by Anne Edwards
At that time Vivian was trying desperately to juggle the two loves of her life—Leigh and the work she was doing at the Academy on their new premises on Gower Street. She wanted more than anything to please Leigh, and so she was always ready when he called upon her to go someplace with him and would make up her work at the Academy by studying through the nights, often with only an hour or two of sleep.
Sir Kenneth Barnes, who had heard her entrance audition (Lydia’s love scene in The Rivals), had been most impressed; and her Shakespeare class teacher, Ethel Carrington, felt she was decidedly gifted, although her voice was feared to be too high-pitched and frail for the theatre.
When she wasn’t with Leigh she spent time with her good friend Patsy Quinn and new friends Rachel Kempson and Leueen Mac-Grath. She took the role of Starveling in her old favorite Midsummer Night’s Dream, blacking out her teeth to secure the best comic effect. And she was delightful as Rosalind in As You Like It.
Vivian was well aware that Leigh was not a man to dally with a young woman’s affections. He made it apparent almost from the time she arrived in London that he would eventually propose marriage. And, indeed, she was in hopes that the day would soon come, but it seemed to her there would be plenty of time to discuss her stage aspirations. After all, it was rather premature and conceited to believe a career might even exist, since she was still an untried neophyte.
On Sunday, June 19, Leigh and Vivian motored down to Brede in Sussex to visit with Leigh’s good friend Oswald Frewen, who was first cousin to both Winston Churchill and Shane Leslie. Leigh privately told Frewen, “I might marry Viv,” and his friend was most enthusiastic about the possibility. “They’ll make another nice couple to come here in the future,” he wrote in his diary that night after supper when Vivian and Leigh had departed.
A month later, Leigh bought a ring with a green stone in it for thirty-five pounds at Mappin and Webb and presented it to Vivian, who was delirious with happiness as she dashed into the flat in Cornwall Gardens to show it to her mother. Trying to be as tactful as possible, Gertrude said that green simply would not do, as it was unlucky, and that she was certain Leigh would understand and exchange it. If his pride was injured Leigh did not expose it, and the ring was returned and a small diamond one bought in its place.
A round of parties followed. Leigh’s birthday was November 3, just two days before Vivian’s, and they celebrated them together. Vivian was nineteen, Leigh thirty-two. That next weekend they motored down to Brede and had dinner with Oswald Frewen and his sister, Clare Sheridan, the sculptor. Saturday was bitter cold and Leigh went into Dell Head to do some wood-cutting. Vivian took a chill and Frewen put her to work in the sheephouse to get warm.
In truth, Vivian and Leigh did not share the same interests. If she wanted to attend the theatre, she went with one of her friends, because he seemed to grow restless; and though she was proud of his chambers in the Middle Temple, she found any discussions of his briefs a bore. But she felt well protected when he was by her side. It was comfortable and safe. Gertrude, with some belated insight, spoke to her about the possibility that she and Leigh might not be perfectly mated, underscoring the fact that marriage for a Catholic was for life, and she suggested that Vivian speak to a priest. Vivian would have none of it. She was in love with Leigh and that was the end of it.
They were married on December 20, 1932, at a Roman Catholic church, St. James’s, Spanish Place. Patsy Quinn and the other bridesmaids wore peach satin dresses with puffed sleeves and were thrilled to be part of a wedding, as Vivian was the first of the group to marry. There was a stir when she walked down the aisle on Ernest’s arm, looking pale and nervous. Her hair was drawn back from her face by a crocheted white Juliet cap, and she wore a simple white satin gown. She appeared younger than her nineteen years as she faced Leigh at the altar and stared up at him with more childlike obedience than wifely admiration. After their vows were exchanged, she clung to his arm.
Patsy and Gertrude went with her when it was time for her to change into her going-away outfit—a blue suit trimmed with silver fox fur. Her wedding band was an eternal ring of diamonds, and when she went to wash her hands before rejoining her guests, she took it off. Gertrude flew into a rage. “Vivian you should not have done that,” she cried. “It’s so unlucky, so terribly unlucky!”
The newlyweds honeymooned in Kitzbiihel and Vivian took Leigh on a side trip to Bad Reichenhall to meet her former principal. She was proud of Leigh and of her new status. If she formerly harbored any fears about their compatibility, walks in the Bavarian Alps together, the shared delight of viewing picturesque spots and discovering small shops and cafes, and the mutual need for companionship stilled them. After three weeks they returned to Leigh’s bachelor flat in Eyre Court in St. John’s Wood.
Reality set in fast. The flat was small and household tasks were competently managed by Leigh’s maid. On his request Vivian had given up her studies at the Royal Academy before their wedding. There were rounds of weekend parties, but the days seemed interminable. She simply had not learned how to cope with idleness, for from her first days at Roehampton each hour of her life had been programmed and accounted for. Not putting time to good use was a serious character defect. The flat consisted of two fairly good-sized rooms, a tiny one, and a kitchen and bath; and it made her feel unbearably claustrophobic. Leigh was gone all day; her friends were at the Royal Academy or other schools. She was bored and wanted desperately to return to the Academy. Leigh vehemently disapproved.
However, he was a promising barrister at law, and anything she did to enhance their social prestige met with his immediate approval. His cousin was married to Alwyn Boot, the daughter of Sir Jesse Boot (later Lord Trent), founder of Boot’s Cash Chemists, who took a great fancy to Vivian and agreed to present her at Court. Vivian was delighted and threw herself wholeheartedly into preparations. It was as though she were preparing herself for an opening night. Everything had to be perfect. There was the gown that had been designed and made for her, the ostrich feathers for her hair, the rehearsal of the walk, the curtsy, the proper hand gesture, the position of the head, and finally the makeup (sparing amounts for the best advantage) and hairstyle (simple and swept back so that her face would be visible at all times).
At last June 13, the awaited day, arrived. Leigh was not able to go to the palace with her and she was a bit saddened by this, for she would have liked him to share the experience. As she entered the state room she was pleased she had decided upon a dress with a train as it imbued her with an inner regal sense that allowed her to act the part of a Shakespearean lady for the entire spectacle.
She memorized each small detail, planning to re-enact it for Leigh that evening. There were the scarlet and gold uniforms and the fanciful white-plumed hats of the elegant gentlemen at arms, the awesome shimmering crystal chandeliers, and the plush flowers and velvets and brocades. Never had she seen such an enormous room, never had she been so close to royalty. She recalled Gertrude’s story of the royal couple’s arrival in India. She stared across the room at their majesties King George and Queen Mary seated beneath the durbar canopy they had brought back from that 1911 trip to India. An orchestra was concealed and the rich sound of many violins punctuated the clipped speech of the participants.
Vivian stepped forward as if in a dream. The gown was taffeta with huge puffed sleeves and it crackled as she moved. She had the feeling all eyes, even their majesties’, were upon her. She tilted her head to get a better look, conscious that her throat was bare and that the simple pearls she wore reflected her warm flesh tones. She curtsied deeply, smiled demurely. “What a lovely child,” the Queen was heard to say before Vivian had backed away.
It was an experience she could not, would not, ever forget, and it was a momentous day in her life. As she went back through the palace gates and stepped into the rear of the chauffeured car that was waiting for them, she knew she must go back to the Royal Academy and that there was only one life for her—the stage.
She immediately talked to Leigh about returning, perhaps to take the French classes, as he knew how much she enjoyed working with the teacher, Madame Gachet. Leigh agreed, believing it was better for her to be kept occupied and that she should maintain her fine fluency in French. But he was not aware of her deep inner conviction that nothing would now stop her from being the great actress she had confided to Maureen O’Sullivan at age six she would one day become. In fact, Leigh did not consider this a possibility. He had not, for that matter, seen her perform any part except that of the comedic Starveling in A Midsummer Night’s Dream; and as she was a wonderful mimic and adored parties where they played games like charades, he thought it was great fun for her and little else.
She began the weekly lessons under Madame Gachet and then added other classes. Her hands were causing her a great deal of anxiety. She had become especially aware of their size and considered them ugly, developing mannerisms to keep them hidden. Finally, in exasperation, one of her teachers gave her a copy of Ellen Terry’s Memoirs, and she discovered that the great lady of the English stage had also had a complex about her hands and that years of self-consciousness had only been overcome when she forced herself to use them constantly and to develop special ways of turning the “defect” into an asset.
Vivian took heed and practiced gestures for hours before a mirror. She also lengthened the cuffs on most of her dresses, added wrist frills, and was seldom seen on the street or at rehearsal without gloves or at a party without bracelets and bangles that fell loosely onto the back of her hands.
Shortly after her presentation and her return to the Academy she became pregnant. Two decisions had to be made. The first was when she would have to postpone her studies and the second was whether she and Leigh could continue on at Eyre Court. She remained at school until June, even appearing in Shaw’s St. Joan in chain-mail armor and heavy boots. At that time, since Leigh had agreed that they would have to find a larger, more suitable place for them, she searched London daily and was ecstatic to locate a house with a theatrical history. Lynn Fontanne had once lived there. It was a rather unsafe structure with a bulging front wall at 6 Little Stanhope Street in Shepherd Market, but to its advantage was the fact that it was the first house they had seen that Leigh could afford. Built in about 1700, the small, narrow house might have been unsafe, but it was rather enchanting, having wide hearths and pitched ceilings. Their good friend Hamish Hamilton took over their flat in Eyre Court, and they moved in at Little Stanhope Street surrounded by painters and carpenters and plumbers. All the rooms were thirteen and a half feet square and looked up Pitt’s Head Mews or back onto the seventeenth-century Shepherd’s Cottage. Venetian windows faced the front.
As the decoration began, their first true mutual involvement came into focus. Leigh had a long-standing and deep interest in old furniture; and although their tastes were not the same, Vivian, spurred by Leigh’s initiative, became caught up in the search for paintings, fabrics, fittings, and furniture. It was, unfortunately, only a short time before Leigh drew back somewhat and, as he says, “I became a spectator with growing wonderment.” Her knowledge and expertise seemed to be instinctive, and yet she would always manage to purchase the most exquisite pieces at bargain prices and without ever wheedling a merchant. She loved motoring out to the country to find antiques and often discovered some seemingly worthless piece of furniture, hidden under years of dust and tons of heavy hardware, that Leigh would insist was quite hopeless, then bring it home to discover it was worth at least ten times the price they had paid.
The household now consisted of Mrs. Adamson, the cook; Aide, the maid; and Nanny Oake, who had been hired to move in after the baby’s birth. The little house was crowded, although there were enough rooms for everyone and even a small library where Leigh could work on his briefs.
Little Suzanne Holman was born at a nursing home at 8 Bulstrode Street on October 12, 1933, and her mother recorded the occasion in pencil in her delicate blue diary with a single sentence, “Had a baby—a girl.” Suzanne was born a month prematurely and the delivery was not an easy one. It was several weeks before mother and daughter came home, but once there it did not take Vivian long to become bored, as the household was being run-quite adequately by the staff, and baby Suzanne was well tended by the nurse-nanny.
Yet, returning to the Academy did not seem the right thing to do either. Harboring a growing restlessness, Vivian began to test herself and her talent, giving frequent parties that sparkled and lasted till late at night. The “enchanting Vivian Holman and her nice husband” were the new couple on everyone’s guest list, and Vivian was always the last to leave. Leigh did not enter happily into the pace such a social life created, but he was aware of Vivian’s disquiet; and, therefore, when she said she was going to pose for a fashion photographer he did not object, although he did not encourage her either.
Actually, many of the young ladies in her set were modeling and also took small roles in films as a means to make some extra money, and also because it was then “the thing to do.” “Vivling,” as some of her new friends called her, was the center of a bright group of independent young women who could not conceive of being chained to a husband, a house, or children.
By summer the original excitement of the social whirl began to pall. On August 5, a Sunday, Oswald Frewen visited them for tea at Little Stanhope Street and, sensing a new “skittishness” about Vivling, suggested she and Leigh might enjoy going off on a yachting trip together. Leigh thought that a good idea and arranged passage for them on a cruise in the Baltic.
Vivian entered into the plans with some enthusiasm until a friend suggested that there might be a small part for her in a film that was scheduled to star Cicely Courtneidge. Vivian spoke to the casting director, who was encouraging. Leigh did not believe she was serious when she said she wanted him to put off the trip until she found out if she had the role. The film was to be called Things Are Looking Up, and as the ingenue had been cast all Vivian could hope for was a few moments on the screen as one of a group of schoolgirls. It did not seem to Leigh that a “lark” paying thirty shillings a day should intrude upon their proposed holiday. For the first time he was rather forceful in his wishes, and together they went to Gothenburg, where they boarded the boat and sailed to Aarhus and then past Elsinore to Copenhagen.
A cable waited for Vivian in Copenhagen informing her she was to report August 12 to begin work on the film. There were unpleasant words exchanged, and in the end Vivian returned to London while Leigh continued with the cruise. Directly after she had left he had read of a fatal accident where a young woman had been electrocuted by the faulty wiring of a bathroom heater. Vivian was always chilly and just before the trip Leigh had installed a similar heater in their bathroom. He was beside himself with concern and cabled her not to use it, but there was no reply.
When she returned home, Vivian was told there was to be a delay in the shooting of her scenes. Worried that Leigh would now understand even less the urgency of her flying trip back to London, she went down to Sussex to spend a few days with Clare Sheridan. She discussed her decision to follow a stage career and her fear of Leigh’s disapproval with Clare, who was a sensible woman. By the time Leigh came home Vivian knew she had to confront him with the truth, but in spite of Clare’s prodding she was unable to do so.
Leigh had been so tormented during their brief separation that he assured her that of course it would be all right for her to do the film. He added that it had been selfish of him not to realize that she was too young and beautiful to devote herself only to her child and her home. He did not include himself, and it was perhaps this kind of selflessness that made Vivian hold her tongue.
Chapter Four
Vivian was now a professional actress and it did not seem possible to her that she could ever achieve anything more that she wanted unless it was to appear in a West End stage production.
For three weeks she rose at five in the morning to be at Lime Grove, Shepherd’s Bush
, by half past six, where the film was being shot. It was dark outside, the fires cold, the household asleep. September was unusually damp that year, and she shivered in the early morning chill as she heated water for tea and dressed in front of the open door of the lighted oven for warmth. She wrote notes to Aide, notes to Nanny Oake, and finally a short message to Leigh, which she would put on his dresser. The streets were deserted as she motored to her acting job in her small two-seater car. Once at the studio, she would dress in the summery white gym uniform she wore in her role as a schoolgirl, close to an electric fire in a drafty dressing room along with the other “schoolgirls,” Judy Kelly, Hazel Terry, and Gillian Maude among them. All the girls were exuberant with excitement. The film was a low-budget comedy destined only to fill a programming bill, but it was cinema and they were star-struck.
The last week they checked in at Lime Grove and then were transported by private car to Lord Darnley’s Elizabethan house, Cobham Hall, which was being leased and used for exterior location shots of the fictional girls’ school. Vivian had one line to speak: “If you are not made headmistress, I shan’t come back next term!” But the camera singled her out a number of times for close-ups, and caught her in some comedic interplay with the other girls. She had learned something from film that she had not learned at the Academy—the value of facial reaction when you were in the background. During the long delays between takes she would talk to the technicians. In the close-up, she was told, eyes and brows were the most important features, for facial reaction could save yards of film.
