A foretaste of Chapter One
It all
began in the early hours of the 5th April, 1912. My mother had some
difficulty in projecting me into the world. Apparently my head was a
trifle oversized. It is a le Mesurier feature that still causes problems
though nowadays it is chiefly theatrical costumiers who have cause to
complain. |
My
birthplace was Chaucer Road, Bedford, a town of which I was to know
little. By the time I was conscious of a world outside the nursery my
parents had moved to Bury St Edmunds, a genteel community not far from
Newmarket, whose racing economy I was later to support with overgenerous
backing of tired horses. |
Bury
was and; in many respects, still is the quintessential county town.
Richly endowed with historical monuments, notably the ruins of a medieval
abbey, the ancient streets were crowded with prosperous tradesmen who
catered largely for the rural gentry. In my young days Bury was surrounded
by large estates whose owners set the tone for snobbery and low brow
arrogance. Not that I was in any way a victim of the system - at least
not until I was of an age where I could articulate my disreputable desire
to become an actor. |
We
settled into an elegant Queen Anne house in St Mary's Square, which
was a collection of desirable residences round the customary patch of
green. Just down the road was the old Theatre Royal, which in the days
of its decline, between the wars, was used as a beer barrel store for
the largest brewery in Suffolk. |
We
had a tennis court and a paddock and a garden shielded by chestnut trees.
There were other trees where rooks nested and went about their business
making, what were to me, comforting evening sounds as I was taken up
to bed; in this nightly ritual I was accompanied by my nanny who was
to play an important part in my early life. |
The
process of growing up was interrupted - almost cancelled by the outbreak
of war. While not directly involved, it was an occasion my father and
I commemorated by catching double pneumonia. |
This
period must have been dreadful for my mother, with two nurses in the
day and two at night, one of whom just managed to stop my delirious
father from hurling himself out of a window. But our fever descended
as quickly as it had risen. Life was quite serene again, except for
the occasional clamour of soldiers marching through the Square with
their puttees and boots, their tight jackets and dreadful caps, and
their bodies giving out a smell of sweat that I can remember to this
day. But just as vivid is the beautiful smell of tar when the roads
were mended in the summer. |
The
family possessed two dachshunds named Nipper and Patience. They were
very suspect on account of their German origin. An outing with me in
the pram and Nanny pushing was an occasion for strange hissing sounds
and other signals of disapproval from passers-by. 'Be off with you!'
my nanny would shout. Another pram-pushing memory (I must have been
pushed quite a lot in those days) was of seeing a group of unlikely
looking people coming towards my conveyance. There were four of them,
two men and two women. The men wore large black hats and long coats
with astrakhan collars and the ladies seemed over made-up and more lavishly
attired than the friends of my parents I was used to seeing about the
house. If this sounds a precocious observation it probably was, but
I didn't know what 'precocious' meant in those days. I was obviously
beginning to notice the appearance and behaviour of other people. When
I asked Nanny who they were she replied, 'They are theatricals, Master
John, and you should have absolutely nothing to do with them.' This
was no answer to my juvenile curiosity which was further stimulated
a few nights later when I was woken by the sound of horsedrawn wagons
rumbling through the Square. The Circus was coming to town. I was to
get to know a lot about the Circus in later years, but for the moment
I only knew that the occasion promised great things. I tried to describe
my excitement to my nanny and asked her to try and find out where the
wagons had gone, which she did, for I can remember arriving at the site
(being pushed in the pram as usual) to find nothing but debris and a
kind of circle in the ground where the ring had been. Otherwise, nothing.
But I was left with a sense of wonder and expectation. |
On
another night shortly after the Circus incident I was woken up again,
this time by the sound of birds. The loudest were the pheasants who
have a kind of communal alarm system which they share with us. This
seemed particularly decent of them since we don't give them much warning
when the guns come out in October. Anyhow, the cause of their fear was
the imminent appearance of a zeppelin over the town. It was about two
in the morning. Nanny guided me from cot to window where I saw this
remarkable giant cigar, moving slowly like a shadow through the clouds.
It dropped a clutch of bombs near the only cinema in Bury, which happened
to be showing an early D. W. Griffith film. The attack put a sharp stop
to any outside entertainment for some time. In future any fun was to
be had at home. In my case, entertainment usually meant singing to my
mother's accompaniment, 'Tommy Lad' or 'Drake's Drum" - or my elder
sister attempting 'A Little Brown Bird is Singing', just off key. Possibly
she was a little too eager to please. I used to sit in the drawing room
on these occasions wishing that I was somewhere else, but I wasn't sure
where. |
All
this was before I went to kindergarten, an institution run by two ladies
of (to me) immense age called The Misses Underwood. They both smelt
of hot milk, petit-beurres biscuits and ever so slightly damp mackintoshes.
Of course I learnt nothing except to slosh paint around, the rudiments
of arithmetic, writing and how to pick out a tune on the piano with
one finger. On leaving at the end of each day I always had difficulty
in tying my shoelaces. But there was an attentive and very pretty girl
who, though older than myself, was ready to help. 'Come along, Johnny'
she would say and then do up my laces and off we would go towards our
homes, she leading me by the hand. One day outside the Theatre Royal
we saw pieces of furniture and scenery carried down a narrow... |
|
John
Le Mesurier
|
 |
I hope that's wetted your appetite. If you want to read more, then you'll have to try and find the book second-hand. See below for more details. |
|
There were three publications of this particular book. They date from: 1984 to 1985, and are as follows:
You can find copies of this book second-hand, but it isn't an easy book to come by. The Lythway publication is as rare as they come, and the most difficult to find. You could pay as much as £50, if you were willing. I know of 2 paperbacks (last book on the right, top of page) that went for nearly this awhile ago. Then again you might be lucky and get a copy for a fiver! |
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