friend’ today.

Tony Bushell²⁴ roared in at 12.30 to meet SLO and Rattigan for lunch. Tony looks like a bluff military man – bald, red faced and jovial. In fact he was in the Guards during the war and almost everyone forgets he is an actor.

David Niven told Mama that when Tony applied to join some grand regiment, the Adjutant asked him what he did for a living.

‘Nothing at the moment,’ said Tony, who, like all actors, was out of work.

‘Thank goodness,’ said the Adjutant, assuming Tony was idle rich, ‘I thought you might be an actor. The last actor chappie we had ran off with the Colonel’s wife.’

So Tony got in, and sure enough, ran off with the wife of someone in the regiment.

Very adorable she is too. Anne Bushell is a great friend of Vivien’s, as Tony is of SLO’s. In fact Anne talks exactly like Vivien (though she is not an actress at all – she is an heiress), and when she answers the phone at Notley one can’t tell the difference. She is not as beautiful as Vivien (no one is) but she is still very attractive – as well as a good deal easier to be with.

Tony boomed a great welcome to me. He is going to be the Associate Director. This means that while SLO is acting in front of the camera, Tony will take charge behind it, and ‘direct’ the film.

I don’t think Tony could direct traffic in Cheltenham. Despite his imposing appearance he is really a pussy cat. But SLO needs a chum to guard his rear, as it were, and it is a great joy to have Tony around. He has a heart the size of a house which he loves to hide behind a glare. I’ve met Rattigan too, but he didn’t remember me. He’s queer of course, although I’ve nothing against that. He’s charming to everyone but with a cautious look in his eye. I can’t pretend I think he’s much cop as a writer. Very 1920s period stuff. Of course, there’s always an edge but if there wasn’t even that his plays would just be blancmange.

SLO and Vivien probably know this but they love to have queer courtiers, and Rattigan’s plays are quite good vehicles for actors.

They all went off to the Ivy in high good spirits. Like a lot of overgrown schoolboys, I thought.

‘Hmph’ said Mr P as we settled down to the cheese rolls and Guinnesses – which I buy and we now consume together in his office.

WEDNESDAY, 27 JUNE

Mr P has finally admitted that MM may need a bodyguard. The newspapers are making such a fuss of her and the upcoming visit. You would think that her fans are massing at strategic points to trample her to death in the rush for her autograph. ‘Phooey’ we say, but we can’t take risks, and anyway the cost will come out of MMP’s budget.

Mr P has no idea how to arrange a bodyguard so I rang Scotland Yard. When I finally got through to someone senior enough, they were incredulous and angry.

‘Miss Marilyn Monroe will be adequately protected by the police while in this country like every other American visitor,’ said some Commissioner sniffily. I patiently explained that if there was a retired Inspector around who would like to spend four months in Miss Monroe’s company for a high salary I would like his name.

Once again the magical MM image made a strong man wilt. In fact I think the Commissioner sounded as if he might resign there and then to take the job. (Imagine what he could tell the wife – line of duty and all that.) He would have someone call me in the afternoon. And he did call – a real Inspector Plod. He was cautious and realistic – quiet sense of humour, not overawed. Sounds just what Mr P and I need. I invited him to come here to meet us in a week’s time.

Tomorrow I’m going to Heathrow to see those police. (I may mention Plod’s name.) It’s to be a conference. I am afraid they are expecting someone older than me but it can’t be helped. I’ll just have to play the officer to the hilt. The RAF wasn’t exactly the Life Guards, but I do know how. Most of those senior cops are just sergeant-majors at heart. As soon as they realise that I am serious, they’ll settle down.

THURSDAY, 28 JUNE

The police at the airport were very suspicious. They assumed that I had come out there to arrange some sort of publicity stunt. Luckily I have experience of this sort of planning – defending Dalcross airport against infiltration²⁵ – and I managed to get their interest. Which corridor, which car park, which tunnel etc.

SLO really does want a very low-key reception for MM. He and Vivien will come to meet her. The press can have a short question and answer session plus pictures in a room especially set up between Immigration and the cars. MM and AM have to go through Immigration and Customs, no matter what, but the police have promised to whisk them through alone.

So together we planned the whole thing like a military manoeuvre. I ended by telling them not to alter our plan in any way unless advised by me. (Milton Greene and Irving Stein and some publicity types are coming in ahead of MM and Mr P says that they are certain to try to change everything.)

In the end the cops became great chums. They all want to be the one who stands next to MM and protects her from the mob. She has that effect on all men, I guess. They certainly do not want a riot in their airport. Memories of Johnny Ray are all too recent. I was very Old Etonian Guards officer visiting the Sergeants’ Mess, even though they are in black tunics covered in silver braid. But we understood one another.

David Orton came in again this afternoon. He gets nicer and nicer, and receives my plaintive enquiries about a job with twinkles and winks.

‘Wait until next week. It’s the middle of summer, you know.’

What can that mean? I know it is summer. It is extremely hot. But I trust him to help. I’m very lucky that he has become a friend.

FRIDAY, 29 JUNE

Garrett Moore is being very difficult about Parkside House again. What about the phone bill? What about the mess and the possible damage? I keep telling him that it will only be MM, AM and a Scotland Yard detective – although in reality I’m none too sure about this. There are always hangers-on, but they are meant to be at Tibbs Farm.

The Moores’ servants will stay on at the house for MM, paid by Garrett who will be recompensed by MMP. This way, Garrett hopes not to lose them. Garrett is like a child, whining about someone playing with his toys.²⁶ Joan says nothing – just smiles and flutters those amazing eyelashes. She is the most seductive woman since Cleopatra. She and Vivien are in the same mould only she is passive where Vivien is active. Joan is older of course, but when she plays the piano for a concert, most of the men in the audience are close to fainting. I suppose Joan and Vivien know each other – it’s not the sort of question to ask either of them – probably through Papa: lucky old man. I would be putty in Joan’s hands, but I have to be tough with Garrett. I’m sure he can’t resist £120 per week and I’m sure he can’t resist the slightest chance to get his hand up MM’s skirt. I know he is meant to be so brilliantly clever, but he is also extremely vain.

Mr P is pleased by the airport arrangements and by the bodyguard, although we haven’t met him yet. None of the film production crew will be put on salary until 23 July, and he depends on me to negotiate with Garrett and Mrs C-P.

The costume designer came in to arrange her contract. Beatrice ‘Bumble’ Dawson²⁷ is a jolly, ginny neurotic old bird who SLO has used many times. She smokes continuously and grinds her teeth. In an effort to conquer this last habit, she is trying to replace it with twisting a lock of hair, a psychoanalyst trick which results in simultaneous grinding and twisting! She laughs a lot, between puffs, and is very sympathetic.

I can see why SLO has chosen so many chums. It is going to make life in the studio very easy. But I wonder if MM and Co will appreciate that sort of atmosphere.

MONDAY, 2 JULY

MM finally married Arthur Miller in New York over the weekend. Nobody here knows if that is good or bad for the film. Rumour has it that she panicked at the last minute and tried to get out of it.

Just before the wedding, a car full of reporters chasing the happy couple crashed and the Paris Match woman was killed. MM was very badly shaken and saw it as a bad omen – as if one was needed. The poor girl seems to invite disaster. Perhaps she needs calamity, so that she is permanently in that helpless condition from which everyone wants to rescue her. But SLO, and Mr P for that matter, do not see her in that light and have no desire to do so. SLO probably once thought the whole thing would be a bit of a lark. He could have fun, make money and add considerably to his glamour. SLO’s charm can be devastating – but will it work on MM? Of course, Vivien loves SLO despite his charm, not because of it. She is very demanding of his time and his attention – almost to the point of obsession. But she always defers to him as the great actor and the great star – even though she won an Oscar first²⁸ and is really more famous.

Vivien makes it quite clear that she regards SLO as more important than her, but I wonder if this will help him in his dealings with MM. He must not be grandiose or condescending. MM is too big to be treated like that.

Richard Addinsell²⁹ came in this evening to talk about music. He is quiet and modest with a very good reputation for film music. SLO wants a catchy romantic melody for the theme of the movie. Evidently MM has agreed to sing it. She did sing in Gentlemen Prefer Blondes and she has a low husky sort of voice, slight but not unpleasant.

The question of how much music there will be in the film has still not been solved. Rattigan wants very little but SLO disagrees and MM wants lots.

Meanwhile Vivien – who created the role MM will play – sides with Rattigan. I think the music might give the film another sort of appeal (i.e. to make up for the obvious deficiencies in Rattigan’s script), but I couldn’t say this, even to Mr P. The general line is that with SLO and MM in the same film, everyone will flock to see it since everyone is in love with one or the other. But the play seems to me a very doubtful vehicle for two great stars, and Rattigan is going to write the screenplay too. Perhaps enough people will go to see it out of curiosity. ‘What on earth made him/her want to do a film with her/him?’

That’s something I’m curious about too.

TUESDAY, 3 JULY

Dave Orton, first assistant director to be, has a plan to get me the job of third assistant director. He has a friend who works in the ACT union office. This friend is going to tell him when the number of unemployed 3rd Ast Dirs on the union books gets really low, which it does every summer. When there are only four or five left he will ring the union and ask for a 3rd Ast Dir right away. They will send him the list of names and he will say that none of them is suitable – which is probably true. Then he will tell them that he has a young man already working in the Production Office and ask them to issue a temporary card to him. This they will have to do, and then I can work on the film on a temporary card. Once the film is over, I will have done a film and can apply for a permanent card. This is the only way round the ‘no film, no card; no card, no film’ rule.

David is brilliant. He is a very nice man underneath that gruff exterior and rather like Mr P. Both of them expect their orders to be carried out to the letter.

Every morning when Mr P comes in he asks me: ‘What’s the first thing you do, Colin?’

‘You check, Mr Perceval.’

‘And what is the second thing you do?’

‘You check again, Mr Perceval.’

‘Grmph.’

I mentioned this to David who explained that the slightest mistake in the movie world, which causes filming to be delayed by even an hour, can cause chaos later and cost millions. Just imagine the problem if everyone made a little careless slip now and again – so no one must. Directors and producers only hire you if they can be absolutely sure you will get it right. This means that you must have a well prepared fall-back position just in case things do go wrong, even if it’s not your fault. Eyes in the back of your head are a necessity not a luxury. Unlike in the Army, the blame will always fall on the lowliest person involved, and on this film that is going to be me. Never mind. I enjoy the challenge, and, for the first time, I think maybe I might have made the right decision not to do a fourth year at Oxford.

WEDNESDAY, 4 JULY

My policeman came for his interview today – first with me and then with Mr P. We have codenamed him PLOD to confuse the Yanks.

He is absolutely perfect. He looks like a favourite uncle. He has a great sense of humour but is very shrewd underneath. He only retired from the police force a few months ago, so he knows everyone in Scotland Yard. Thank goodness he is extremely unimpressed by the film world and even by MM’s glamorous image. I made it clear that his principal duty was going to be to protect MM against photographers as well as lunatic fans. He gave a very wry grin and pointed out that it is not against the law to take a photograph of Miss Monroe, or anyone else.

‘Yes, yes, protect her person,’ I said, but of course he is right.

Since he is to live in MM’s house at Englefield Green, all expenses paid on a huge salary, he isn’t going to refuse. Mrs Plod will have to put up with this somehow, he said with a chuckle. ‘I hope she’s jealous.’

I wheeled him in to Mr P, who loved him of course, since they both hate showbiz. Mr P made it clear that he trusted me to make the appointment, he just wanted to discuss the sensitive nature of the job. My eyebrows went up but Plod’s didn’t. (I suspect they never do.) Mr P grumbled and rumbled round the subject for a while but what emerged was that Plod’s second duty was to act as a spy for LOP, with me as his contact. He would be the only person in Englefield Green whom we could trust for a commonsense report on what was going on there. MM was notoriously unreliable and unpredictable. Plod would be her shadow and could keep us informed, not of her private life of course (of course!) but of any developments which might affect the progress of the film. This would be immensely helpful on the mornings when she clearly had no intention of leaving the house. Then we could arrange for other things to film. Mr P explained that it would take 2½ hours every morning to put on MM’s make-up, wig and costume. She had to be at Pinewood Studios by 7 a.m. if filming was to start at 9.30 a.m. This meant that she had to leave Englefield by 6.30 a.m. ‘Laurence will arrive at 6.45 a.m. promptly, Colin, and you will already be there to greet him,’ Mr P said gravely.

On the days that MM had decided not to come at all, if we could be made aware of that by, say, 7.30, we could switch the schedule round to film shots without MM in them. Even these needed a couple of hours to set up and light, so every minute was vital.

Plod took all this in with a few gruff chuckles. I don’t think Mrs Plod needs 2½ hours to do her hair and make-up in the morning. (I have known ladies take all day.) The other thing Plod had to do was sign a document swearing that he wouldn’t sell information to the newspaper. I think quite a few people have to sign this as Mr P had the form typed and ready. I haven’t had to sign anything. I’m sure (I hope) he knows by now that I am absolutely loyal to SLO and him.

Plod will start next Monday, 9 July – and I will take him round and show him all the relevant addresses then. Someone from the Legal Department at Pinewood has contracted Parkside and Tibbs from then on, so Plod can move in if necessary. He is a very honourable man, and I think he will be a great ally.

THURSDAY, 5 JULY

Mr P and I went down to Pinewood Studios in a hired car. We didn’t tell the driver but he was on trial for the job as MM’s chauffeur. I think he will be perfect. He is very stupid, and never shows any emotion at all. The car, an Austin Princess, has a glass division and normally Plod will ride up front with the driver, while MM rides in the back. I wonder if AM will come to watch his bride filming, or stay in his study and write plays.

Pinewood is guarded by a studio police force which is hell-bent on keeping out the press and other intruders. Every vehicle is checked at the gate just like in the RAF. Once inside there are three huge studios joined by a very long concrete corridor. The other side of this corridor are the star dressing rooms, crowd dressing rooms, make-up rooms, wardrobe rooms etc. Across a little private road is the club house, with bars and a restaurant. MM’s and SLO’s dressing rooms are going to be at the end of one of the side corridors, opposite the restaurant. It really is all very like an RAF base with its hangars, offices and officers’ mess.

We are going to alternate between Studios A and B while other minor British films are being made in Studio C. There is a large ‘lot’ for filming outside scenes, but our film doesn’t have many of these as far as I can see.

Mr P and I first inspected MM’s dressing-room suite. Filming doesn’t start for four weeks but she must have somewhere suitable to relax in when she comes for rehearsals in three weeks’ time.

We were shown a series of what looked like old cowsheds which made me anxious.

‘Don’t worry Colin. The scene builders and set dressers only need 48 hours to convert this into the Dorchester. We are just here to check which ones have been allotted to us.’

We were shown round by Teddy Joseph, the production manager to be, who is still working on another film here at the moment. Small, bespectacled, a bit like a penguin, he will be Mr P’s right arm when filming starts. Teddy showed me round the various departments. We will use Pinewood facilities for everything but the stars.

In the wardrobe department was one of the prettiest little girls I have ever seen in my life. This is very good news indeed since I am going to be working here myself for four months. Slim as a wand, curly brown hair, huge brown eyes and a wide cheeky grin. The head of the department is a large motherly lady. She definitely feels that it is her duty to protect her little lambs from prowling 3rd Ast Dirs. But the ‘wand’ was thrilled to bits. After all I was with Mr P – and Mr P is supreme boss, at least until SLO arrives. Teddy persuaded Mr P that all was well, Mr P caught me by the ear to prevent me bobbing up to Wardrobe for the sixth time and we returned to London. Pinewood strikes me as a bastion of professionalism and common sense. It is not at all like the Hollywood studios I have read about. With Teddy and David and Tony Bushell in charge, what can go wrong?

FRIDAY, 6 JULY

Last night I asked myself what could go wrong. Today the whole movie seemed in question, before the camera has even rolled. A rumour came from the USA at lunchtime that AM was going to have his passport refused after all.³⁰ This would mean that he couldn’t come to London, and MM would certainly not come to London for four months without him. Since huge sums of money have been spent already, this caused quite a panic. Everyone was on the phone, asking for reassurance which we could not give. Rattigan was especially put out. SLO was grim-faced and terse, firmly shutting me out of the office for his conference with Mr P and Tony B, and a series of calls to the USA.

No one could get through to MM and AM, but Milton Greene, on the transatlantic phone, was calm. It could be fixed, he was sure. But he couldn’t find Irving Stein who had been with MM last night or speak to MM and Arthur at least. So the worrying went on all day.

Mr P has heard (from her last director) that MM often gets ‘confused’. Surely he doesn’t mean ‘drunk’? Pills, more likely – as with Judy Garland. That may be the problem now, although I hope she isn’t taking pills on the first week of her honeymoon. I suggested this to Mr P and got a very grumpy ‘grmph’. But by 6 p.m. it was all solved. AM and MM had got up at last – 1 p.m. in the USA – and switched the phone on. Milton Greene was on the line to MM and SLO simultaneously and all was sweetness and light.

‘Not a very good omen,’ said Mr P, for the second time this week, as we finally left the office at 7 p.m. But he is always pessimistic. I’m really relieved that the film is on the rails again. Gilman whisked Tony and SLO off to Notley in the Bentley. Anne had been waiting for them in the car. My goodness, she is an attractive woman, and extremely nice too. She gave me a great welcome, as if I was an old friend. But she is not in the least seductive, unlike Vivien. I’m off for a weekend in the country too – but alone. I sure envy those two men their beautiful ladies. I wouldn’t mind staying in bed till 1 p.m. like Arthur Miller if I was with either of them – or both!

MONDAY, 9 JULY

Back to earth. SLO started to distribute cigarettes when he came in this morning. He is delighted that they have named a new cigarette after him, and now he gets free packets of ‘Oliviers’ for life. I suppose I didn’t look as thrilled as I might have at this news so he told me quite sharply that the same tobacco company had named a cigarette after the great actor du Maurier.³¹ He could hardly refuse.

‘Oh of course, yes, wonderful,’ I cried, but to me the idea of someone as great as SLO advertising something is a shame. Du Maurier was of another era – and probably needed the money which SLO does not. I know nothing about du Maurier but I think of him as an old ham, although quite unfairly I’m sure. More importantly, du Maurier cigarettes are not a great success.

SLO went on to explain that his costume in the film has no pockets so he wants me to be on call holding the cigarettes at all times in case he wants to smoke. I am naturally to smoke ‘Oliviers’ also, and I can get as many as I want from Gilman, who has crates of them.

After one day’s trial I don’t like them that much – I prefer Woodbines – but that isn’t the point. ‘On call by SLO’s side at all times’ is what I wanted to hear, and have been planning to be anyway. As soon as the film starts, my pay goes up to union scale (£10.10s. pw), I get free cigarettes, and I have to be at the director’s side at all times. Good news.

I told this, with glee, to David Orton who came in at 4.30.

‘The hell with that idea!’ he roared. ‘You work for me and me alone and don’t you forget it. You are my slave. I don’t want my 3rd Ast Dir poncing around with the director, even if it is SLO.’

‘Quite right, David. I was only kidding.’

I’ve managed situations like this before, and it’s nice to be in demand. Just a matter of being very quick on the feet and polite at all times.

Irving Stein and Milton Greene arrive from NYC tomorrow on the overnight flight. I offered to go to meet them but Mr P said ‘no’. He’s sent the chauffeur.

‘Let the buggers find their own way around,’ he growled.

Do I sense hostility to our American cousins already?

TUESDAY, 10 JULY

Milton Greene and Irving Stein are both very young. They came in like a couple of recent graduates from some Jewish university. Both were exhausted after the flight and looked wary, but very charming. Irving is more aloof; Milton more boyish, very slight, dark brown eyes always smiling. They must be extremely shrewd to have got control of the most famous film star in the world.

Milton masterminded the plot to break MM’s contract with 20th Century and ‘set her free’. I suppose these two are the up-and-coming Louis B. Mayers.

SLO was brimming over with bonhomie – always a bad sign. When he is irascible is when he is sincere. Milton treats me like an executive, which is nice! He asked me all the details of the houses, the servants, Plod and the airport reception.

SLO absolutely promised Milton that Vivien and he would be on hand ‘to welcome Marilyn and Arthur’ and join in the press conference.

‘But let’s keep it low key, old boy.’

SLO wants the minimum publicity of course, and Milton says he does too. I wonder if both men have the same definition of ‘minimum’. I suspect SLO really means ‘none’ and Milton means ‘front page of every paper in the world – but no scandal’. There is a new publicity man around who has been ringing newspapers all day – ostensibly to notify everyone about the press conference even though this has already been done by the Pinewood press office.

Whenever they have a chance, Milton and SLO go into very private conference, talking fast and low. ‘MM worries’ I suppose, that even Mr P and I are not allowed to know about.

WEDNESDAY, 11 JULY

Milton rang from Tibbs Farm – could we all go down there for lunch. He was tired after the flight. Mr P was delighted. He is more curious than he lets on! I drove down in the Bristol, behind Mr P and Tony in the Princess. That way Milton can meet the chauffeur MM will have. SLO met us there as it is nearer Notley. Everyone agreed that Tibbs is perfect – out of Milton’s earshot that is. Nouveau-riche – bathrooms smelling of pot pourri and towels so thick and soft that they don’t even dry your hands. SLO gazed round in genuine horror. He is used to Vivien’s exquisite taste.

Gilman said, ‘This is a bit of all right, Colin,’ loudly enough to embarrass me and please Milton who thinks it is typically ‘English’.

There was a huge bunch of roses in the Bentley from Vivien which Gilman took through to the kitchen to find a vase. A buffet lunch had been prepared by the Cotes-Preedy cook – mainly reheated delicacies from the Ascot shop which I recognised from my stay here. Milton had ordered salad and cold white wine, which made it seem American. SLO had also brought a lot of Olivier cigarettes.

‘I get them free, dear boy,’ he said with much pride, but I don’t think Milton smokes. Perhaps he is a health and fitness addict.

After lunch Milton and SLO went into conference again, this time allowing Mr P and Tony in too. I hope Mr P has some gossip for me later.

At teatime we drove over to Englefield Green to see Parkside House. The Moores have left and only the servants are waiting for MM and her party. Plod will move in on Friday and the chauffeur will live out. Parkside really is too pretty for words. It is right on the edge of Windsor Great Park and has its own private entrance to the Royal Gardens – or so I’m told. It is in quite different taste to Tibbs – much more elegant and feminine thanks to Joan. The master bedroom has been repainted white. I never saw it when Joan was in it. (I wish I had though!) Everyone was delighted. Milton praised me very highly for both houses and Mr P beamed, for once.

SLO hadn’t come, of course. He’d been to the house as a guest of Garrett and Joan’s. I don’t think SLO likes Garrett any more than I do. Garrett is famous for sneering at people less clever or less titled than himself – which means pretty well everyone. I must admit that I am pleased with the arrangements so far, but everyone warns me that the day MM arrives, the rules will all change. She is the most famous woman in the world, though, so I would expect her to be pretty wilful. The worst thing is to have all that clout and not know your own mind. If she says her favourite colour is beige, that has to be a definite possibility. Then she will be as dangerous as a Chinese Empress. We’ll see in three days’ time.

THURSDAY, 12 JULY

The press are really getting worked up about MM’s impending arrival. They phone me up hourly, demanding interviews with MM and SLO. I tell them that there will be a press conference at the airport and another at the Savoy Hotel on Sunday but of course they already know this and they want more. Any request for MM has to go through the loathsome Arthur P. Jacobs who is coming back to the Savoy tomorrow. It isn’t that MM wants to avoid publicity – publicity more than anything else has got her where she is. But you have to control how much money you print. Even publicity has to be rationed out to get the maximum effect. APJ is meant to be the expert on this.

But there is a new publicity/personal relations man who is very nice. He is an Englishman, who nevertheless works from Hollywood, called Rupert Allan³² and he is the opposite to APJ, quiet, dignified, polite. Perhaps he acts as the antidote to APJ’s type of poison.

MM’s personal make-up man has also flown in. He came in to the office this morning, unannounced, ‘just to say “Hi”’. His name is Allan Snyder but ‘Call me Whitey’ is his opening remark to everyone. Impassive, and courteous, he is a great contrast to the Hollywood types we were expecting. Evidently he used to be a great influence on MM and is still a great friend. She insists on his presence on each of her films. I wonder if he was ever her lover, too. In our case, he only has a limited work visa so he is doing her original make-up and then someone English will take over. Frankly I wish he was staying for the whole movie. He has a wonderfully calming presence which could be a great help. But he clearly doesn’t want to stay more than a few weeks anyway.

‘I love Marilyn,’ he said with a nice open grin, ‘but I do not want to find myself responsible for her behaviour.’

Now he has wandered off to explore London. He gives no address and simply says he will see us at Pinewood next Tuesday. Even Mr P, who deeply distrusts all Americans, seemed to like him. I hope he doesn’t come to any harm in Soho! He is probably not as naive as he seems.

FRIDAY, 13 JULY

Mr P’s distrust of Americans was justified. Arthur Jacobs went to London Airport and changed all our careful plans for MM’s arrival tomorrow. Once again the police there assumed the worst, jumping to the conclusion that all we all want is maximum disruption and publicity. In the end, one of them thought to telephone me. I didn’t even know APJ was out there so I got very cross. I pointed out that they had promised to listen to no one but me; that APJ was a publicity man whose job was to get publicity whether his client wanted it or not; that SLO and MM’s producers had both instructed me to arrange MM’s arrival with minimum fuss etc. But the papers are nerving everyone up and the police are edgy.

Luckily APJ is so loud-mouthed and overbearing that they would much rather disobey him. I have promised to get there really early tomorrow morning and go over the details again. I do remember from the days of Gaby Pascal and Jean Simmons³³ that once show business retinues get on the move, it is very hard to influence them or deflect them. They are like rivers. They jolly well go where they want to, so you have to make the banks good and high. London Airport is very big and if we lose control there will be chaos. The police are efficient and charming, but like all men in uniform they will take orders from anyone in authority. It’s going to be a close-run thing.

APJ did have one success out there, I must admit. So oogle-eyed are the junior cops about MM that four motorcycle riders have volunteered to escort her car from the airport to Englefield Green. Evidently that is an honour never granted to anyone before except visiting royalty. I hope MM is impressed. It is not the sort of thing SLO and Mr P meant by minimum fuss, but I must agree it sounds exciting.

SATURDAY, 14 JULY

The first problem was that it rained.

After all the fine weather we’ve had, a light rain was falling when I woke up and it got heavier. I got to the airport early and went straight to the police office to make everything as clear as possible. But within an hour APJ and his minions were there trying to make everything as confused as possible.

Milton Greene arrived, very nervous, and was all too ready to listen to APJ’s panicky lies. Quite soon he too was trying to change the plans around. Rupert Allan also had ideas of his own, even if they were expressed a bit more calmly.

Luckily I had Plod on my side, and he could speak to the police in their own language. But he is so unflappable and monosyllabic that we often did not get heard.

As the time of arrival grew near, everyone began to get very crazy. MM is like Desdemona: ‘It is the very error of the moon; She comes more nearer earth than she was wont and makes men mad.’³⁴

By the time the plane from New York actually landed there were reporters everywhere. The first I saw of them was a bunch of yelling waving men in raincoats in Immigration. The Customs officers had lost their heads and been swept away. I suppose the very thought of searching MM’s person had been too much for them.

In the middle of this rabble stood Arthur Miller, teeth clenched on an unlit pipe, grinning like an amiable crocodile. The girl he had his arm around was unmistakably Marilyn Monroe. She looked so exactly like her publicity photographs – blonde hair, white face, scarlet lips in a pout – that it was hard to see the person. Added to this she had on huge very dark dark-glasses.

Poor woman. She must have been very tired after the flight. I suppose her life is permanent chaos. As for Jacobs, on whom she depends for help and guidance, he clearly had only one aim – namely to create the maximum confusion and even physical danger. Then he could step in and appear to save her from the very problems he himself had generated. In the blur of faces and cameras, he would be the only one she would recognise, and turn to with gratitude.

AM had clearly decided to grin whatever happened and be steered by the crowd. He recognised no one, not even APJ.

Milton Greene was too small to have any effect. Plod and I are total unknowns. We flung ourselves into the crowd and only added to the confusion.

Somehow the police managed to steer this whole mad rabble into the hall set up for the press conference where SLO and Vivien were waiting. I left the main group and went to defend Vivien, with Gilman, as the riot spread all over the room. MM and AM were lifted bodily onto the podium, and I was glad to see one of the cops giving APJ a good jab in the solar plexus. (He later threatened to have all the police at Heathrow fired!) Everyone was shouting at once and MM just looked confused and frightened. Finally Rupert Allan got onto the stage and quietened them all down. He announced that MM would make a short statement and then leave for a private destination to rest, until the main press conference at the Savoy tomorrow. Then MM took off her dark glasses and gave that famous smile and every flash bulb in the room popped at once creating such a blinding flash that she put the glasses back on immediately.

In a breathy little girl’s voice, MM said that she was very glad to be in England at last, with her husband (looking fondly at Arthur), and how excited she was to be making a film with SLO. SLO got up to reply but no one took any notice and they all started yelling questions at MM. So he gave up and we literally strong-armed it to the exit.

MM and AM got into the Princess with Milton and APJ and they swished off with the four motorbike policemen in dangerously close formation. SLO and Vivien got into the Bentley with Gilman and followed right behind. I had to go to get the Bristol with Plod so the press cars got in between us.

When we arrived at Parkside House the press were lined up outside the gate with the four cops preventing them from going in. Plod persuaded them to let us through and we found AM and MM and SLO outside the front door on the gravel.

AM whispered in MM’s ear, MM whispered to Milton and he nodded. Then he sent me over to the reporters to tell them they could all come up the drive for one last photo. MM and AM stood in the doorway and smiled, arm in arm, before disappearing inside. Plod and I followed and Milton introduced Plod (but not me) to MM and AM. I don’t think MM took in a word, but as Plod is going to live in her house she will soon get used to him.

‘Well, we are going to bed,’ said AM with a huge leer.

I thought this pretty vulgar. I saw MM notice it without much pleasure, but she pretended not to catch on so perhaps she is smarter than she looks. AM certainly doesn’t behave like America’s most eminent intellectual. More like an overgrown schoolboy. But MM has a very appealing aura, even if physically she is not my type. A bit too exaggerated.

Before SLO left he had said: ‘I hope things are better organised tomorrow.’

I’ll do my best but I think that even he has underestimated the press hunger for MM.

SUNDAY, 15 JULY

Except for the large crowd outside – and who organised that I wonder – the press conference was orderly. In fact it was predictable and dull. SLO arrived without Vivien. He was already in a bad temper – nose out of joint, perhaps? Mr P came sniffing around to have a look at how things were going on and a squint at MM. Irving Stein and APJ were already there – what a pair. APJ had clearly lost centre stage to Milton, who arrived with MM and AM.

The Savoy Hotel had organised itself much better than the airport police. MM’s party was 45 minutes late which allowed the flower of the nation’s press corps time to make many ribald jokes.

MM still had on her dark glasses and barely spoke above a whisper. AM mainly grunted past his pipe. I would say that they both had hangovers of several different kinds.

SLO made a speech of welcome, which I thought was a little bit patronising – although I’m sure not intentionally. Cecil Tennant,³⁵ SLO’s agent, was also on the stage. He is a bit of a bully and interrupted most forcefully if he didn’t like a question. Rupert Allan was much more diplomatic and more friendly. Tennant would not dream of acknowledging my presence, even though I am clearly attached to SLO’s party. It is true that I’m pretty inferior but I don’t like people who act as if they were ‘superior’.

Plod seems to be happily installed at MM’s right elbow. He is like a lovely gruff uncle and when MM finally wakes up, she will be jolly glad to have him. I notice that she gives her coat to AM and AM gives it to Plod, so AM has already seen the benefit.

It’s a bit like starting a new school. Everyone has to settle down and find out who the other boys are.

MONDAY, 16 JULY

Very quiet day after the hectic weekend. Only Mr P, myself and Vanessa. We will leave the Tibbs group and the Parkside group to themselves, although I am sure there will be a lot of traffic between the two (about six miles). Everyone asks me: ‘What’s she like? Is she beautiful?’

Well, she certainly looks like Marilyn Monroe, and not all film stars do look like their image. She has got a cute smile, but so far she only turns it on for the cameras. Her figure – and especially her bust – is fantastic but a little on the plump side. Problems – too much fakery: peroxide hair, dead white make-up, heavy lipstick, but that is her image. She looks confused too, lost, troubled. That’s the MM image too, I know, but even when she’s shut the door on the reporters, she still looks in distress, not just acting it.

She doesn’t seem to be able to shrug off the image in private, to throw off her coat, slump down on the sofa and say: ‘Phew, let’s have a drink.’

She gazes at AM as if he is a superhero, but I don’t think he is that nice. He’s clearly very handsome and very attractive, but good hearted, no. And she hasn’t really got anyone else to depend on. A girl like that really needs her mum, like Margot,³⁶ but I’m told her mum is in a bin.³⁷ Milton is clearly dependent on her, rushing round like all the others trying not to upset her, frightened of her even.

SLO is much too remote. He’s going to be her director and that should be a close relationship, but he is quite clearly not in any way concerned with her personally. He is the supreme professional, expecting and assuming that everyone else will be professional too. (You can see why he and Vivien get on so well.)

MM does have the dreaded Strasbergs, one or both of whom are going to turn up any day now. (Their darling daughter Susan will not be coming for a month, I’m told. But Rupert Allan, who knows everything, says she is expected one day. Hooray – hope springs eternal.)

I wish SLO could be cosy with MM. He’s strong and romantic with most women but he only gets ‘cosy’ with men.

Speaking of which, Tony B is now permanently installed. He is delightful company, and he is going to be behind the camera most of the time. But I doubt if MM goes for that English charm stuff. She clearly adores the strong silent intellectual type, and Tony certainly isn’t that. He is SLO’s AdC at all times, and keeps his eye on him only.

I must admit it is exciting to be working on this production. The most famous film star and the most famous actor. But they should change the name. The Sleeping Prince always confuses people. They think I mean ‘The Sleeping Princess’, as in ‘Sleeping Beauty’, and they miss the slight Rattigan pun. If the film was called ‘The Naughty Chorus Girl’ it would be more dramatic and easier to explain, but I suppose that would be like the old MM image, the one she wants to shed.

TUESDAY, 17 JULY

Milton phoned in a nervous state. He has heard that MM’s dressing room at Pinewood is not ready yet (true) and he wants to show it to MM tomorrow when she will be there for the make-up test. (This is what is called the screen test, which I always thought was an audition. MM hardly needs an audition since MMP own half the film.)

Mr P is grim because he was specifically told by Milton that MM would not need a full dressing-room suite until filming begins in three weeks’ time; and the main dressing room isn’t even hired yet. She would normally just go into a make-up room with Whitey and then go home. Teddy Joseph was reassuring however. The dressing-room suite will be ‘made’ today, and if necessary it can be used by someone else for three weeks and then done again.

I pointed out to Mr P that MM might not like the decor, and then it would have to be redone anyway.

‘Hmph.’

It is true that Milton is a fusspot and a perfectionist, but then so is Mr P so he can’t complain. At lunchtime I phoned Plod at Parkside.

‘What are they up to?’

‘Playing trains,’ said Plod, with a chuckle.

I hope they are going to get to Pinewood Studios by 9.30 tomorrow morning. Whitey has created a new make-up to match her new hair (a wig, of course)³⁸ and her new image.

‘We will be ready to leave here by 8.30,’ said Plod. ‘I heard her mention it to Mr Miller.’

So not only does she remember her appointments but also Plod overhears her doing so, which is very good news.

‘You’ll have to leave the house at 6.30 when filming starts,’ I said. Another chuckle.

I will get to the studio by 8 a.m. to meet David. He is responsible for getting everyone to the right place at the right time, and it is time I did some work for him.

WEDNESDAY, 18 JULY

It goes without saying that she was late – but not very late, only half an hour. She seems to have a tendency to leave the house about the time when she is due to arrive at her next appointment.

Milton arrived early and was quite cheerful. He was very relieved to see Whitey. ‘She’ll be on time for you,’ he grinned.

The dressing-room suite is beige of course, but very very pretty, like a film set in the 1930s. There is an anteroom and sitting room and bathroom, all covered with deep Wilton carpet. The curtains are permanently drawn shut, and low table lights give a soft glow. There are flowers everywhere – a big bouquet from SLO and Vivien in the front.

Of course the studios themselves are very forbidding and I wish the sun had come out. It didn’t look at all like California – more like RAF Dishforth.³⁹

When MM did arrive we all got a shock – except Whitey, I suppose. She looked absolutely frightful. No make-up, just a skirt, a tight blouse, head scarf and dark glasses. Nasty complexion, a lot of facial hair, shapeless figure and, when the glasses came off, a very vague look in her eye. No wonder she is so insecure.

She bolted into her dressing room with Milton and Whitey and stayed there for 20 minutes. Eventually they coaxed her out, looking very tense indeed, and walked her to the small studio.

The whole idea is to film her first without make-up on, so she sat on a stool, under the bright lights, like a prisoner of war.

Milton spoke to her and SLO spoke to her but she did not listen. Then Jack Cardiff⁴⁰ stepped forward. Jack is going to be the lighting cameraman. He is very well known in the business, and has some excellent films to his credit – The Red Shoes etc. He is also very charming in a completely natural way. MM is smart enough to know that the lighting cameraman is the one who makes her look beautiful, but she clearly liked Jack as a person. He is kind and tolerant and doesn’t put on that awful old public schoolboy charm that Englishmen so often think is the best thing.

I hope I can be natural too. At least I was in the RAF not the Guards. Of course MM never noticed me, but then why should she?

David Orton was in charge of the studio, and he’s the Sergeant Major all right. He has a very loud bark when he wants quiet. After half an hour of filming from every angle, MM dived back into her dressing room and Whitey got to work. We had taken a whole reel of MM sitting there like a naked sausage and it was time for the transformation to take place.

‘Three hours,’ said Whitey cheerfully, so we went to lunch. SLO, Tony and Jack went to the restaurant, David and I to the canteen. Pinewood eating facilities are set up to look democratic – everyone eats in the same place. In fact the wood-panelled restaurant with waitress service is set so deep in the canteen that the stars are very much apart from the hoi polloi. The prices alone keep everyone in their allotted place. David explained that he has already started his efforts to get me the temporary union card so that I can be 3rd Ast Dir. I can tell from his twinkle that he is going to be successful so I don’t push it. David looks mild but he doesn’t suffer fools gladly – like Mr P.

After lunch there was a long wait until MM emerged, now fully made up with her blonde wig and chiffon top. At first sight she had just changed from a slum kid to a huge gift-wrapped dolly, but that’s Jack’s problem. He started playing with the lights again, changing their filters and shutters until he was satisfied, and the camera whirred away. For some reason SLO put Tony in charge of the afternoon shoot. There isn’t much to do I suppose but stand around and look as if you are in charge, and Tony is very good at that.

Plod and the Princess reappeared. MM had sent them and the driver back to Parkside, I suspect to look after AM. Then MM left at high speed, as if she was afraid of being kidnapped. She reminded me of General Franco when I saw him in Vigo last year.⁴¹ Milton and Whitey went after her in Milton’s car. I notice that Plod now carries MM’s handbag!

We are all going to see today’s film in the viewing theatre here tomorrow morning, before more tests of make-up, wardrobe and wigs.

David says 8 a.m. again tomorrow.

This is fun.

THURSDAY, 19 JULY

MM late again but this time no one cared. Everyone was only thinking about the ‘rushes’ – the film that was shot yesterday. At 9.30 Milton and SLO led the way into the viewing theatre, and we all held our breath. Jack and Whitey had already seen it together, early on. They were looking pretty smug but said nothing. They were going to MM’s dressing room to start her make-up again and discuss technicalities.

The film was magical, and there’s no other way to describe it. The stuff we shot in the morning, although it resembled a police line-up mug shot, was quite heartbreaking. MM looked like a young delinquent girl, helpless and vulnerable under the harsh lights. The afternoon footage was even more extraordinary. What an incredible transformation. Now MM looked like an angel – smooth, glowing, eyes shining with joy (Jack’s lights), perfect lips slightly parted, irresistible. Quite a few people had wandered in to look and they were stunned. We all fell in love there and then. Milton was triumphant. He and SLO rushed to MM’s dressing room to tell her the news, although I suppose they could not exactly explain how very relieved they were.

The rest of us joined Bumble Dawson for the wardrobe test. Now it was her turn to be nervous. We had only seen MM wrapped in chiffon so far. She need not have worried. MM finally appeared in a long white dress that suited her perfectly. It made her walk with an amazing wiggle, but a wiggle which is somehow naive not brazen. It also showed just enough of the famous Monroe bosom.

Bumble made various tiny alterations and then announced that two more fittings would be needed to get it right. (These will be at Parkside.)

MM did some twirls for the camera, but this time no one held their breath and Jack hardly bothered to adjust the lights. We all know what it will look like – ravishing.

At the end of the day, I was the last to leave. SLO had gone back to Notley with Tony, in high good spirits, after calling everyone to tell them the news. I went over to the bar for a drink. It is out of bounds during the day but empty after 6 p.m. Sitting alone I saw Whitey Snyder quietly sipping Scotch so I joined him.

‘What an amazing transformation,’ I said.

‘Nothing to it,’ said Whitey in his calm Yankee accent. ‘The camera just loves some people,’ he explained, ‘and it sure loves Marilyn. Look at Bogart. Funny little man you wouldn’t notice in a crowd, but on camera . . . ! Look at Gary Cooper. Wonderfully tall and good looking, yes, but can’t act for toffee and never even tries. Doesn’t ever change his expression by a hair’s breadth, and yet when you see him on camera, everyone with him seems to be overacting. Just born with the magic. And so is Marilyn. However confused or difficult she is in real life, for the camera she can do no wrong. I tell her that all the time but she doesn’t believe me. And sometimes I feel like telling her directors – don’t fuss her, don’t tell her what to do, just let her rip.’

I can see that he is genuinely fond of MM. The only person I’ve met so far who is. I wish I could sit him down for a quiet chat with SLO, but that’s out of the question.

FRIDAY, 20 JULY

Last day of the tests. This time the hairdressers had lots of wigs to try, but we ended up with the first choice which has been so successful.

MM arrived in the car with Milton. Clearly he is trying to reassert his control, which may have temporarily been taken over by AM. He never stops whispering into MM’s ear. Is this the fashionable way of communicating with film stars in Hollywood?⁴² We also ran a test to choose MM’s stand-in. Jack chose a skinny little blonde who doesn’t look a bit like MM to me – no more a real blonde than MM either, I would guess. But it is Jack who will have to light her every day to get the set ready for MM, and he mumbled something about ‘perfect skin tones’. Hmm. Who is perfect is the little Wardrobe girl. She could not be cuter or more flirtatious, and I made many more visits to the Wardrobe Department than were strictly necessary.

I hope David hasn’t noticed. I didn’t have the nerve to ask her out this weekend, but I stressed that I would be back on Monday and come to see her again then. I definitely have to get my hands on her!

I have had to learn my way around the studios in a hurry. David is always telling me to check something at one end or fetch someone from the other, and I spend a lot of time dashing along that long concrete corridor. Before the camera rolls, or ‘turns over’, a bell rings, red lights flash and the soundproof studio doors are locked automatically. It seems like an age if you are the wrong side of the doors, but actually the camera never runs for more than a minute or so. It is stopped between ‘takes’ to save film and it is returned to its starting position if it has been moved.

David told me that for the filming, there will be two 2nd Ast Dirs on call, one in the office and one in the studio. However that will not alter my role as his slave: I do not work for anyone else (except for SLO, Tony, Milton, Mr P and Vivien, think I).

Tomorrow I’m going down to the country for the weekend, to boast about MM.

MONDAY, 23 JULY

We were all at Pinewood again today, this time to listen to the music, which has been specially written by Richard Addinsell. SLO, Milton, Tony B, Terry Rattigan, David and I were all crammed in a rehearsal room. RA hummed and sang the main song he had written, accompanying himself on the piano. He is a very gentle, sympathetic man and we were all on his side. I’m not musical and I find it extremely hard to catch a tune the first time I hear it played. I remember M and D playing us the record of My Fair Lady when they came back from New York after attending the first night. The songs that had brought the house down in a live performance left us unmoved until we had played the record several times. It was the same now. Out of nerves, RA had put in so many decorations and variations with his left hand that it was too hard for us. Nothing could obscure the melody from him, but we were baffled. There was a polite, embarrassed silence.

‘Can you play the tune alone,’ asked SLO, ‘to make it easier for us dullards, dear boy.’

RA was clearly very anxious. But he played it slowly and lyrically and gradually a very charming little waltz began to appear – the Sleeping Prince waltz.

‘Bravo!’ shouted Tony, and everyone began to applaud.

Then RA sang the song MM will be singing in the film, to another round of applause.

There is no doubt such a pretty tune could help the film immensely. David tells me there will be a grand ballroom scene with 500 people (‘extras’) waltzing to it in full evening dress. That is where the movie will differ from the play and hopefully be more of a spectacle.

After lunch I sneaked up to see my little Wdg⁴³ again – pretty as ever. She is no Einstein, but who cares about that. I just want to get my arms around her tiny waist and squeeze. She doesn’t have a boyfriend, so I intend to make my move next weekend.

TUESDAY, 24 JULY

More arrivals from the USA. Most important is Paula Strasberg. SLO and Tony B have worked themselves into a lather about her already. She is MM’s drama coach and current Svengali. SLO has been warned by Josh Logan (MM’s last director on Bus Stop) that she is a total menace. She contradicted everything and she muddled MM up. I thought Lee Strasberg was the drama coach. I don’t know what qualifications his wife has, except by association, although I hear she used to be an actress herself.

SLO has determined to ban Paula from the set while we are filming. Several times he has given me a diatribe about her and drama coaches in general. Finally, he told me to throw her out if I see her!

‘She can stay in Marilyn’s dressing room.’

‘What about MM’s dressing room in the studio?’ (MM is to have her own sort of pre-fab, or ‘portable’ dressing room built for her right by the set. It too will be all decorated up in beige and soft lights.)

‘Oh, the devil take her!’ shouted SLO, seeing that he wasn’t going to win.

Other arrivals from the USA are Amy and Joshua Greene, Milton’s wife and baby son. Milton almost looks too young to be a father. He is evidently a famous photographer, although I hadn’t heard of him. He does look a little like Bert Stern,⁴⁴ but that is hardly enough of a qualification. I will find an excuse to visit Tibbs tomorrow and meet everyone.

There is also a lady called Rosten who used to work as AM’s secretary and now is going to be MM’s secretary.⁴⁵ She is said to be a chum of MM’s but I suspect she is still loyal to AM. She will live with them both at Parkside.

WEDNESDAY, 25 JULY

I drove down to Tibbs in the morning – with Mr P’s blessing. He loves a bit of spying, and I’m afraid he already sees the American and British camps as ‘Them’ and ‘Us’. As I know Tibbs so well, and I was the one who arranged it, I went in through the back door as if I was the boss. This has a calming effect on the servants who are already in semi-revolt. It seems that Milton and his friends never give them a thought and are very untidy. The Cotes-Preedys are definitely going to lose their staff if we are not careful. I persuaded everybody that the arrival of Mrs Milton Greene would change all the bad habits. They countered that by saying they had never been told there would be children.

‘Just one,’ I said, ‘very small, and I have been told he is very well behaved.’ (Absolute lie.)

But they may still walk out with no notice despite their huge wages. ‘As good cooks go . . .’

Milton, to his credit, does not seem in the least surprised or upset when I wander into his living room unannounced.

‘Hi Colin. Want a beer?’

I explained that I was just checking if he was comfortable and well looked after.

‘Sure am. Stick around and meet Amy. She’ll be down soon.’

Amy looks even younger than Milton. She is also extremely attractive – small, pale, dark hair, intense – very much a contrast to my little Wdg with her empty eyes.

The little boy is about 2½ and known as Josh. He toddles all over the place, pretty much unhindered and with very little sense as yet. Milton seems very involved with both of them. Perhaps he is not as much of a rascal as Mr P implies. I absolutely can’t help liking him.

In the afternoon I drove over to Parkside. Plod opened the front door cautiously (I don’t know the staff here so I can’t go round the back). It seems that MM and AM spend all their time upstairs, having meals and newspapers sent up. I met Hedda Rosten, MM’s ‘personal secretary’. She is very New York, middle-aged, but sympathetic and clever. She had a drink in her hand and seemed to me a little tipsy. I suppose she is still exhausted from the overnight flight.

Plod seems happy enough. It is a great relief to have him there.

As I was leaving AM appeared in a white towelling bathrobe and gazed round slowly over his hornrimmed specs. Plod explained who I was – the house etc. – but AM just grunted and went back upstairs.

And to think that this is the man the whole world envies – on honeymoon with Marilyn Monroe.

THURSDAY, 26 JULY

Mr P and I and Vanessa went to Pinewood again to check everything once more. (Vanessa is going to be Mr P’s production secretary.) We already have Studio A and the major set – or scenery – is being put up there. It is going to be the purple drawing room in the Carpathian Embassy in Belgrave Square, and it is built so that each of the four walls, with their windows, fireplace, doors etc. can be swung away, and the camera can film the other three. There will be various bedrooms and dressing rooms leading off it which will be built later. It is meant to be on the first floor of the Embassy, and a huge columned hall and grand double staircase will eventually be put up in Studio B when we have finished in A.

There is a lighting grid or gantry all over the ceiling of each studio, with literally hundreds of lights hanging from it. They are on telescopic, rotating metal rods so that they can be altered by the electrician working up above. The lighting cameraman, Jack Cardiff, will work out which of these lights he wants lit, how high they should hang and where they should point. He will make a plan beforehand and give it to the lighting foreman, or ‘gaffer’, to set up. Then Jack will fine-tune all the lights using the stand-ins – one for MM, one for SLO, one for Dame Sybil Thorndike etc. until all is ready for the stars to walk in and perform.

The stars will be made up in their dressing rooms and walk in costume to the set. MM will do most of it in her main dressing room and then walk to her ‘portable’ dressing room for her costume. The idea is to have her ready to go in front of the camera at the same time as the set has been lit and prepared, and all the technicians are ready.

I get the strong impression that the technicians are the bosses here. If MM has to be kept waiting, so be it. Woe betide the actor or actress who keeps the technicians waiting!

That seems to be the attitude to British stars, anyway, but I doubt if MM will see it that way. Nor do I. There is no doubt that the technicians are admirable men – calm, professional, efficient. But basically they are replaceable and MM is not. Skills are common. Talent is rare. One day someone will have the courage to sack every technician in the industry and only rehire them if they promise to do what they are told.

However if I said that, even to David, I’d get lynched, so I better keep my mouth shut.

To go back to the filming – you never shoot a scene in one go. You shoot all the bits with the camera pointing in one direction and then swirl round and shoot the others later. And each shot is done many times to get it just right. The boy with the clapperboard marks each one so that the editor can put the whole thing together in the right order later. The film goes off to a laboratory to be processed overnight. The sound is transferred from thin magnetic tape to wider tape in the Sound Department, and the editor uses the ‘Clap’ of the board to ‘sync’ the two up on his machine. The board also tells the production name, the shot number and the take number. The lab only prints the takes that look successful to the director – sometimes only one – in order to save money, but even so the editor ends up with hundreds of strips of film in his office, each one with a parallel piece of sound tape. I had asked David to explain all this and he took me round the studios showing me the various bits of equipment we would use. Cranes, dollies, B-P screens, arc lights, booms, concealed microphones etc!

I’ve got a lot to learn but David and Mr P have been very patient teachers. I really need to know as much as I possibly can before filming starts, so I don’t get caught out.

The editor of the film will be Jack Harris. He is an old pro. Thin, grey hair, stoop and perpetual cigarette. At the moment he is finishing up another (British) film here, and normally he wouldn’t join our production team until the actual filming was nearly over. An assistant would log all our footage, and sync it up for us to see in ‘rushes’ each evening.

But SLO (and Milton, I suspect) wants all the insurance he can get, so Jack H will start to work a week after filming starts in 10 days’ time. Then he can double-check that every single thing has been covered by the camera.

David explained that with an ‘inexperienced’ (his word!) actress like MM,⁴⁶ there might be a little ‘um’ or ‘er’ or breath that the director didn’t notice at the time. The editor will catch it on his machine – which he stops and starts while he examines every frame. Then they can either look for another ‘take’ or the director can shoot something to cover it.

This seems a good idea, especially as SLO will be acting in most shots as well as directing them. Tony B, bless him, could easily miss something. He’s really not a professional director.

Jack Harris is as dour and thorough as Mr P – what politicians used to call ‘a safe pair of hands’.

FRIDAY, 27 JULY

Pinewood again. Mr P was occupied with the accounts and legal departments of Rank Films who run Pinewood. They will rent us the necessary facilities. Very dull!

I spent the entire morning flirting with the little Wdg. Very exciting!

I finally bucked up courage to ask her for a date.

‘Not tonight,’ she said sternly.

‘Why not?’

‘I’ve got to wash my hair, of course.’

I didn’t quite understand the ‘of course’, but pretty girls must be allowed their little ways.

‘What about Saturday night then?’

‘Oh, all right,’ smile, giggle and wiggle.

She really has the smallest waist and the most enchanting laughing eyes I’ve ever seen. And all those beautiful natural (I suppose) brown ringlets hanging down to her shoulders. I’m hooked. I wish I could decide where to take her.

David and I checked the MM dressing room which had needed some alterations – not, I hasten to say, at MM’s behest. I don’t think she has even noticed where she is yet, but Milton feels he can interpret her wishes best. MM will use the suite to rest in from Monday, when rehearsals start.

We also checked the security arrangements. The idea is that no one can get in to our area unless they are on a casting call-sheet. For some of our scenes – the Coronation route, the Abbey, the ballroom – we will have as many as 500 ‘extras’ and it would be very easy to smuggle a journalist in, so everyone will have to be especially careful. The ‘extras’ belong to a union – the FAA, or Film Artists’ Association. It, too, is a completely closed shop – the film business seems full of them – and their members are the only ones who can do walk on parts in British films: passers by, crowds, people in shops etc. It is a small union so ‘500 extras’ means using virtually all of them.

David says most of them, women as well as men, are total rogues. They all try to skive off rather than work, even though ‘work’ only means standing around in a costume. It will be our job to get them all in front of the camera, and keep them sober. We can be tough, but if we are not scrupulously fair they can all walk out on strike and stop the filming completely.

I met the chief security man at the gate. As I will be first to arrive each morning, I won’t need a pass – but they will issue one anyway. I would imagine any reporter who did want to get in would be smarter than the Pinewood security men, and would have prepared a convincing story to fool them. But it would be tough to get past David.

I’m going to pick up my little Wdg at seven tomorrow night. She was very impressed that I have a car. Heavens, how adorable. I haven’t decided where to take her yet and I am a bit nervous. I have no idea what she expects.

SUNDAY, 29 JULY

What a super weekend. Not much to do with my film career, but all part of my film life, so I can’t resist writing it down. The little Wdg is as sweet and tasty as a sugar mouse. I am head over heels with infatuation. I picked her up last night in the faithful Bristol. (I fear it has rather a musty leathery smell to it but she didn’t seem to notice.) We went to Soho for dinner and I ordered champagne (!). She had one tiny glass and I nearly finished the rest. Lots of smarmy Italian service had a good effect. I didn’t dare take her to a night-club. She might have been frightened by their dark, red, velvet corners. So we simply drove round the West End for an hour. She is very naive and all the sights were greeted with oohs and aahs. We chatted and held hands, where traffic allowed, across the handbrake. Finally we came back here.⁴⁷ It is hard to invite anyone in for purely social reasons since I only have a kitchen and a bedroom, but we were both flushed with passion and fell onto the bed immediately. Her figure is picture perfect, she kisses like an angel (so I’m not the first) and she happily allowed me to stroke her all over.

Neither of us wanted to go the whole way. It is much too soon, and she is a good girl and not a tart. But it was impossible for her not to see how excited I was. She was curious, I explained, and finally out of kindness she put her little hand where the tension was and I was soon in heaven. Actually I think she enjoyed herself too, if not in quite the same explosive manner. When I took her home we were still delirious and spent ages kissing goodbye in the car. Finally a light came on in the house and she fled. Now I can’t wait to see her again.

MONDAY, 30 JULY

Rehearsals at Pinewood all day. The principal cast members arrived at 9 a.m. David and I were outside to greet them and show them to an upstairs studio. It is just a large gloomy room with a few chairs scattered about, but David explained that to have rehearsals at all for a film is a great luxury. They are the essential preliminary of plays in the theatre, but evidently films very rarely have them.

MM will certainly never have had this sort of rehearsal before and I expect she was nervous. The normal procedure is to rehearse a scene 10 minutes before it is filmed. This is simply because an act of a play runs 45 minutes and a film shot lasts 45 seconds, more or less. I expect SLO has arranged for rehearsals on this occasion to ensure smooth, level performances right through the movie (a smooth level performance from Marilyn Monroe, to be precise). MM was only 45 minutes late, and was accompanied by Paula Strasberg.

Mrs Strasberg is not, at first glance, a very formidable figure. She is short and plump, with brown hair pulled back from a plain, round, expressive face. She has big brown eyes which are usually hidden by big dark glasses – like her protégée. Her clothes are also brown and beige – bohemian but expensive. Her influence over MM seems to be total. MM gazes at her continuously and defers to her at all times, as if she was a little Jewish Buddha. SLO was clearly put out by this, but remained theatrically gracious. He introduced MM to the assembled cast. First Dame Sybil, who radiates love and good fellowship so genuinely that even MM could not resist her. Then came Jeremy Spenser, who’ll play Dame Sybil’s grandson, very polite and bright-eyed, and Richard Wattis, who looks exactly like the Foreign Office dignitary which he will play. These three, together with MM and SLO, really are the movie.

Richard Wattis is in virtually every scene except the love scenes, and he even has to barge into two of those. Luckily he has a wonderful sense of humour behind his austere appearance.

Then SLO introduced Tony B, who had directed MM at the screen test, but whom MM had clearly forgotten, and then David and then me (two more blanks for MM).

Well, it has been 10 days since she saw any of us but frankly I don’t think she’d recognise Milton Greene in a crowd – especially if she was nervous. In this case she definitely was not at ease. The whole thing was rather theatrical and I sense that she doesn’t understand the language.

All these people (except for David and me) are old cronies of SLO’s. Paula understands them OK – she was once an actress herself – so she becomes MM’s interpreter, and MM relies on her alone. SLO, whom I love and worship, can be a bit condescending. He treated MM like a doll from a faraway land. It is almost as if he is already in the character of the film, and she is just ‘a little bit of fluff’. When SLO isn’t completely at ease, he tends to retreat into a role, and in this case that is a little unfortunate. If MM is working with ‘the greatest classical actor in the world’ to acquire a serious dramatic image, then she won’t be liking his attitude at all. Paula didn’t say a word but she radiated disapproval, which definitely means that MM is upset.

Then SLO introduced the film. He told the whole story, most magically, and in a dozen accents, from start to finish. We really should have filmed his performance and then gone home. MM listened, eyes and mouth wide open like a child, completely carried away by the little fairy story. At the end everyone clapped and MM joined in enthusiastically. Then David and I handed round marked scripts and SLO chose certain key scenes to read aloud. I must say that MM was enchantingly unspoilt. Compared to those ‘old stagers’ she sounded most refreshing and delightful. But her voice does seem to be coming from another world, floating out of the sky like a little moth. I hope it all mixes together in the end. It is a fairy story, I suppose.

TUESDAY, 31 JULY

MM and Paula were 45 minutes late again today and it was enough to irritate SLO. He sees it as a great professional discourtesy, especially to Dame Sybil. This is a pity because Dame Sybil really doesn’t care, or hardly notices. I think MM actually enjoyed yesterday’s readings and SLO should have taken advantage of this.

MM just doesn’t seem to know late from early, so when she is scolded she often can’t understand why – or is it that she doesn’t want to understand why?

I took MM and Paula up to the rehearsal room where everyone was waiting. Dame S is so divine; she was warm and welcoming to MM – as if really glad to see her, as a human being. SLO tempered his greeting with a hint of menace which I could see MM pick up. Paula was icy to me but I am incredibly polite and charming to her at all times. As she does not know that I am in love with her daughter (sorry, little Wdg!) she was rather taken aback, but obviously flattered. MM, of course, totally ignores me, and quite right too. In the film industry I am right at the bottom and she is right at the top.

Actually she seems a strange mixture of self-centred and sensitive, like a child, I suppose. I have heard adults like that described as ‘mimophants’ – as fragile as mimosa about their own feelings, as tough as elephants about other people’s.

I always thought being a big, big star would give you an armour-plated ego, but MM certainly has not got that. In fact I don’t think SLO realises, or perhaps even cares, how fragile she is. He takes the line that all actors and actresses are nervous, but they should have learnt to suppress their nerves by the time they work with him. I hope he remembers that MM is his partner in this production – his equal business partner. Milton Greene is just his partner’s stooge. Charming him won’t help much!

I didn’t stay for the rehearsals in the morning but went on the set with David. I’ve been on sets before and one thing hasn’t changed. There is nowhere to sit! That’s why directors and stars have their names on their chairs. The only place I know is the wheel of a sound boom, which is not popular with the sound boom operator. David thinks a 3rd Ast Dir should never sit, night or day, by definition. ‘A 3rd Ast Dir is “he who never sits”,’ he barked.

I also had to pop up and see my little Wdg (sorry Susan!). Very sweet and soft and I stole a kiss behind the racks of costumes. The wardrobe mistress, her boss, has obviously been told the news of our night out together, and gives me looks which are both fierce and benevolent. ‘Don’t hurt my baby,’ she implies.

I took a spare copy of the shooting script home, from rehearsals, and I’m going to study it very carefully tonight. Work before pleasure – but Saturday night seems far away.

WEDNESDAY, 1 AUGUST

MM was very late this morning. I phoned Plod to find out what was the matter but he knew nothing. Neither MM nor AM had come downstairs yet, and no one had had the courage to go up and knock.

‘Could they have committed joint suicide?’ I asked.

‘No.’ There had been bumps.

‘What sort of bumps?’ I heard Plod grin down the phone.

‘Oh no. Surely not.’

I can’t repeat that to SLO. He is extremely grim. It doesn’t bode well for the 6.45 a.m. filming days. Tony B is fuming. Dear Tony, he always mirrors SLO so closely it is touching. He genuinely feels SLO’s emotions as soon as SLO does. And his wife Anne is so like Vivien – in manner, of course, not in looks. Did he choose her like that, or did she become like that to please him?

The rest of the cast seem quite relieved. Esmond Knight paid us a visit – even though he is half-blind.⁴⁸ No one seems to know how much he can or can’t see, but he’s very kind and nice.

Rehearsals went on, punctuated by hilarious theatrical jokes, mainly from Dicky Wattis. What a pity MM can’t join in this sort of ‘actors’ band’. I’m sure it is much more relaxing than the method group in New York. But perhaps you have to be a professional, as these actors are, to be able to join in and relax.

At noon MM did turn up with Paula and Milton. I wonder if they are fighting over her. She seemed confused and frightened. The script might as well have been Alice in Wonderland.

She had trouble in following the other parts and so failed to come in when her cue came. No one could be cross; they were just embarrassed. Paula had gone off to ‘confer’ with Milton, so Dame S went and sat by MM and coaxed her through. I wish Dame S was going to be in every scene but she is only in about 15%. Something definitely seemed the matter with poor MM so perhaps it will pass. It could be her monthly period, I suppose, but she was clearly very upset. By the look in her eyes she has been taking tranquillisers. She went to lie down in her dressing room at lunchtime and Paula came tiptoeing out after a few minutes so she must have gone straight to sleep.

At 2.30, when she didn’t appear, SLO told David and David told me to go to get her. Milton opened her dressing-room door, grinning, and said she’d be up in 10 minutes. I could see, and smell, a champagne bottle open on the table. My heart sank. I didn’t mention what I’d seen to SLO. Not booze as well as pills?

Actually MM was much better in the afternoon. I suppose the tranqs had worn off and the champagne had cheered her up. SLO left her alone to do what she could and Paula sat silently in a corner glowering.

Milton must have won a round there, I guess!

THURSDAY, 2 AUGUST

MM arrived early, for her, at 10.30 a.m. Paula and Hedda Rosten and AM were with her in the car. (No room for Plod!) Tension seemed high to me but MM was quite jolly.

AM and Hedda just looked round the studios a bit and went back to Parkside. Paula took a firm grip of MM on one side and Milton, who had been waiting outside, took a firm grip of the other. They hardly bother to conceal their battle for control. And not just them – AM wants control too.

There is no doubt MM is a huge star. Everyone is simply hypnotised when she appears, including me. Everything revolves around her, whether she likes it or not, and yet she seems weak and vulnerable. If it is deliberate, it is incredibly skilful, but I think it is a completely natural gift. All the people round her want to control her, but they do so by trying to give her what they think she wants. What a paradox. Only Dame Sybil, with a heart as big as a house, can bypass all this nonsense. She can get away with being natural with MM because she is so naturally nice. Which none of the rest of us are, of course.

We are all really thinking of what we want underneath. ‘Oh what a nice pot of gold you are. Can I help you, pot of gold?’ etc. Dame S simply is not interested in gold.

Meanwhile life goes on. Filming starts on Monday and everything needs to be ready. Studio A is now bursting with technicians, preparing the equipment. The first shots on Monday will be unimportant – just there to make sure everything works, camera, lights, sound etc.

Jack Cardiff has to have the right lights hanging from the grid. It looks a total muddle but it has a pattern which only the gaffer and he understand. The lights get very hot – I dread to think what the temperature is up on the gantry. Whenever possible the lights are all switched off. ‘Save the lights’ is the cry, and there is a great clunk and what seems like darkness for a moment. But actually there are work lights which always stay on. They make everything look tawdry and pathetic. Carpenters are hammering, scene painters are finishing back-drops, curtains (drapes) are being hung and ornaments are being selected to decorate the set (props).

Roger Furse is meant to be in charge of the scenery but his assistants hardly seem to have time to listen to him.

Bumble Dawson is clearly close to a breakdown. She has all the costumes to worry about and some aren’t to her liking.⁴⁹ My little Wdg, who works for Bumble of course, is too busy to give me anything but a smile, but we do have another date for Saturday night.

FRIDAY, 3 AUGUST

Tony B is incredibly nice. It seems he and Anne have rented a large house near Ascot, at Runnymede, where King John signed the Magna Carta. They want me to come to live with them there while filming is going on. It is much nearer the studios than London, of course, and not far from Tibbs and Englefield Green. Since I have to be at Pinewood by 6.40 a.m. every morning from now on, that is very good news.

But the real joy is to be invited to be part of ‘the family’. Tony B and Anne are very much part of SLO and Vivien’s ‘family’ and now I will be too. I always have a tendency to feel lonely unless I am with people. It is an absolutely lovely idea and I accepted with much gratitude.

Rehearsals ended at lunchtime and all the cast dashed off for the weekend.

‘Not you,’ said David sternly, and we stayed to see the last person leave. I don’t mind. My mind is firmly fixed on tomorrow night.

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