After the success of his visit to the United States two years previously, Patrick’s publishers had arranged another more extensive tour for the spring of 1995 to promote publication of The Commodore. On 6 April he and my mother flew to Washington, arriving at dead of night. As ever confused on journeys, they missed their onward flight to Charleston, and were obliged to take a taxi. After some time Patrick began to suspect that they were travelling in the wrong direction. Their destination being the South, he tentatively enquired whether the driver was aware that Charleston lay in South Carolina. Their driver, who proved to be an all but monoglot Turk, enquired cheerfully: ‘South Carolina: where him?’ ‘It is below North Carolina,’ responded Patrick. That being the sum total of his knowledge, he suggested that they enquire at the next garage, where they obtained an exact itinerary.
At dawn they arrived at the house of Patrick’s editor, where they spent a couple of days recovering. Patrick admired a distant view of ‘Charleston the charming town’, and waxed still more enthusiastic over the rich range of birdlife in the vicinity, including many species new to him. Also pleasing was ‘a huge alligator’. All this, however, proved a severe strain for my poor mother, who spent much of the time in bed. Fortunately, she had recovered by the time they departed for the next stage in their journey. This was the great naval base at Norfolk, Virginia, where they were greeted enthusiastically by Vice Admiral George Emery, who commanded ‘not only the American nuclear submarine flotilla but also that of NATO (surely the most powerful sailor known to man)’. Emery proved to be a devoted admirer of Patrick’s naval tales, confiding that it was his practice at the end of a major Atlantic exercise to take his submarine to the ocean bottom, where he would regale himself with a volume of Jack Aubrey’s adventures.
The Admiral escorted them on board the USS Hampton, the newest and most powerful warship under his command. Patrick was fascinated by the workings of this remarkable vessel, and gratified by my mother’s being formally accorded the status of Honorary Submariner of the US Navy. After this they were driven in ‘immense VIP limousine’ to the Newport Mariners’ Museum. There Patrick conducted an interview with John B. Hightower, President of the Museum, before an audience of some 450 sailing enthusiasts.[fn3] Patrick enjoyed the question-and-answer format, and spoke with confidence about his writings and their inspiration. The courtesy and sympathetic interest evinced by the audience reconciled him to public appearances in the United States, although his instinctive reaction remained one of extreme apprehension.[fn4] My mother once told me in earlier years that he found public speaking so distressing as to bring him near to fainting. On this occasion the only setback was a night spent at the ‘vile Radisson Hotel overlooking Hampton road – pretentious, rude, & nothing worked. Poor night & wretched breakfast.’
Note Patrick’s marked resemblance to a wary Stephen Maturin boarding the Surprise
After lunch next day at the Pentagon ‘with a most hospitable and even more knowing group of admirals’, they flew to New York, where Patrick engaged again in a question-and-answer session, this time with Richard Snow. It was Snow’s enthusiastic article ‘An Author I’d Walk the Plank For’ in the New York Times Book Review of 6 January 1991 that had done so much to launch Patrick as a bestselling author in the USA. Again Patrick enjoyed the occasion, which was followed by a congenial dinner.
This, however, my mother was again unable to attend, as her health continued to deteriorate. Next day a doctor pronounced her to be recovering, but she remained weak. Patrick was obliged to leave her behind while he attended a reception on board HMS Rose, replica of an eighteenth-century 22-gun frigate, later used in the film Master and Commander. The occasion was employed to launch publication of The Commodore. Surrounded by photographers and admirers, Patrick pleased his hosts by noting the similarity of the ship to the Surprise of his novels, enjoyed sharing a bottle of Veuve Clicquot with the celebrated US television journalist Walter Cronkite, and formally fired the evening gun.
Privately, however, he was mildly disparaging about the vessel’s reconstruction, describing it as a ‘Pleasant foolish ship, accurate in parts’. On the other hand, he was unreservedly delighted with the orchestra, which played music appropriate to the frigate’s historical era. The director, Richard Kapp, wrote afterwards to Patrick, reminding him that ‘when I told you we had just recorded three suites of Johannes Fasch … you replied that you cherished his lovely Sicilienne! I can’t imagine receiving that response from anyone else.’ Patrick happily acceded to Kapp’s request to assist in selecting compositions likely to have been enjoyed by Aubrey and Maturin.[fn5]
On Easter Day Patrick and my mother attended mass in St Patrick’s Cathedral, where they were impressed by the immense congregation and atmosphere of ‘general unaffected piety’. Although he was never a Roman Catholic, he was strongly sympathetic to the Church’s ethos. After a packed programme in New York, they flew to San Francisco, where Patrick conducted a television interview, followed by the now familiar question-and-answer session: this time conducted in Herbst Hall by the US poet laureate Robert Hass.
Patrick fires the evening gun aboard HMS Rose
Among the audience was Thomas Perkins, a wealthy businessman, who was at once charmed and alarmed by Patrick’s ‘lightning quick wit and rather acerbic manner’. A keen yachtsman, Perkins had been introduced to Patrick’s work in the previous autumn by an academic friend. After reading all sixteen volumes of the naval saga then published, he became so enthralled that he read them over again. By now his enthusiasm knew no bounds, and he asked his close friend the bestselling novelist Danielle Steel if she thought O’Brian would be offended were he to make him a liberal offer. To which she sensibly responded: ‘I get about 20,000 letters per year from readers and I have yet to receive a single one offering to do anything for me – he will be delighted even if age and circumstances prevent him from accepting.’
Perkins, who had no idea where in the world Patrick lived, accordingly wrote to him via his publisher on 26 September 1994:
You have enriched my life through the Aubrey/Maturin series and I would like to offer you a ‘thank you’ which I hope you will be able to accept.
I have a large modern sailing yacht, the Andromeda la Dea, 154 ft in length which combines great luxury with remarkable sailing ability … This winter she will be in the Caribbean and next summer in the Mediterranean.
My ‘thank you’ is to offer her to you exclusively and at my full expense complete with her regular crew of seven (including an excellent chef) for any 14 day period you would like (after March 1st) in either of the two seas.
Patrick’s response was swift: ‘My wife and I accept it [the kind offer] with an almost indecent haste and eagerness.’
In due course Perkins was informed of Patrick’s forthcoming American lecture tour, and invited him to dinner at his Belvedere residence. The evening after the Hass interview, Patrick and my mother arrived at the impressive home of his generous well-wisher. The occasion proved a great success. In Perkins’s own words:
Mr. O’Brian was utterly charming, if perhaps a little aloof. He took tremendous interest in an Admiralty Board (dockyard) model I have of an English First Rater of 1702. He understood everything about that ship and greatly augmented my own knowledge. After the other guests departed, we settled into a series of brandies by the fire and I discovered: 1) his capacity for serious drinking greatly exceeded my own; 2) his reserve only eased very slightly in the presence of this unknown American (me) and; 3) his knowledge of the practical aspects of sailing seemed, amazingly, almost nil.
Andromeda la Dea
After a half liter of cognac had vanished (and we were still calling each other Mr. O’Brian and Mr. Perkins), I produced a chart of the Mediterranean and we began to discuss the agenda for his cruise.
I had learned that the O’Brians’ home was in Collioure, a village on the Mediterranean coast of France just north of the Spanish border … The harbor of Port Vendres lies nearby, where Androm
eda could pick all of them up. O’Brian then suggested a cruise circumnavigating Sicily, a stop in Greece, dropping by Beirut and winding up with a comprehensive tour of the Balearic islands. I was stunned! How, I wondered, could this old salt possibly comprehend a tour of over 3,000 nautical miles with numerous port calls, in only 14 days in a yacht capable of only about 12 knots?
As I began to explain the physical limitations of time and space he added a desire to drop the hook in Naples, Capri and Tangiers as well.[fn6] While I could not reconcile this plan with reality, I assumed it was the wine in control and then I was both startled and pleased when he added at the evening’s end that he had a major non-negotiable condition to accepting my offer; namely that I personally would join him, Mary and their guests aboard my yacht.[5]
Polished American manners and uninhibited enthusiasm for his writing afforded Patrick increasing confidence in interviews conducted before an audience – a medium with which he had hitherto been so profoundly uneasy.[6]
After enjoying a wide range of marine birdlife viewed from vantage points overlooking Alcatraz and the Golden Gate, they flew on to Portland, Oregon. There Patrick was introduced to his interviewer for the evening. This was Knute Berger, a Seattle-based journalist, who has likewise described his amusing encounter. He had been warned that Patrick disliked meeting his interviewer beforehand. Berger enquired why:
I was baffled – I had hoped to get to know my subject a little bit, perhaps establish a bit of rapport. But Starling Lawrence said that they had done just that in the Bay Area. O’Brian had drinks with Robert Hass, then America’s poet laureate, right before the event. They’d hit it off, and had a great conversation. So, what was the problem?
The problem was, when they got on stage, O’Brian became very annoyed that Hass asked him some of the same questions he’d already answered over cocktails. Why was this man hounding me, he thought? We’ve already discussed this. Why is he being repetitive? I’ve already answered these questions. O’Brian became prickly and stopped answering, the interview became awkward and O’Brian was not happy. If O’Brian was going to suffer through an ‘unciv ilized Q&A’ with a man, he certainly wasn’t going to do it twice. So it was decided that I wouldn’t meet O’Brian until we walked to the theater at showtime … Our walk to the Arts & Lectures venue was friendly and I carefully avoided any discussion of a topic that might come up.
Berger’s tact paid off, and they corresponded afterwards. He observed that: ‘O’Brian seemed like a figure from another time – polite and mannerly, unused to the modern world, except as a literary stylist.’ Unlike some media types, Berger was content to know little about Patrick’s personal life, save insofar as it might illumine his literary creation: ‘O’Brian was very loath to have his private life examined – and it was a controversial life with a tragic upbringing and first marriage – but more than simply protecting a past, he seemed determined to protect the zone he’d created that allowed him to create.’
The perception is shrewd, and I wonder how Berger became acquainted with these details of Patrick’s early life. After all, some years were yet to pass before Dean King published his revelations of Patrick’s youthful misery and unfortunate first marriage. However, more significant than this minor mystery is Berger’s blithe lack of concern with Patrick’s early travails, save to the extent they might have affected his subsequent literary achievement. It is regrettable that others have not shared his gentlemanly restraint.
Next morning Samuel Goldwyn arranged for Patrick and my mother to be flown to Los Angeles, and that evening they were hospitably received at his splendid ranch-style home in the hills outside Hollywood. Patrick found Goldwyn, a massive figure well over six foot tall, charming, and his wife delightful. The dozen guests included Charlton Heston and his wife Lydia. It has been seen that, like Goldwyn, Heston was an enthusiastic admirer of Patrick’s work, and they remained in contact thereafter. Patrick’s American literary agent, who was also present, recalled that: ‘O’Brian was charming in his cryptic, Old World way. Sam asked him his impressions of Los Angeles, and Patrick said he found it “fresh” – which a little mystified the company.’ Patrick himself noted that evening:
v. kind welcome – fierce great Pic[asso] of [his mistress Françoise] Gilot in the hall. Then Hestons came, as friendly as could be – in to dinner, 10 or 12 of us. M sat next to Sam G (who proposed a toast to us, most civilly) … then to modest but respectable library for coffee & cognac.
Next day Patrick was enraptured by a visit to the Mojave Desert, where he glimpsed much wildlife, including ‘A prairie dog beside the road, straight as a meerkat’. On the following day they met Goldwyn again over lunch at the Hestons’ ‘decently splendid’ home. Afterwards Patrick was taken to the university (UCLA), where his interview was conducted by Heston – ‘Chuck v good – kind reception.’ Sadly, however, my mother’s health had deteriorated considerably, and she was rushed to the UCLA hospital. It transpired that she was undergoing a severe bout of pneumonia, but excellent medical treatment enabled them to fly to England on 29 April.
After a week in London, the O’Brians were as ever glad to return to their peaceful home at Collioure, always invigorating in the spring. A few weeks later they set out on their long-planned fresh adventure. Following Tom Perkins’s generous invitation to invite half a dozen guests aboard his yacht Andromeda, Patrick approached the Waldegraves. Unfortunately ministerial duties prevented William’s taking advantage of the offer, but Richard Ollard and Stuart Proffitt were glad to accept. Also attending was a representative from Patrick’s literary agency, and the little party assembled at Collioure on 1 June. Next day Perkins telephoned to announce that Andromeda had docked at Port-Vendres, and the party gathered on the quay, where Patrick was enthralled by the ‘glorious great black yacht – happy meeting with Tom P’. Patrick and my mother showed Perkins around Collioure, who was particularly delighted with ‘their modest and charming home’, in which Patrick proudly displayed their home-grown wine.
Next day they set sail for the Balearic Islands, which Patrick had last visited in 1968, when gathering material for his immortal depiction of the opening encounter of Jack Aubrey and Stephen Maturin in Minorca, at the outset of Master and Commander. Tom Perkins was wholly enthralled, recalling afterwards:
Underway to Menorca beneath a sunny sky with a twenty knot following wind, the sailing was marvelous and O’Brian was delighted. I introduced him to the helm, but he seemed to have no feeling for the wind and the course, and frequently I had to intervene to prevent a full standing gybe. I began to suspect that his autobiographical references to his months at sea as a youth were fanciful. He had no idea of the limitations of even a big yacht like Andromeda in terms of the handling and actual distance we could cover in a day. However, he and Mary adapted quickly to the yacht with no trace of seasickness. Mary, quiet, kind, interesting and interested, was wonderful to have aboard. However, she was very frail. They were both nearly 80 and I constantly feared she would take a tumble with the ship’s motion, but thankfully this never occurred.
Patrick at the helm alongside Tom Perkins
At Patrick’s suggestion, Perkins skilfully guided his yacht through the narrows to Port Mahon, where Stuart Proffitt boldly descended into the water and swam ashore. There Patrick guided them around sites familiar to readers of Master and Commander, and drew the party’s attention to the rich birdlife of the island. After this, at his suggestion they circumnavigated the great natural harbour in the ship’s tender.
That evening an unfortunate dispute broke out among the guests (in Patrick’s words) ‘about biography, vulgar curiosity & the like’. Ollard, as a biographer of Samuel Pepys, held opposed views on the topic as strong as Patrick’s, and the latter (as he privately acknowledged) became somewhat testy. Fortunately, the good-natured Perkins appreciated Patrick’s personal concern with the issue, which was apparent from his display of anger at what he described as the prospect of ‘some post-doctoral American fool’ probing int
o his private life. Ollard was well able to hold his own in the argument, but my mother became distressed by the altercation. Afterwards Patrick himself regretted extremely ‘the confusion & hostility’. However, a good night’s sleep restored the company’s equanimity.
As the cruise continued, Patrick retired each afternoon to his cabin to continue work on The Yellow Admiral. To my mother’s great surprise, each day he showed Tom Perkins the result of his work, which to her knowledge was the first time he had ever done such a thing for anyone save herself. Later, he presented his valued new friend with the galley proof of the completed novel, with corrections in his own hand. To this he subsequently added the original manuscript.
Privately, Patrick confessed to his customary feeling of strain at being in company for longer than he found comfortable. At one point he lost patience with his earnest but ill-informed literary agent, who became ‘loud, positive, contradictory, & bossy much of the day … more so at dinner – spoke with ignorant disrespect of the Q[ueen]’. Afterwards Richard Ollard reproached him for uttering what he regarded as an overly cantankerous reproof, but Patrick remained unrepentant. At the voyage’s conclusion he ‘parted on the coolest of terms’ with the by now thoroughly tiresome agent. Nevertheless, once they had disembarked at Port-Vendres, he looked back on the cruise as a pleasurable highlight of his literary career.
Patrick O'Brian Page 44
