Alec Guinness was gossipy, nervous and greedy – and ticked off Madeline Smith for drinking on the job. But he was a genius
Guinness was good for me P
inewood Film Studios, 1973 I was cuddled up in bed with the new James Bond, Roger Moore, filming Live and Let Die. He whispered in my ear, ‘This job is nothing compared with your next one.’ This next job was in a new play, Alan Bennett’s Habeas Corpus. Starring Sir Alec Guinness, it was an end-of-the-pier, black-humoured pantomime written partly in verse, with plangent fairground musical interludes composed by Carl Davis. Recorded on a Wurlitzer, the music set the tone of the play each night at exactly 8.10pm. That’s when I knew it was time for me to scamper down the concrete stairs to make my first entrance. On the first night, I did the unforgivable and glugged a full glass of red wine before curtain-up. My knees locked and so did my brain. Afterwards, Sir Alec told me that I was a very foolish girl, and I never drank a drop before the show again. Roger Moore was in awe of Alec
Guinness – and his modesty was no act. It set Roger apart in my estimation, then as now. Sir Alec’s body was quite portly for his mere 59 years. An actor’s vanity would not allow him to expose it to the audience – so he wore a corset underneath his sharp suit, in his role as Dr Wicksteed, a GP from Hove. He also sported a wig which made him resemble Peter Cushing in Baron Frankenstein mode. Food was Alec’s god, and he was a regular frequenter of Fortnum & Mason and many other favourite haunts between theatreland and his second home in Smith Square, Westminster. My role as pert ingénue Felicity Rumpers was a device to represent temptation. Dr Wicksteed, riddled with unresolved desires, conjures visions of himself entwined in her arms, sampling the forbidden fruit. Alan had me wear a floating pink dress and beads, reminiscent of an era long past. For a month, our assorted crew of
Alec Guinness (Dr Wicksteed) and family; Patricia Hayes as Mrs Swabb 26 The Oldie August 2021
writer, director, actors and stage management occupied the Brass Rubbing Centre in the former Crypt of St James’s Church, Piccadilly. Alan Bennett lay asleep atop the old honky-tonk piano. On the piano stool each day, there was an assortment of cream cakes for sustenance. While Alan snored, director Ronald Eyre was busy tearing apart the unwieldy script – politely termed ‘pruning’. There was never any complaint from the author. The only problem was Patricia Hayes, the second lead. Patricia had just broken everybody’s heart with her recent TV performance as Edna the tramp in Edna, the Inebriate Woman. I adored her. From day one, Alan Bennett wanted her to play the cleaning lady, Mrs Swabb, with a northern accent. Pat could not master it. After many days, and to her great relief, she was allowed to revert to Cockney and her endless lines, moves, entrances and exits all fell into place. Patricia was unique. A true character in every sense. As Mrs Swabb, she wore a small, dark hat – scarcely noticeable. One night, well into the run at the Lyric Theatre, Shaftesbury Avenue, a phosphorescent, green hat lit up the stage. Patricia had seen no reason to reveal it to Alec before the show, and he was incandescent. She never wore that hat again. Each night, Patricia arrived just in time to catch the closing of Berwick Street Market, where she picked up the fruit, fish and meat at knocked-down prices. Her basement dressing room was filled with strange, stray objects gleaned from local dustbins, including a bright red broken telephone.
