The Richard Burton Diaries (207 page)

Tuesday 15th
Started off in black and over-laid it in red. I am still as purely non-alcoholic as the scion of two AA's.
⁷⁶

Pouring with rain this morning and it rained all day yesterday too. I wish someone would reprint that slim volume of Alun Lewis which contains the poem ‘All day it has rained’ and ‘For Gweno’ etc., a companion of my teens, when I was more poet than most, indeed the time when I read and acquired by familiarity the vast store of memorized and memorable verse that still lies here in my head.
⁷⁷

[...] I awoke at 5 to 7 actually and did all my usual ablutions and exercised with the addition – very carefully for fear of my chipped base of spine and my tendency to lout gumbago and arturitis – Spooner and Mr Bindle – 10 sit ups the stomach muscles taking it very well.
⁷⁸
I shall keep up twenty a day, 10 at night, 10 in the morning for a few days and see how it goes. Would like to work up to a hundred, 150, and lo those flat stomach muscles again. My stomach is flat at the moment but soft like a baby's. I wonder if I shall ever get those two parralel (still asleep) parallel ridges of vertical muscle that I used to pride myself on. Or am I now too old? [...] Yesterday I played organ (traditional for horror movies) while a hawk flew around – a falcon to be exact – and landed on my shouldders
⁷⁹
(I really am only half awake) and a white cat streaked around. [...]

I work with ‘Joey’ again this day. She seems perfectly innocuous to me but everybody else seems to loathe her. She gets up to tantrums behind my back presumably that I never see. I must confess that she is about as stimulating an actress as the worst I've known but I keep on telling myself that it doesn't really matter. We can slide around her with cunning and girls in horror movies are always props after all. All they have to do is be pretty and dumb.

Am reading – at work – three books. In the upstairs dressing-room either
Volcano
or a novel by ‘Hungary's greatest prose’ writer Imre something and in the trailer and most fascinating a biog of Einstein.
⁸⁰
At home it's a detective story in bed and a history of espionage in the Abwehr before during and slightly after the war.
⁸¹
Interesting that one of the so-called master spies was a Welsh Nationalist xenophobe – especially anglophobe – called Owens.
⁸²
He is reputedly still alive. He is described as ‘an excitable little Welshman’ but he was a double spy used by the XX section of MI5 and the Germans. Some of the things he did were hair-raisingly courageous so he cannot have been all that excitable. I was told a long time ago that he was in South Ireland. I must try and seek him out. There might be a film on him as he reported to his German ‘masters’ that he had a whole ring of anglo-phobic Welshmen spying for him and therefore for them all around Britain including a former Chief Detective Inspector from Swansea. It could made a film and an odd one – perhaps even a funny one – as of course, the minute the Huns started out in earnest bashing us during the blitzes all the dissident malcontents in the Welsh Plaid Cymru turned double spies against their German friends. And deceived them throughout the war. A dirty game but fascinating nevertheless. [...]

Friday 19th
⁸³
[...] I read a lot of the biography of Einstein and indeed to God began to think that – poetically at least – I was understanding the relativity of time and space but very much through a glass darkly. Then I had several
¹
/
₂
hours of Wolf Mank and a man from the Jersey Islands who for some reason I didn't quite trust though he seemed nice enough.
⁸⁴
I had no idea that the Channel Islands are so free of British rule and that they have their own tax laws. [...] Anyway if we do the
Canterbury Tales
there which I and E too probably will we might do worse than as twere case the joint as a possible home from home instead of Suisse. Geographically too I am moronic. I said the islands are midway in the channel or nearer France. Oh my God, he said, France of course – I frequently water ski there. Ah, said I. Dick Makewater was here too with the art director of
Shrew
or was it
Anne
who won an Oscar I think.
⁸⁵
He is to direct. I wonder if he can. Wolfie was in one of his racier moods. ‘My gawd you look smashing’, he said, ‘what's happened to you?’ ‘Dunno,’ I said ‘it can't be the loss of weight at I was this same weight approximately when we last saw each other in Bosnia.’ ‘Yeah I know,’ he said, ‘but you look more smashing, somethin's happened to you.’ He kept on about it. [...] Anyway I said it was ‘exercise’. ‘Aw Chraist,’ he said, ‘I can never do anything physical for myself and to myself that I can imagine better.’ He was at his most engagingly cockney and obviously adored Elizabeth who reciprocated and said, ‘Now that's the kind of man I could love if you weren't around, I adore him.’ ‘Bloody daft thing to say,’ I said, hurting. But good taste all the same I thought. Wolfie always looks hooded eyed and desperate and is always being hounded by some ‘bird’. ‘They're all fackin nuisances, they want to possess a man body and soul, won't leave you alone. Nasty dirty bastards. Hate the cunts.’ Except Elizabeth apparently to whom he paid court all evening. There is always an oddity about people's preferences for types. I've always lusted for medium height dark haired Jewesses, or those who could be first racial cousins. Elizabeth has always fancied Jews period. She seems to have a rapport with them which she doesn't have with the ordinary Anglo Saxon. She and Wolf could obviously have talked all night. And about all kinds of things. They touched lightly on Wedgwood for instance last night [...].
⁸⁶
And it has nothing to do – in E's case – with male beauty for Wolf is a mess, about my height with a great pendulous belly that is big enough to turn after the rest of his body has turned, double chinned, grubby looking without being unclean. But his mind is astringent. There is no shit about him and he is a renaissance man. He opens
shop to sell Wedgwood having first made himself an expert on the subject, writing a lavishly illustrated book to prove his own provenance as an expert and then – as he just has – sold the shops owned by his sister and himself for half a million nicker tax free capital fackin gain. And who to, d'yer think? Fackin Wedgwood that's who.
⁸⁷
He has now started or resurrected a small private printing press in Cork or Dublin – anyway in Eire somewhere – and his first publication is a book of his own poems.
⁸⁸
Now he wants me to write for them. Anything he says, ‘rondeaux, frigging triolets, belles lettres, the story of your life, graffiti, anything you like old mate.’ He is superlatively intelligent with a considerable smattering of the poet about him. [...]

Saturday 20th
⁸⁸
[...] Curious note: I sent a ‘gram to Arthur Koestler (
Darkness at Noon
, a marvellous 3 volume autobiography and the latest
Case of the Midnight Toad
) expressing admiration for his work and asking him to come to the party with ulterior motive of possibility of film from
Midnight Toad
.
⁹⁰
His reply said something like ‘would love to come but climate there unhealthy for me. Happy 30th birthday to your wife.‘
⁹¹
I am most surprised that he is still persona non grata after all these years. I wonder if he's melodramatizing the whole situation. After all, he reneged from the Party something like 35 years ago.
⁹²
[...] The greatest monsters to the Jugoslavs were their former tyrannical Royalty and we heard from Tito himself that there was no objection to Elisheba coming back and at the Proust Ball I met Elisheba's (uncle)? cousin(?) who would be king were there a throne there to sit on and he told me that he'd been back as a tourist once and as a business man another time and everybody treated him with great bonhomie.
⁹³
That's of course Jugland which is far more liberal than a Russian-run Hungary. Still, since
Darkness at Noon
Koestler has been harmless to them.
⁹⁴
And even that, as I remember, didn't specify any particular country though it was obviously a Communist one. [...] Also, of course, I'm not sure how much pamphleteering Koestler has been up to through the years. It will be interesting to find out, for instance, if he's been read here at all since he changed colours. [...]

I did a longish scene with the girl yesterday and it seemed to go alright. This film might be amusant after all.

E came in to the room for a half hour or so and has gone back to bed to read a script that I might do. It's
Sir, you bastard
and I want to find out if she understands it as I think it might be confusing unless, like me, you have read the book first. [...]

Saturday 26th
A day of enormous excitement for all. Some 80 odd or so people arrived at various times of the day for the big weekend.
⁹⁵
Chief pleasures were of course the families – mine and Elizabeth's or should I say rather ours and ours. The next were Grace who again qualified for five stars and Nevill Coghill and Spender and Mrs Ladas and Simon and Sheran. What exquisite manners they all have in their very different ways. I taught all the girls to curtsey and all the lads how to do a proper hand-shake with Royalty and each by each and one by one they all performed admirably. We had a cocktail party in our suite – hastily rearranged for the purpose – which went with a swing – at least the last reluctant group left at about midnight with Howard Mara and kids staying until the end as it was the only chance we had of talking properly to them. I had several clec-clecs with my lot in one of their rooms.
⁹⁶
I took wee Maria along – not so wee, she is a very tall girl – and introduced her to her 1000s of heretofore unknown and un-met aunts and uncles and, completely forgetting, we went babbling on in Welsh until we suddenly all realized that Maria was completely bewildered. She had been told by me of course many times that certain percentages of Welshmen spoke a tongue entirely alien to English but I don't think, until she heard us all at it last night, that she realized quite how alien it actually was. I think that vaguely she thought it was the equivalent of an Irish brogue or a Highland Scottish. The family adored her of course because she looked so like Kate. In fact Will Cross-eyes and a couple of the others thought she was Kate.
⁹⁷
There is superficially a fleeting resemblance. Round face, cherubic cheeks, same colouring. The family were in tremendous form – Tom at 71 being the dynamo. The flight was as smooth as silk and was a particular thrill for Verdun who had,
to my astonishment
, never been in an aeroplane in his life and a jet at that. That alone has been sufficient excitement for him. They, with their still retained sense of wonder, were bowled over by everything. The very bathrooms, the fact that there was a bar in each room the view of the legendary Danube, the meetings with Elizabeth and of course Grace were high points. Both E and Grace behaved superbly. [...] Little Mickey Caine had flown from LA with one of his exquisite ‘birds’, a Marlon Brando Asiatic as usual, and How and Mar and my lovely Layton and the equally lovely Chris and Aileen had come almost exactly half way around the world and are going to be a trifle jet-lagged today and
tomorrow I would guess but the parties will keep them going.
⁹⁸
Victor Spinetti and boyfriend were, are here, and Ringo and wife and Susannah York and Mick and Liz and Brook and Grace's Lady-in-waiting a certain Mme Aurelli, Professor Warner and a lady –possibly his inamorata – called Anna Something, and Doris Brynner and Bettina and Marie Lou Tolo (one of the girls in the film), Yves Le Tourneur and wife, Vanhattan of Van Cleef – Cartiers NY I mean – Hebe Dorsey, Vicky Berkeley complete with Ron, Billy Williams and wife (Williams is the great cameraman who shot
XYZ
) and our very own Chris and Liza who gave me thunderous good night kisses several to each side of the face and Kurt Frings, John Springer and too many to recount them all.
⁹⁹
Frings went into business as usual and after extracting a promise from me that I would not throw him into the Danube said that the Lerner–Loewe–Donen consortium were still desperate for me to play
Little Prince
. [...] He also said that representing E and I was the greatest experience of his life and that we didn't realize what magic our names were and that after
XYZ
E is hotter or as hot as she's ever been. And that the respect and even awe at the mention of our names in meetings is quite extraordinary, that he has been in the business forty years and that [the] plural noun ‘Burtons’ is almost synonymous with Royalty. Another incidental exchange in the brouhaha of the party was then Francis Warner said he would like to see me alone for
¹
/
₂
an hour or so today and I said I would call him as soon as I arrived back from the Studio. I didn't ask him what specifically about but he was obviously bursting to tell me and said something very quickly and in tone of espionage. ‘Fellowship at Oxford’. I am intrigued. It could be a step towards a D.Litt., which is the only honour I really covet.
¹⁰⁰
[...]

The world press is here in droves. From everywhere. Literally, it seems. Japanese, India, as well as every other place you can think of in the western hemisphere. I think I will have to talk to them today – perhaps en masse. Dread of dreads and hell's damnation.
¹⁰¹

The brothers (and their women too for that matter) are agog about the Welsh rugby team of the last three years and have bought 16mm copies of ‘highlights’ of the All Blacks and various other games. Shall try and watch it all this afternoon while everyone else is kipping.

Graham got very sloshed very quickly. I had to pull him up once after having heard him introduce Ringo Starr and wife four times to Howard and Mara with a ‘D'you know my brother-in-law Howard, these are friends of
mine called Starkie.’ The latter is Ringo's real name and the joke once is ok.
¹⁰²
Twice it's tedious. Three times it's rude. He is, poor boy very very star-struck. But lovely with it. S. Spender is anxious to talk to me too. I wonder what about. What is the Cause?