Patrick Bade
Noel Coward

Patrick Bade - Noel Coward

- So here is “The Master,” as his admirers called him, sitting ensconced in a throne-like chair. He was certainly one of the most versatile cultural figures of the 20th century. He was a very accomplished actor, playwright, director, poet, composer, very good painter. So, immensely gifted in many ways. But you could say his most remarkable creation was himself. He is the epitome, he became the epitome of posh elegance, suavity. He wasn’t posh at all. He was, in a way, you could say, throughout his life, living a lie. He came from a very humble, lower-middle class, if not working class background, born in the suburb of London in 1899. And also, through most of his life, he kept up more or less the facade of being heterosexual, whereas he was in fact homosexual, of course, for most of his lifetime, homosexual acts between men were a criminal offence. So it wasn’t something he could exactly go around flaunting. His father was a piano salesman, and apparently a rather ineffectual character. His mother was the driving force. And she was the archetypal pushy, theatrical mother. Her first son had died in infancy, so she lavished an enormous amount of investment, you could say, emotional investment in Noel as a child. And she was determined that he would succeed in the theatre. So she dragged him around to audition for plays, and he was playing, really, as a professional actor from the age of 12, so he didn’t have any kind of normal childhood. Later he wrote this rhymed monologue that I’ll play you, that describes his very strange childhood.

• [Noel] I can remember, I can remember, the months of November and December were filled, for me, with peculiar joys. So different from those of other boys. But other boys would be counting the days until end of term and holiday times, but I was acting in Christmas plays, while they were taken to pantomimes. I didn’t envy their Eaton suits, their children’s dances and Christmas trees. My life had wonderful substitutes for such conventional treats, as these. I didn’t envy their country larks, their organised games in panelled halls. While they made snowmen in stately parks, I was counting the curtain calls. I remember the auditions, the nerve wracking auditions, darkened auditorium and empty, dusty stage. Little girls in ballet dresses, practising positions, gentlemen with asking you your age. Hopefulness and nervousness struggling within you, dreading that familiar phrase. Thank you dear, no more. Straining every muscle, every tendon, every sinew, to do your dance much better than you’d ever done before. Think of your performance. Nevermind the others. Nevermind the pianist. Talent must prevail.

• So he had rather, I would say, a fairly loose upbringing. I mean, his mother doesn’t seem to have exercised much control or protection, he was touring the country with theatre companies. And the man on the left was probably his first lover when he was just 14 years old. This man, he’s called Philip Streatfeild. He was quite a successful society portraitist, and it was he who introduced Noel Coward to those aristocratic classes to which he aspired. In particular, he introduced him to the woman in the centre of this photograph, who was called Mrs. Astley Cooper. And she had this magnificent country house, and the young Noel was almost adopted as a member of the family. And this is where he acquired all his upper class mannerisms. Not everybody was taken in, of course, very sharp-eyed and sharp eared Joyce Grenfell, in her Middle Eastern diary, she giggles secretly at people who actually really thought that Noel Coward was a toff, was a upper class character. But it was certainly a facade that he kept up, and very effectively, right to the end of his life. So he was lucky, I suppose, to be exempted from military service. He could have been called up at the end of First World War, but he apparently had a possible tubercular condition, and so he was rejected for the army. And his career took off immediately after the first World War. His very first performed play was called, “I’ll Leave It to You.” And it was a moderate success. That was in 1920. And in 1923, he had a bigger success with a play called, “The Young Idea.” These were very flippant comedies, that, there’s this period of “Bright Young Things,” you know, think “Evil and War.” And that’s what he became known for; these sharp, funny, I suppose rather superficial comedies. And then, in 1924 I think it was, he wrote a play that really caused a sensation in London. It ran for a long time in London. It actually transferred to New York. It was called “The Vortex.” This was not a flippant comedy. This was quite a serious play. And it’s about a young man with a very dominating mother. I suppose that must’ve been a little bit autobiographical. In the play, the mother is promiscuous. I don’t think that was the case, as far as I know, with his mother, but his problem is one of a drug addiction, in the play. And, but many people have said that, in fact, that was just a cover. What the play is really about, was Noel Coward coming to the terms with his homosexuality. But it was, of course, in those days, the love that could not breathe its name.

But as I said, it was big success in London and quite a success in New York as well. But throughout his career, Noel Coward had to maintain this facade of the suave heterosexual lover. He did this very effectively, repeatedly in plays that he wrote for himself and for the great Gertrude Lawrence, you see the two of them here. But he had two great male loves in his life, one before the Second World War, one after the Second World War, but plenty of other male lovers along the way. And he certainly, I mean, he’d be probably in trouble today, because he made very liberal use of the casting couch. Handsome young actors would be summoned to his dressing room or his living quarters. There, he would be in a flamboyant silk dressing gown, and they knew what they were there for and some of them certainly complied. One young man who did manage to get cast without going on the casting couch, was Kenneth Moore, who you see on the right hand side. And he describes in his memoirs how, you know, he to see Coward, there was Coward, of course, in the inevitable dressing gown. And as the evening progressed, it became clearer and clearer what Coward wanted from him. And he kind of panicked and he blurted out, “No, no, no, I can’t possibly have sex with you! You remind me too much of my father!” And without so much as blinking, Noel Coward just said, “Hello, son.” And that was the end of it. So, at least there was a certain grace. I don’t think there was anything brutal about his application of the casting couch.

As I said, he had to maintain a certain facade of heterosexuality, but I think he enjoyed teasing his audiences, hinting at his private sexuality. And he could get away with this because I think he has thought the people who pick up the hints, the people who really understand what he’s saying between the lines, are going to be sophisticated enough that they’re not going to be offended or outraged. And the people who didn’t get it, well, they didn’t get it. That was as simple as that. But the closest, I suppose, he comes to declaring his sexuality, is in the song he wrote, “Mad About The Boy.” And it’s thought to be a composite portrait of a handsome young American socialite, called Jack Wilson. You can see there is Noel Coward with Jack Wilson on the right hand side, who was apparently a total cad and a user, and Noel Coward knew it, but was nevertheless charmed by him. But the song, which, in fact it was, I think, originally written for Bea Lily, but I’m going to play it to you in a version introduced by Noel Coward with Joyce Grenfell, in which she does, as I said, Joyce Grenfell had this wonderful ear for different accents. So she in fact does two verses of the song. One is of a cockney girl who’s in love with a film star, and the other, a rather posher version. And there are references to the boy of the song being a film star, and it’s thought that there are elements of Douglas Fairbanks Jr. who you see on the left hand side, very handsome film star of the interwar period, that Noel Coward had a bit of a crush on.

• [Noel] In words and music at the Delphi Theatre in 1932, there was a song describing the effect of a famous film star on two different characters: A woman of the world and her cockney housemaid. Here it is, “Mad About the Boy,” sung by Joyce Grenfell.

♪ I met him at a party ♪ ♪ just a couple of years ago. ♪ ♪ He was rather over hearty and ridiculous, ♪ ♪ But as I’d seen him on the screen, ♪ ♪ He cast a certain spell ♪ ♪ I basked in his attractions ♪ ♪ For a couple of hours or so ♪ ♪ His manners were a fraction too meticulous ♪ ♪ If he was real or not I couldn’t tell ♪ ♪ But like a silly fool I feel ♪ ♪ Mad about the boy ♪ ♪ I know it’s stupid to be mad about the boy ♪ ♪ I’m so ashamed of it ♪ ♪ But must admit ♪ ♪ The sleepless nights I’ve had about the boy ♪ ♪ On the silver screen ♪ ♪ He melts my foolish heart in every single scene. ♪ ♪ Although I’m quite aware that here and there ♪ ♪ Are traces of a cad ♪ ♪ About the boy ♪ ♪ Lord knows I’m not a fool girl ♪ ♪ I really shouldn’t care ♪ ♪ Lord knows I’m not a school girl ♪ ♪ In the flurry of her first affair ♪ ♪ Will it ever cloy ♪ ♪ This odd diversity of misery and joy ♪ ♪ I’m feeling quite insane and young again ♪ ♪ And all because I’m mad about the boy ♪ ♪ Every Wednesday afternoon, ♪ ♪ I get a little time off from 3 to 11 ♪ ♪ Then I go to the picture house ♪ ♪ And taste a little of my particular heaven ♪ ♪ He appears ♪ ♪ In a little while ♪ ♪ Through a mist of tears ♪ ♪ I can see him smiling above me ♪ ♪ Every picture I see him in ♪ ♪ Every lover’s caress ♪ ♪ Makes my wonderful dreams begin, ♪ ♪ Makes me long to confess, ♪ ♪ That if he ever looked at me ♪ ♪ And thought perhaps I was worth the trouble to ♪ ♪ Love me ♪ ♪ I’d give in and I wouldn’t care ♪ ♪ However far from the path of virtue ♪ ♪ He’d shove me ♪ ♪ Just supposing our love was brief ♪ ♪ If he treated me rough ♪ ♪ I’d be happy beyond belief ♪ ♪ Once would be enough ♪ ♪ Because I’m mad about the boy ♪ ♪ I know I’m potty, ♪ ♪ But I’m mad about the boy ♪

In the late twenties and the thirties, he wrote a whole series of brittle, brilliant comedies that I suppose are his most lasting contributions to the theatre, and they’re still revived, and they’re wonderful vehicles for good actors. There’s “Hay Fever,” about a weekend in a country house that goes absolutely crazy. And then “Private Lives” in 1930, which was a vehicle for himself and for Gertrude Lawrence. She came from a very similar background, and they’d known each other, actually, since they were adolescents and it is possible that they briefly had an affair, before Noel Coward discovered his true sexuality. But the magic and charisma they had together on stage, was strictly on stage and not off stage; that he found her a very difficult person to work with, and was frequently very, very irritated with her. But they were magic on stage and they entranced audiences. So here is a scene that they recorded together from the play “Private Lives.” In this play, they have been married together, they’re recently divorced, and by coincidence, on their honeymoons with their new spouses they find that they’re staying in the same hotel and in neighbouring rooms.

CLIP BEGINS

• [Elyot] What are you doing here?

• [Amanda] I’m on my honeymoon.

• [Elyot] Very interesting. So am I.

• [Amanda] I hope you’re enjoying it.

• [Elyot] It hasn’t started yet.

• [Amanda] Neither has mine.

• [Elyot] Are you happy?

• [Amanda] Perfectly.

• [Elyot] Good.

• [Amanda] Are you?

• [Elyot] Ecstatically.

• [Amanda] What’s she like?

• [Elyot] Fair, very pretty, plays the piano beautifully.

• [Amanda] Very comforting.

• [Elyot] How’s yours?

• [Amanda] I’d rather not discuss it.

• [Elyot] Oh, well, it doesn’t matter. He’ll probably come popping out in a minute and I shall see for myself.

• [Amanda] Have you all known her long?

• [Elyot] About four months. We met in a house party in Norfolk.

• [Amanda] Very flat, Norfolk.

• [Elyot] There’s no need to be unpleasant.

• [Amanda] That was no reflection on her unless, of course, she made it better.

• [Elyot] Your voice takes on an acid quality every time you mention her.

• [Amanda] I swear I’ll never mention her again.

• [Elyot] Good. And I’ll keep off yours.

• [Amanda] Thank you.

• [Elyot] Not at all. That orchestra seems to have a remarkably small repertoire.

• [Amanda] Strange, how potent cheap music is. ♪ Someday I’ll find you ♪ ♪ Moonlight behind you ♪

CLIP ENDS

• There’s inimitable clipped tones that they adopt. “Are you happy? Terribly happy.” “The Design for Living” was actually premiered on Broadway rather than in London. And it was, perhaps, his most outrageous and daring play to date, in that he, in the play, it’s pretty obvious that three characters are in a bisexual menage a trois. And the play was written as a vehicle for one of the golden couples of the American stage, Alfred Lunt and Lynn Fontanne. And it was an enduring, loving marriage, but it was an open marriage, and it was widely believed that both of them were bisexual. So it was certainly a very brave thing for, particularly, I would say for Alfred Lunt. He was risking his reputation, his popularity, by appearing in this play. It’s a very, very funny, outrageously funny play. Look at this gorgeous set from New York in 1930s, the kind of art deco apartment that one would love to move straight into. And here it is, a closeup still of Alfred Lunt on the left, it’s obviously Noel Coward in the middle, and Lynn Fontanne on the right hand side. It was quite a big success. I think New York, if not the rest of America, was surprisingly liberal and open in the interwar period. And then it was turned into a movie 1934, which is, it’s a also a very funny, very clever movie with Miriam Hopkins, Frederick March.

It should have been Douglas Burbanks Jr. but he was ill, had to have an operation, and he was replaced by Gary Cooper. And the film, it works in its own way, although Noel Coward hated it. And of course it’s much, it couldn’t be anything like as daring as the play was. This is just at the point where the Hayes Code was being introduced in Hollywood, and that would all been too risky. But I think my favourite amongst all the Noel Coward plays is “Blithe Spirit.” And this was actually premiered during the second World War, in London, in 1941. So just after The Blitz; at the end of The Blitz. And it’s been made into a film twice, and it’s probably the most frequently performed of all Noel Coward’s plays, so many of you will be familiar with it. And it’s a about an author, it’s very clearly autobiographical, it’s Noel Coward himself. But in this play, he’s married to his second wife. His first wife has died; he was a widower. And during a seance, the first wife comes back to haunt him and his second wife. And it was a smash hit. It ran for nearly 2000 performances, so it actually ran right through to the end of the Second World War and afterwards. In his diary, Noel Coward is rather irritated with Margaret Rutherford as Madam Arcati, she’s the medium who conjures up the dead wife.

And it’s a wonderful role. It’s a gift of a role, and boy did she ever take advantage of it, as I said, to the irritation of Noel Coward, because it was very obvious that she was absolutely stealing the whole show. She became the star of the evening. And we can see how wonderful she was in the role. It’s absolutely hilarious, absolutely perfect, because she also stars as Madam Arcati in the first film version that came out in 1945, with Rex Harrison, Kay Hammond once again as the wonderfully suave and languid first wife. And in the film it’s Constance Cummings, he’s brilliant also. I think they’re just perfect casting. Again, Coward didn’t like the movie. I don’t think he ever liked any of the movie versions of his plays. The thing that irritated him most, I suppose, was that they changed the ending. At the end of the play, both wives are dead and he is, the hero, is left alive and exalting in the fact that he’s got rid of the two women who’d dominated him up to that point. But in the film, I think they didn’t think they could. That was, again, considered a bit too much. So all three of them get bumped off in the movie. Here’s Rex Harrison with the wonderful Kay Hammond. Kay Hammond and Madame Arcati. So I’m going to, there is, actually, a version, it was made for American TV and you can see it on YouTube, of the play, with Noel Coward in the role of Mr. Condomine, the author, and Claudette Colbert as his wife and Lauren Bacall. So that’s pretty good casting and it’s very good. But I have to say, I think Rex Harrison is so good in this. Much better than Noel Coward himself. But I’m going to play you the breakfast scene, a very frosty exchange between Mr. Condomine and his second wife over breakfast, after the night of the seance. And this is actually from a radio performance that stars Noel Coward himself.

CLIP BEGINS

• [Charles] Good morning, darling.

• [Ruth] Good morning, Charles.

• [Charles] It certainly is.

• [Ruth] What certainly is, what?

• [Charles] A good morning. A tremendously good morning. There isn’t a cloud in the sky and everything looks newly washed. Anything interesting in The Times?

• [Ruth] Now, don’t be silly, Charles.

• [Charles] I intend to work all day.

• [Ruth] Good.

• [Charles] ‘Tis extraordinary about daylight, isn’t it?

• [Ruth] How do you mean?

• [Charles] The way it reduces everything to normal.

• [Ruth] Does it?

• [Charles] Yes, it does.

• [Ruth] Now I’m sure I’m very glad to hear it.

• [Charles] You are very glacial this morning.

• [Ruth] Are you surprised?

• [Charles] Frankly, yes. I expected more of you.

• [Ruth] Well, really.

• [Charles] I’ve always looked upon you as a woman of perception and understanding.

• [Ruth] Well, perhaps this is one of my off days.

• [Charles] I take back what I said about it being a good morning. It’s a horrid morning.

• [Ruth] You had better eat your breakfast while it’s hot.

• [Charles] It isn’t.

• [Ruth] Now look here, Charles. In your younger days, this display of roguish flippancy, it might have been alluring. In a middle aged novelist, it’s nauseating.

• [Charles] Would you like me writhe at your feet in a frenzy of self abasement?

• [Ruth] That would be equally nauseating, but certainly more appropriate.

• [Charles] I really don’t see what I’ve done that’s so awful.

• [Ruth] You behaved abominably last night. You wounded me and insulted me.

• [Charles] I was the victim of an aberration.

• [Ruth] Oh, nonsense. You were drunk.

• [Charles] Drunk?

• [Ruth] You had four strong, dry martinis before dinner, a great deal too much burgundy at dinner, heaven knows how much port and kimmel with Dr. Bradman while I was doing my best to entertain that mad woman, and then two double brandies later. I gave them to you myself, of course you were drunk!

• [Charles] So that’s your story, is it?

• [Ruth] You refused to come to bed and finally when I came down at three in the morning to see what had happened to you, I found you in an alcoholic coma on the sofa with the fire out and your hair all over your face.

• [Charles] I was not in the least drunk, Ruth. Something happened to me last night. Something very peculiar happened to me.

• [Ruth] Nonsense.

• [Charles] It isn’t nonsense! I know it looks like nonsense now, in the clear, remorseless light of day. But last night it was far from being nonsense. I honestly had some sort of hallucination.

• [Ruth] I’d really rather not discuss it any further.

• [Charles] But you must discuss it! It’s very disturbing.

• [Ruth] Well, there I agree with you. It showed you up in the most unpleasant light. I find that extremely disturbing.

• [Charles] I swear to you that during the seance, I was convinced that I heard Elvira’s voice.

• [Ruth] Well, nobody else did.

• [Charles] I can’t help that, I did.

• [Ruth] You couldn’t have!

• [Charles] Later on, I was equally convinced that she was in this room. I saw her distinctly and talked to her. After you’d gone up to bed, we had quite a cosy little chat.

• [Ruth] And you seriously expect me to believe that you weren’t drunk?

• [Charles] I know I wasn’t drunk. If I’d been all that drunk, I should have a dreadful hangover now, shouldn’t I?

• [Ruth] I’m not at all sure that you haven’t.

• [Charles] I haven’t got a trace of a headache. My tongue’s not coated. Look at it.

• [Ruth] I’ve not the least desire to look at your tongue. Kindly put it in again.

• [Charles] I know what it is. You are frightened.

• [Ruth] Frightened? Oh, rubbish. What is there to be frightened of?

• [Charles] Elvira.

CLIP ENDS

• Some years before this, in 1929, he had shown quite a different aspect of his talent in writing a musical called “Bitter Sweet,” which is actually more of an operetta, I would say, than a musical. So, I suppose a musical play. But very much looking back to the Silver Age of Viennese operettas. And it starred Peggy Wood and a very handsome and talented Romanian actor, called George Metaxa. And at the end of last time, there were various people who commented on the voices of the period, how the voices have changed. We don’t hear voices anymore, really, like the voices of the 1920s and thirties. And somebody asked me why that was, and I’ve been thinking about that since. I think one big factor, of course, was the microphone. The microphone, which was invented in the middle of the 1920s and came into increasing use in the 1930s. And of course, no popular singer today would be likely to sing to a large audience without a microphone. That certainly changed the way people produced their voice. When you think back to, you know, popular musical singers like Mistinguett, with her little funny, croaky voice. She was singing in vast halls to thousands of people, without a microphone. She had to project. And that is a different way of producing a voice. So this a recording of 1929. The microphone did exist, but I think this is pre microphone singing.

This is how people sang before the microphone came along. Peggy Wood, George Metaxa, and he sang so beautifully in this song. It’s a pleasant voice with quite a distinctive timbre, it’s not a great voice in terms of size or range. It’s what he does with it. He has a great mastery of the transitions between chest voice and head voice. Very difficult to explain that, but maybe you’ll understand it better when you hear it. It enables him to do the most subtle and beautiful modulations in his phrasing, from loud to soft. And as the voice rises, very, very difficult of course to sing a long phrase, rising phrase, that becomes softer at the climax as it rises. But he does this quite exquisitely. I can’t think of many modern, even classical singers, who do it quite as well as he does.

♪ Oh, there may be beauty in this land of yours ♪ ♪ Skies are very often dull and grey ♪ ♪ If I could but take that little hand of yours ♪ ♪ Just to lead you secretly away ♪ ♪ We would watch the Danube as it gently flows ♪ ♪ Like a silver ribbon winding free ♪ ♪ Even as I speak of it, ♪ ♪ My longing grows ♪ ♪ Once again, my own dear land to see. ♪ ♪ If you could only come with me ♪ ♪ If you could only come with me ♪ ♪ Learning scales will never seem so sweet again ♪ ♪ Till our destiny shall let us meet again ♪ ♪ The will of fate ♪ ♪ May come too late ♪ ♪ When I’m recalling these hours we’ve had ♪ ♪ Why will the foolish tears ♪ ♪ Tremble across the years ♪ ♪ Why should I feel so sad ♪ ♪ Treasuring the memories ♪ ♪ Of these days, ♪ ♪ Always, ♪ ♪ I’ll see you again ♪ ♪ When ever spring breaks through again ♪ ♪ Time may lie heavy between ♪ ♪ But what has been ♪ ♪ Is past forgetting ♪ ♪ This sweet memory ♪ ♪ Across the years ♪

• That was a great success, both in London and New York. Ran for long, lengthy runs in both cities. And that was followed up in 1934 by another musical called, “Conversation Piece.” And this was really conceived as a vehicle for the great French star, Yvonne Printemps; Yvonne Printemps, with her husband Sacha Guitry, they’d been the golden couple of both the Paris and London Theatre in the 1920s. London was absolutely at the feet of Yvonne Printemps. Then in the early thirties, she left Sacha Guitry and she shacked up instead with the actor Pierre Fresnay. Here she is. You can see how exquisite she was, absolutely exquisite. Visually, everything about her. She’s so graceful and a delicious voice. And as you can see from this programme, she was always dressed by Jeanne Lanvin, on stage and in real life. And so in the play, Noel Coward sang, he performed in the initial performances, but he hated long runs and this went on and on, so he actually handed over the role to Pierre Fresnay. And at the time, this is in the early days of original cast recordings, but we were very lucky to have an quite extensive original cast recording of “Conversation Piece.”

So I’m going to play you a scene with Noel Coward. He’s playing a French aristocrat who’s fled from the French Revolution to England, and the play takes place in Brighton. And he’s found this beautiful girl who’s actually a working class girl, but he’s trying to pass her off as an orphaned aristocrat in order to catch a wealthy British husband. But inevitably, of course, she’s in love with him. She doesn’t want to marry some English aristocrat. Now, it took some persuading to get her to do this role because she actually didn’t speak a single word of English. So she had to learn the whole thing, parrot fashion, without necessarily always, initially anyway, understanding what she was talking about. Her accent, of course, is just delicious. So here is a conversational scene between them, that leads into the big tune of the piece, “I’ll Follow my Secret Heart.”

CLIP BEGINS

• [Paul] Now then; business, Melanie. what did Lord Sheere say to you last night?

• [Melanie] Not very much, but he was very ardent.

• [Paul] Good. He’s coming here this morning.

• [Melanie] This morning?

• [Paul] Yes, I wrote him a note from you. I will receive him. And when I have talked to him for a little, he will propose marriage.

• [Melanie] He seemed last night to wish for something a little less binding.

• [Paul] Nevermind. When he proposes, you will accept him.

• [Melanie] When may I love somebody, please?

• [Paul] Not until you are safely married. And then, only with the greatest discretion.

• [Melanie] I see.

• [Paul] What is the matter?

• [Melanie] It doesn’t feel like my birthday anymore. ♪ A cloud has passed across the sun ♪ ♪ My morning is no longer gay ♪

• [Paul] I must get on with these bills. You had better go and dress.

• [Melanie] Very well. ♪ With so much business to be done ♪ ♪ Even the sea looks grey ♪

• [Paul] Do not be silly. ♪ C'est vrai, c'est vrai ♪ ♪ It seems that all the joy has faded from the day ♪ ♪ As though the foolish world no longer wants to play ♪

• [Paul] Do go and dress, Melanie.

• [Melanie] What shall I wear? A black crepe with a lace bonnet?

• [Paul] What is the matter with you this morning?

• [Melanie] White, white for a bride. But the sun ought to shine on a bride.

• [Paul] You are not a bride, yet.

• [Melanie] but I shall be soon, shall I not? A very quiet, aristocratic bride with a discrete heart. ♪ You ask me to have a discrete heart, ♪ ♪ Until marriage is out of the way ♪ ♪ But what if I meet ♪ ♪ With a sweetheart so sweet ♪ ♪ That my wayward heart cannot obey ♪ ♪ A single word that you may say? ♪

• [Paul] Then we shall have to go away. ♪ No, ♪ ♪ For there is no where we could go ♪ ♪ Where we could hide from what we know ♪ ♪ Is true ♪

• [Paul] Do stop talking nonsense.

• [Melanie] It is not nonsense.

CLIP ENDS

• Going to move on. He wanted to follow that with another musical play, as a vehicle for another very great star. This was Fritzi Massaray. I’ve talked about her in several lectures. She was really the queen of Berlin, from the early nineteen hundreds, right up to 1933. She was the great female star in the Berlin musical stage. Forced out, immediately, by the Nazis in 33 because she was Jewish, and she initially found refuge in England and then landed up in Hollywood. And so Coward really wanted to exploit her talent, as he had Yvonne Printemps’. The play was not a great success. It was a kind of a The critics greatly praised Fritzi Massaray, but it didn’t run as a play. And Coward acknowledged that it wasn’t really one of his better efforts. But, it did launch one of his most famous songs, “The Stately Homes of England.”

♪ Lord Elderly, Lord Borrowmere ♪ ♪ Lord Sickert and Lord Camp ♪ ♪ With every virtue, every grace ♪ ♪ Ah, what avails the sceptred race ♪ ♪ Here you see the four of us ♪ ♪ And there are so many more of us ♪ ♪ Eldest sons ♪ ♪ That must succeed ♪ ♪ We know how Caesar conquered Gaul ♪ ♪ And how to whack a cricket ball ♪ ♪ Apart from this, our education ♪ ♪ Lacks co-ordination ♪ ♪ Though we’re young ♪ ♪ And tentative ♪ ♪ And rather rip-representative ♪ ♪ Scions of a noble breed ♪ ♪ We are the products of those homes ♪ ♪ Serene and stately ♪ ♪ That only lately ♪ ♪ Seem to have run to seed ♪ ♪ The stately homes of England ♪ ♪ How beautiful they stand ♪ ♪ To prove the upper classes ♪ ♪ Have still the upper hand ♪ ♪ Though the fact that they have to be rebuilt ♪ ♪ And frequently mortgaged to the hilt ♪ ♪ Is inclined to take the gilt ♪ ♪ Off the gingerbread ♪ ♪ And certainly damps the fun ♪ ♪ Of the eldest son ♪ ♪ But still, we won’t be beaten ♪ ♪ We’ll scrimp and screw and save ♪ ♪ The playing fields of Eton ♪ ♪ Have made us frightfully brave ♪ ♪ And though if the Van Dycks have to go ♪ ♪ And we pawn the Bechstein Grand ♪ ♪ We’ll stand ♪ ♪ By the stately homes of England ♪

• With the Second World War, he was no longer of military age, but he did his best to support the war effort. In particular, with a patriotic film about the prowess of the British Navy, “In Which We Serve,” in which he plays, he acts himself, the main part clearly based on Lord Mountbatten with whom he had a very close friendship. He always refers to him in his diaries as “Dickie.” There is Mountbatten on the right hand side. And here is Noel Coward, really, playing Lord Mountbatten. It also, that film came out in 1942. The following year, 1943, he followed in the footsteps of two of the ladies I was talking about last time, Joyce Grenfell and Bea Lily, by following the eighth army along the Mediterranean after El Alamein and entertaining the troops in various places. And he did something very naughty, indeed. I mentioned last time that, the people who work for ENSA, you know, the official entertainment organisation, had to sign a document saying that they were not going to keep diaries. Well, he wasn’t part of ENSA, so I suppose it didn’t apply to him. But he not only kept a diary, he actually published it almost immediately. It was written when he came back to England. And it got a very sour reaction, both from critics and from the public. It was not really what people, in the grim mood in Britain in 1943, 1944. Life was very, very hard. And here was Noel Coward, swanning it around, drinking gin slings on the bridge of battleships with Dickie Mountbatten, and drooling over handsome, young, hunky sailors stripped to the waist and so on, having a wonderful time, swanning it backwards and forwards along the Mediterranean.

And it made him, actually, really quite unpopular when it came out, but he wrote some very good songs. Here he is performing in front of the troops. And two of the most memorable songs that he wrote during the Second World War, “London Pride,” which is a very sweet, sentimental song, praising the courage of Londoners during The Blitz. And the brilliant “Don’t Let’s Be Beastly To The Germans.” This was written towards the end of the war. It was very clear that victory was in sight. There was a big debate, what do we do with the Germans? Do we punish them? Do we repeat the mistakes that they made at the end of the First World War, when the French wanted to reduce Germany to Asiatic poverty and there were people who really wanted German civilization to be totally destroyed, all the factories destroyed, and Germans reduced to Asiatic poverty. That’s what Clemenceau wanted at the end of the First World War, and what many people wanted; they wanted revenge. They wanted the Germans to suffer. But there were other people who said, no, this is not the way forward. It was a mistake last time. Let’s not repeat the the same mistake, what can we do? We can’t exterminate the Germans, they’ve got to be welcomed back into the community of nations. And he wrote this sarcastic song. Actually, he was really on the vengeful side. He wasn’t on the forgiving side towards the Germans. He didn’t want them to be let off at the end of the war. So everything in this song is actually extremely sarcastic. “Don’t let’s be beastly to the Germans, Now our victory is ultimately won. Let us treat them very kindly As we would a valued friend.

We might send them some bishops As a form of lend-lease. Let’s be sweet to them And day by day repeat to them That sterilisation simply isn’t done.” Well, this song caused an absolute storm of protest. When it was broadcast from BBC, they got sackfuls of hate mail about it, mainly because people didn’t understand that it was a joke and that it was not actually meant. In fact, the opposite was meant by this song. So, I would say Coward’s greatest moment of triumph as a filmmaker, comes immediately after the war in 1945, with the film “Brief Encounter.” I bet many of you have sat up late at night with a box of hankies and watched this movie. I’ve lost count the number of times I’ve seen it myself. Of course, it’s such a period piece now, isn’t it? This very clipped way of speaking and this very tight-lipped, buttoned up emotion that was very, very characteristic of the English. I’m not sure if it is anymore. A lot of people commented when Princess Diana died in 1997, that, that was a moment that showed that the British had changed, that they actually could express emotion. And I’ll leave it to you to decide whether that was a good thing or not. But, this is not from the soundtrack of the movie. This is actually a radio version introduced by Noel Coward himself. ♪ Lord Elderly♪ No, it’s not, sorry. And you’re not going to, sorry, I must have put the wrong thing. You can get that on YouTube. I’m afraid I’ve slightly messed up there, with that one. So that was a moment of triumph. It was very, very successful, “The Brief Encounter.”

But in a way, after that, I think Coward had, as a playwright, an author and filmmaker, he’d outlived his time. He came to seem to be anachronistic; postwar Britain was not the Britain of Noel Coward. He continued writing plays for a number of years, right into the 1960s, often as vehicles for his long-term lover, Graham Payn, on the right hand side. But these plays were decreasingly successful, increasingly unsuccessful. And he had very expensive tastes, he had a huge outlay ‘cause of houses that he owned and so on and his lifestyle. And he had to find alternative means to support himself. And so he played cameo roles in movies and he appeared on television, and he became one of the most highly paid and sought after cabaret artists of the period, appearing in Las Vegas for absolutely huge sums of money. And there is a recording of a live show in Las Vegas, which you might enjoy. Finally, finally, in 1970. Very belatedly, really. He was knighted. And you might ask, why it took quite so long. He was such an obvious candidate for it, really. And I think there are two things: One is that even though he was relatively discrete about his homosexuality, of course everybody in the establishment knew about it. So I think that was, and as I said right up till 1967, it was a criminal activity. So I think that was one of the things that delayed his knighthood.

And the other thing was that high taxes, high expenditure, he landed up as a tax exile in the West Indies. And that, I think, was always viewed unfavourably by the people who decide who gets knighthoods or not. So he spent a lot of the later part of his life in Jamaica, and he took up painting. And well, he’s not a genius, but he is a very good painter. I mean, he could have really made a living. These are very attractive, essentially decorative pictures, but very accomplished. You know, he’s up there with the top amateurs, like Winston Churchill. Often painting, again, handsome, hunky young men who caught his eye. This one I find very amusing. I’d love to know what the story behind this one is, with the nuns and the young man on the bench. But I’m going to finish with another rendition of what I suppose became his most frequently performed song. The wonderful version, all sultry, silky, sultry sensuality of “Mad About The Boy” by Dinah Washington.

♪ Mad about the boy ♪ ♪ I know it’s stupid ♪ ♪ To be mad about the boy. ♪ ♪ I am so ashamed of it, ♪ ♪ But must admit the sleepless nights I’ve had ♪ ♪ About the boy ♪ ♪ On the silver screen ♪ ♪ He melts my foolish heart ♪ ♪ In every single single. ♪ ♪ Although I’m quite aware ♪ ♪ That here and there are traces of the cad ♪ ♪ About the boy ♪ ♪ Lord knows I’m not a fool girl ♪ ♪ I really shouldn’t care. ♪ ♪ Lord knows I’m not a school girl ♪ ♪ In the fury of her first affair ♪ ♪ Will it ever cloy ♪ ♪ This odd diversity of misery and joy ♪ ♪ I’m feeling quite insane and young again ♪ ♪ And all because I’m mad ♪ ♪ About the boy ♪

Q&A and Comments:

• Right, yes, it’s a great photo, wasn’t it, that one of him at the beginning. Very clever with those wings behind him.

Q: “Did Noel Coward’s hardly concealed homosexuality, to our eyes, lay the way for changes in upper class attitudes towards same sex attraction?”

A: Well, the upper classes certainly were, probably, always more tolerant of homosexual, or accepting of it. And it was, of course, it was very much part of public school education, where it was a huge amount, although of course it was expected that after you left school and after you left university, you would get married and have children. But my guess is that a high percentage of British men in the upper classes had some kind of homosexual experience in their early life.

Dennis, “He not only shared a birthday with Beethoven.” No, isn’t that I that is amazing? I didn’t know that. Not that they have anything whatsoever in common. You could hardly find two artists with less in common.

This is Barry, who’s saying that “Private Lives,” in the West end, is still hugely enjoyable. You’ve got to have the right people, haven’t you? It’s really a vehicle. Thank you.

Well, I’m afraid there are huge gaps in my knowledge, but despite your kind compliment.

Oh, Carol, I remember, yes. Bumping into you on the flight. Was that our flight to Trieste? A wonderful place, Trieste. Fascinating place, actually.

“Coward was reported to have supported fascism development in Britain in the twenties.” I’ve never heard that. And if you’re talking about the twenties, of course, I mean, Toscanini was a card carrying fascist for a short time in the twenties. But if it’s early enough in the twenties, I don’t think it’s something that should, people didn’t really understand, at that point, what it meant. And you know, the initial fascism, people saw it, really, as a return to order after the chaos at the end of the First World War.

“'Blithe Spirit’ live TV.” Yes, Oh, thank you very much Rita, for putting that in. It’s very, very good. I enjoyed it a lot. But I have to say, I still slightly prefer the movie version with Rex Harrison.

“‘Blithe Spirit’ revived in London, not a million years ago. Great entertainment.” It’s still a very, very funny play, full of wonderful, wonderful lines.

This is Sally who’s 94, and I’m glad, very, very happy for you that it brought back nice memories.

And thank you Rita, and thank you Caroline.

Ron, you saw a wonderful exhibition on Coward’s life at Guild’s Hall in Dunville a couple of years ago. I’m sorry I missed that. I think you say it was presented by his estate. The estate has an Instagram site. Thank you.

Yes, Arlene absolutely. I meant say that actually, of course. That Peggy Wood, you think of her as this elderly nun in “The Sound of Music,” but decades before, she’d been a romantic heroine in “Bitter Sweet.”

Q: When was he attracted to Le Touquet?

A: That, I don’t know. Of course P.G. Wodehouse was at Le Touquet, wasn’t he? There were probably lots of posh Brits there. Giving one on Ivor Novello. That’s possible. I’d have to think about that. It’d be quite a lot of work for me, but interesting.

Yes, Ivor Novello is so forgotten now, and yet an absolute idol. We’re doing a series, actually, you just give me a thought. We are planning a series on characters who, for various reasons, have been idolised; and Ivor Novello would absolutely fit into that. “Let’s Fall in Love.” He didn’t write it, did he. It’s Cole Porter, but he added lyrics to it and he certainly did perform it.

Coward in “Suite in Three Keys,” his last London role. Where he’s sadly past his prime. Yes, people rarely know when to give up. Thank you Nanette.

And this is Judith who says, “Listen to ‘Bronxville Darby and Joan,’ my husband and I sang it for our 40th anniversary about a dear old couple who hate one another.” Oh dear, sorry, not a question, but that’s a good tip. Thank you very much indeed.

And that seems to be everything. And well, we move on to another icon on Sunday with Vera Lynn. Thank you, bye-bye.