by Harvey Burgess
My father, John Burgess, graduated from RADA and began his acting career in 1954,
at the age of twenty-one. His first job was in weekly rep in Felixstowe. Also on
his first job and newly qualified from The Central School of Speech and Drama, was
Harry Landis. John and Harry were both Socialists and were never shy when it came
to challenging authority. They hit their stride right from the start. The management
refused to pay their rail fare from London, in response to which they threatened
not to turn up. The employers paid up. “That taught us the value of union activity.
A lesson that stayed with us,” wrote Harry in his obituary for John – who passed
away in November 2010 at the age of 77 – in the Spring 2011 edition of Equity Magazine.
John was a member of Equity (the actor’s union) for over fifty years and served
on its council. He also ran Harry’s successful campaign for the Presidency. “He
relished his time on the Equity Council, saying that you saw results from this work,
which was preferable to being an ineffectual member of a political party,” continues
Harry in the obituary.
John and Harry followed up with another stint together, this time in the Elizabethan
Shakespeare Company. At Felixstowe, Harry recalls that John played Jack The Ripper
in one play and, for the Elizabethan, he played Paris in Romeo and Juliet and Gardener
number one in Richard II. Harry pays tribute to John’s abilities. “John was a first
class character actor with an excellent voice, especially suited to Shakespeare
which is why he did so well in the RSC. In film and television his voice and manner
lent themselves to professional roles such as doctors and academics. In the US he
would have gone further.”
Harry remembers the time that John turned down a tiny part in Arthur Miller’s
play, ‘Ride Down Mount Morgan.” Harry was then offered it and accepted immediately.
It had its’ premiere at London’s Wyndham Theatre in 1991 and starred Tom Conti.
The character had one scene in a dream sequence and was based on Elia Kazan’s father,
says Harry. “Miller was there all the time and I felt it was worth doing.”
John and Harry were both Jewish and secular, although Harry was born into much
poorer circumstances than those of middle-class John. Harry was a working-class
East Londoner and fought Oswald Mosely’s fascist blackshirts on the streets in the
1950’s. They loved to do their Yiddish, Mittel-European dialect shtick. It was a
fabulous double-act and invariably had everyone in stitches. They would tell Jewish
jokes and say things like, “So vot den?”, “you vont a bissel herring?”, “Any verk
around? Nah, gornisht (nothing)” and “you know he’s shtupping (having sex with)
her!” Harry, now 83, is still going strong and, since 2012, has been appearing in
the Channel 4 sitcom, “Friday Night Dinner.”
I am with the revered figure of Terry Hands, who is currently the artistic director
of Theatre Clwyd in North Wales. We sip coffee in his office, which overlooks the
rolling hills of the atmospheric Flintshire countryside. Terry, silver-haired and
softly spoken, seems genuinely enthused to take a trip down memory lane. He directed
John in the acclaimed 1979 RSC production of Coriolanus, which toured Europe. Alan
Howard, in the title role, led a very strong cast which included Oliver Ford-Davies,
Graham Crowdon, Maxine Audley, Charles Dance, Julian Glover and Barrie Rutter. John
played Sicinius Velutus, one of two Tribunes of the people. The other, Junius Brutus,
was played by Oliver. Terry, previously both Artistic Director and Chief Executive
of the RSC, reflects on John as an actor: “John’s strengths were his intelligence
and his truthfulness. He didn’t act with a capital ‘A’, he simply ‘was’. John was
a proper actor, there was always something going on whether he was speaking or not.
There was a sense of an inner motor, your eyes were drawn to him.”
The Shakespeare scholar, David Daniell, wrote a book about the Coriolanus tour,
entitled: “Coriolanus in Europe.” Daniell confirms that Terry gave Oliver and John
license to develop their characters organically. He writes that Terry “wanted their
own voices, and for them to explore the parts and see what happened……” During
the production, John received a note from Terry, telling him not to characterise
too much, ‘to trust the text and the text will reveal the character.” Daniell continues:
“As Oliver and John explored Shakespeare’s play they found no role for themselves
in Rome: being neither patricians nor plebeians, they had to make their own place,
and were constantly at a loss what to do next…. Sicinius Velutus, by contrast,
shorter, stockier, is the bulldog to Brutus’ proctor, his feelings less under his
control, probably the more dangerous of the two.” In the book, John articulates
how he perceives his role: “He (Velutus) has become so incensed and outraged by
what he sees as the utter despotic intolerance and intemperance of this man (Coriolanus)
that he loses himself, and actually attacks him, which he certainly wouldn’t do
in his right mind, because Coriolanus is three times the size and a great fighting
machine……..Everyone’s preoccupations, hopes, plans, desires, concerns are in
that one man, and therefore the Armageddon, nuclear explosion, or whatever, is built
up to the final resolution within the boundaries of that one personality. He is
the centre of the wheel. About myself, I only know that I am diminished. My standing
with the people I’ve fought for and represented is absolutely on the floor. They
want to have nothing at all to do with me..”
Terry was very pleased with his Tribunes “John and Oliver together worked out
what kind of democratic function these men had. How do you create a State in which
ordinary people have a stake as well as the aristocracy? It was a revolutionary
act just to write the play, every character is revelatory. The tremendous powerhouse
of John and Oliver was crucial to the production.” Terry reflects on those halcyon
days of the RSC in the 70’s and 80’s and how all those “heavyweights” in the company
set down the building blocks for future generations. “Most people work to live but
actors live to work,” is his parting shot.
Oliver is well known to the public, having appeared in both Star Wars on the
big screen and in the TV blockbuster, Game of Thrones. He is also a writer and has
published books on Shakespeare. An affable man, his fondness for John is palpable.
They first met the year before Coriolanus, when they appeared in the Henry VI’s
together. They were on the same page politically and remained firm friends. “John
had a lot of energy. He was a kind of pocket dynamo,” Oliver tells me. “Once, in
a production of Much Ado About Nothing, John had to hold this enormous two-handed
broad sword. It was clearly a bad idea for him to take on these two younger men,
but such was his impassioned energy that he carried it off.” In Daniell’s book,
there is a wonderful photo of John and Oliver standing meditatively at the Berlin
Wall, as they look towards East Berlin. Indeed, the pair of them – as Daniell points
out “went everywhere on the tour together.” Both Daniell, in the book, and Oliver,
point out that, even off-stage, the actors playing aristocrats and those whose characters
were working class tended to separate into groups. John and Oliver decided to venture across the wall into the communist east. They went to see a production of “Spring
Awakening”, by the German playwright, Frank Wedekind. Oliver reminisces about that
day. “We went by train to Freidrichstrasse, the border stop. You sit there for ages
while they do the paperwork. We thought to ourselves, ‘there’s no reason why we
should ever get our passports back. At the theatre, they were very strict with us.
We wanted to put our mackintoshes under the seats but they refused. We had to check
them into the cloakroom”. Not long before he passed away, John also reminisced about
that trip to East Berlin. Oliver had wanted to buy some pliers. In the shop, they
found big wooden trays containing the merchandise. There was no packaging. “They
threw the baby out with the bath water when they got rid of communism,” he said.
Talk of clothing jogs Oliver’s memory and he suddenly summons up an example of John’s
often remarked upon sartorial elegance. “John turned up for a rehearsal one day,
colour-coordinated in beige trousers and a camel cardigan. I said to him, “John,
you look like a fashion-plate.”
On two occasions in the mid 1980’s, John toured the States with ACTER (Association
For Creative Theater, Education and Research), an educational organization that
arranges for small groups of actors to tour colleges and universities in the UK
and the USA. There are normally five actors who perform and give master classes
to students. On the first tour, the group performed King Lear and, on the second,
Hamlet. In the former, John played Kent and Gloucester and, in the latter, Polonius,
the 1st Grave Digger, Osric and the Norwegian Captain. Accompanying John
on the Lear tour were Julian Glover, David Rintoul, Pippa Guard and Sheila Allen.
On the Hamlet tour, David was there again, along with Vivien Heilbron, Phillip Voss
and Michael Thomas. All of them were Royal Shakespeare Company (RSC) actors.
I am being hosted by David and Vivien, who are married, in their bright and spacious
flat overlooking the Thames at Fulham. David’s distinguished theatre, film and television
career includes playing Dr Finlay in the 1990’s TV series of the same name and Admiral
John Fieldhouse in the 2011 film about Margaret Thatcher, “The Iron Lady.” Vivien’s
career on stage and screen spans fifty years and includes starring alongside Michael
Cain in the 1971 film version of Robert Louis Stevenson’s “Kidknapped”, and playing
Detective Sergeant Louise Colbert in the late 1970’s BBC TV series “Target.” They
have many, vivid memories of John. “John was a convivial man, he was never lonely,”
says Vivien. “He was quirky, I remember the time in 1980 and 1981 when he was playing
Pistol in an RSC touring production of Henry IV, Parts I and II. He hired a camper
van from Edwin Shirley Trucking and drove around the country in it. Another thing
that has stuck in my mind was how much John liked country music. He was particularly
keen on Hank Williams Junior, especially a track called ‘All my rowdy friends have
settled down’.”
She and David then come up with a number of choice anecdotes. “We
were rehearsing Hamlet at the Guildhall School of Music and Drama. Act IV, Scene
IV is a funny little scene in which the Norwegian Captain meets Hamlet who is accompanied by Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. They walk towards the port from the castle at Elsinore. We had very carefully worked out the geography of the whole scene i.e. where the castle was and where the actors should come onto the stage. The problem was that John had forgotten all about the Norwegian Captain and not learned his lines.He tried to blag his way out of it by questioning that geography, saying things like ‘the castle should be over there.’ Someone said ‘Oh, just say the fucking lines John.’ David lost the plot, crouched down and had a John Cleese moment. He erupted and went towards John, accusing him of being unprofessional and lazy. Michael and Philip could not bear to watch. ‘It’s not generous of you John,’ said David. John stayed calm and said, ‘I consider myself a generous person.’ It was all down to tiredness. We were under pressure on those tours. It’s a demanding schedule and the hardest part was the rehearsal. And you are mindful of the fact that you’re an ambassador for both Shakespeare and the UK.”
On the Hamlet tour, Vivien was in charge of the educational side of things. “A
female German class professor asked if one of us could read Rilke sensitively in
German. John volunteered. Having done so, he started to become restive. He was not
sure if his German was up to it. He started saying basic stuff in German like “Ein
bier bitte.”It all turned out fine in the end as he just did it in English. On another
occasion, Vivien and John were discussing the character of Polonious in Hamlet.
Vivien found him to be deceitful, a bully and a bad father. John was mortified by
her assessment and took it personally. “He did the right thing and defended ‘his’
character, says Vivien.
And then the coup de grace. “In the late 50’s a group of actors were in rehearsal
in a BBC studio in North Acton. The premiere of a new play called ‘The Birthday
Party,’ by Harold Pinter, an unknown playwright, had just taken place. The critics
had panned it and the actors were all having a laugh about it. Only two of the group
remained silent. John, and an actor called David Baron. What none of them knew was
that Baron was Harold Pinter, who used that alias when he was acting. Later on,
John turned to Baron and said, ‘Well I saw the play and I really liked it.’ Baron
replied, ‘Thanks, it was me that wrote it.’ Subsequently, the great critic, Harold
Hobson of The Sunday Times, gave it a favourable review and the rest, as they say,
is history.”
It was on the first of the two trips that John arrived in Tucson, Arizona, where
he met Paul and Muriel Fisher, a British couple who lived there. Paul was working
as a producer for the Invisible Theatre Company and had connections to the Drama
Department at the University Of Arizona, where the group performed. John established
an immediate rapport with Paul and Muriel and their friendship lasted for the rest
of his life. The five agreed to do a fundraiser for Invisible and Paul produced
them in a performance of Pinter’s, ‘The Homecoming.’ “They nailed it,” says Paul,
who also raves about the group’s Lear. “It was brilliant, the most hysterical Lear
I’ve ever seen. David played both Edmund and Edgar. When they were speaking to each
other, he stood up for one and knelt down for the other.”
Paul and Muriel still live in Tucson and have both made significant contributions
to the local community; he as an award-winning educator and she as an award-winning
Gaelic scholar and teacher. They reflect on John and the good times they had together.
“Off stage, John was one of the most ego-free thespians you could ever wish to meet.
He would always ask questions. He would get you to talk about your life. He wasn’t
‘me, me, me’ like a lot of actors. And he wasn’t as insecure as many of them are….we
dined well together. The conversation was full of clever banter and theatre stories.
A particularly memorable one, which John recounted to Paul and Muriel more than
once over the years, was when John and a group of actors were rehearsing at Stratford
in the 70’s. Helen Mirren was there too. Boatloads of tourists would pass by the
rehearsal room, which overlooked the canal. On one occasion, the balcony doors were
open and one tourist group was making a lot of noise. All of a sudden, Helen said,
“I’ll shut them up,” and rushed out onto the balcony. She opened her shirt and bared
her breasts at the tourists, whose conversation immediately ceased, as they looked
up at her in astonishment.” I myself had six wonderful years living in Tucson and
spent many an entertaining evening in Paul and Muriel’s company. It felt good to
be carrying on where dad left off.
John played Archbishop Scroop in Trevor Nunn’s July 1982 production of Henry
IV Parts I and II. It was the RSC’s very first performance at its’ new Barbican
Centre home. During the run, Nunn sent John a hand-written note: “John. You have
developed the Bish a great deal during this last season. He is truly Christian –
keep his rigorous anger fully on the boil though. Thank you for everything these
last months. Love, Trevor.”
Two years earlier, John had played Pistol in Bill Alexander’s RSC touring production
of the same play. David Rintoul played Prince Hal and Alfred Marks, Falstaff. A
reviewer wrote that ‘John Burgess’s Pistol “combined preposterous flamboyance with
absolute clarity of speech.”
Also in 1982, John played Sir John Vesey in Bill Alexander’s production of “Money”
at the Barbican’s Pit Theatre. Juliet Stevenson and Miriam Karlin were in the play
too. Jack Tinker, the acclaimed theatre critic of the Daily Mail, wrote that: “Miriam
Karlin, as an understanding aunt game for anything, and John Burgess, smacking mean
lips in greedy anticipation as a miser father, give good account of themselves.”
In 1983, British Airways released an iconic advert. The action takes place at
night in a London suburb. The first image is the feet of a man who is taking his
dog for a walk. The dog senses something strange, stops and starts to bark. The
camera pans up to the man’s face and it is John looking up to the heavens, awe struck
at the floating Manhattan Skyline in the distance. We then see the huge skyline
passing directly above a crowd of people on the ground, making a thunderous roar
and emitting a blinding light in the process. John enjoyed a good deal of kudos
for being in that advert, as did his nearest and dearest. I remember it being the
perfect dinner party ice-breaker. “You know that British Airways Manhattan skyline
ad…….”
Nine years later, John’s feet would once again precede the rest of his body on
screen. In the very last scene of Tom Stoppard’s 1990 film, “Rosencrantz And Guildenstern
Are Dead,” the camera shows a close up shot of a silver wine goblet lying on its
side on the floor. We then see the legs and feet of a man walking towards it. He
is wearing black stockings and soft black, medieval style, shoes. The next frame
is a full-frontal of John, in his role as the Ambassador from England. He is dressed
in diplomatic garb and has a thick white beard. The scene is one of carnage; the
corpses of Hamlet, Claudius, Gertrude and Laertes are strewn all over the place.
The Ambassador delivers a pithy coda: “The sight is dismal and our affairs from
England come too late. The years are senseless that should give us hearing, to tell
him his commandment is fulfilled, that Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are dead.” There’s
John again, cropping up in any number of diverse scenarios, to unerringly convert
a half chance into a goal. He brought a swagger and an air of authority to everything
he did. My brother, Andrew, tells me that Stoppard was keen for John to be in the
movie and that John was quite excited to be involved in a high-profile project which
was being filmed in Croatia.
John produced a priceless little cameo when he played Paul McCartney’s chauffer
in the 1984 film “Give My Regards To Broad Street.” In the very first scene, you
see him at the wheel of a huge black saloon car and Paul is in the back. It is pouring
with rain and they are stuck in a horrendous traffic jam. The sound of drilling
and cars hooting is deafening. John, looking every inch the part in his black suit,
black gloves and peaked chauffer’s cap, is on the car phone. His accent is part
cockney, part estuary English drawl. He is late getting Paul (who looks suitably
pissed off) to the office and is on the end of a tongue lashing from the publicity
man. He just keeps saying “I know” in a resigned tone, over and over again. He makes
the “I” sound like “oi”. “If this keeps up we won’t be in London ’til boxing day,”
he says, followed by “….the point is that we are sitting in the middle of a traffic
jam, the proportions of which would astound you.” When his excuses fall on deaf
ears, he reverts back to multiple “oi knows.” Not a lot to play with in truth but
it’s perfectly delivered. It reminds me of a scene in Fawlty Towers when Sybil,
gossiping on the phone to one of her friends, also says “I know,” multiple times.
In the early 1990’s, John appeared alongside Rowan Atkinson in one of a series
of high profile adverts for Barclaycard. He played the equivalent of the “Q” character
in the Bond films. Atkinson played a bumbling detective, a role that he fleshed
out in the 2003 movie, “Johnny English.”
John became a past master at turning peripheral parts, which did not amount to
much on paper, into engaging cameo roles. He would often manage to get a mention
in theatre reviews. One such example was when he played the part of Roman, the gatekeeper, in Terry Hands’ 1979 RSC production of Maxim Gorky’s “Children of the Sun.” He sits on the stage, guarding a courtyard, for the entire play. He does not speak. A broadsheet reviewer devotes an entire paragraph to him: “The set – unusual, this – does not work. However it does allow John Burgess as the yardman to upstage everyone delightfully by steadily mending a heavily symbolic fence (to separate gentry from peasantry) around the acting area throughout the performance. He does this with remarkable ease and silence. The presence of one fencing stave too many had me puzzled, but it wasn’t symbolic after all-it was a handy weapon with which to belabour the invading
peasant who demolished the fence with equal ease……Pass the samovar.”
In 1983, John worked with Patrick Stewart, who would later become internationally
famous for his role in Star Trek, in a play called “Body and Soul,” at the Palace
Theatre in Watford. The play was about a vicar who has a sex change. John plays
a parish priest. In his Daily Telegraph review, Eric Shorter praises him for displaying:
“a degree of emotion which brings the evening to dramatic life.” John’s brother,
Michael, remembers the time when John was acting in an RSC play at The Aldwych Theatre in London. Patrick Stewart was playing the lead. One night, in the pub after the show, Patrick turned to Michael and said, ‘Your brother is the best actor I know.”
In the mid 1980’s John worked with Nicholas Kent, the much admired Theatre director
who, as artistic director of the Tricycle Theatre for a staggering twenty-eight
years, turned it into an internationally recognised venue. In recent years, Kent
brought what he calls the “tribunal plays,” to the stage, groundbreaking works based
on transcripts of hearings and inquiries. These included the Macpherson inquiry
into the death of Stephen Lawrence, the arms to Iraq inquiry, the Guantanamo Bay
detentions and the 2011 London riots. He wrote to me with the following tribute
to John:
John was a wonderful enthusiast and always a great collaborator. I first worked
with him on the very first play I ever directed at the Tricycle Theatre. It was
a hard-hitting play about BBC’s World at One News programme – it was called The
One O’Clock World and was by Leigh Jackson. The critics gave us a very rough ride,
but they all loved John as did the audiences. He was playing the famous broadcaster
Sir Robin Day, and had caught the character wonderfully. He never mimicked the character, but always caught the true essence of the person he was playing.
I remember with great pleasure his first entry in the play, when he imposed his
presence on the room and gruffily made all his staff sit down and read the papers
looking for the story of the day. He managed then to hold and own a pause of 90
seconds – an incredibly long stage silence in anyone’s terms – which was electrifying,
and the audience loved it.
A few years later, working with him in the production of The Great White Hope,
his performance was again brilliant and illuminating, and he became one of the leaders
of this large and happy company.
He was always a huge pleasure to have in a company and I treasured his friendship.
A great actor and one with huge integrity.”
John appeared, for no more than a few seconds, as an extra in the BBC’s acclaimed
1980’s television series “I, Claudius,” starring Derek Jacobi. Every year he would
receive a royalty cheque for a few pence from the BBC. He never paid it in, instead
he always pinned it to his cork notice board or stuck it on the front of the fridge.
It became a standing joke in the family.
During the 1990’s, John landed a significant part on Brookside, Channel 4’s long-running
soap opera, set on a housing estate in Liverpool. He was playing the part of David
“Bing” Crosbie, the head of the Resident’s Association. Straight-laced, moralistic
and bigoted, the character could not have been farther away from John’s real life
– laissez-faire, egalitarian – persona. The pompous, busy-body that he created struck
a chord with the masses of soap fanatics up and down the country. Bing from Brookside,
if not quite a household name, was not far away from such elevated status. Loaded
Magazine contained a feature entitled “Greatest Living Englishman,” and Bing was
number 2. The piece described him thus: “Bing comes from a tradition of suave English
twits, eccentrics and amiable buffoons. His predecessors are David Niven, Leslie
Phillips and the Major from Fawlty Towers……Bing can be hilarious, but he is
at heart a tragic figure. “Bring on the dancing horses,” he utters in disbelief
as a window cleaner and photographer bring chaos to the Crosbie household. A company
called “Tee Stars” put out a T-shirt of Bing with the words “Urban Warrior” under
his image. They advertised it in the back of Private Eye.
John visited me, during his six-year stint on Brookside, when I was a politics
student at Nottingham University. We were at Trent Bridge, watching the Test match
between England and Australia. At lunchtime, we went to a café to order some sandwiches.
John was wearing his England hat and dark glasses. He was determined not to be noticed.
“I’d like two egg mayo and cucumber sandwiches please,” he said. The response was
instantaneous. “Alright Bing?” We all burst out laughing. “Shit,” said John.
I arranged for John to address the University’s Labour Club (he himself was to
later resign from the Labour Party in protest at the 2003 Iraqi invasion), to which
I belonged. I sat in the front row, proud as punch. The room was packed out. John
forgot to acknowledge me. He was then interviewed by Spotlight, the University magazine.
Still no mention of his son’s presence. In the article, John is quoted as saying:
“My own feeling about acting is that it is a craft that has to be learnt. My theory
is that it is better to learn theatre first as it’s a much bigger and broader craft
than television………..you’ve got to do a little bit of this and a little bit
of that. In our business we have 90% unemployment and have done since time immemorial…I’m what’s known as a jobbing actor.” A widely used phrase in acting circles, actors as esteemed as Jack Lemmon and John Le Mesurier referred to themselves in the same humble terms. The reality is, as Harry Landis puts it: “If you are not a star or
one of those character actors who becomes a kind of star like Leo McKern, who played Rumpole, then you are a jobbing actor.” John would often refer to himself as a jobbing actor and it was very much a part of his identity. There was a strong sense that for him, as with many actors, the definition of a successful actor is no more or
no less than an actor who is working.
I was certainly hurt by the fact that my father had failed so miserably to even
mention me to his audience and in the magazine piece. I recall that one of my lecturers
expressed his surprise to me too. I never raised it with him. I am not sure why
I kept silent but I think it was just that I wanted to be mature about it and accept
that it was a small price to pay for the kudos of having a fairly famous dad.
John made some lasting friendships at Brookside. He and the actors, Stephen Pinder,
Gabrielle Glaister and Karen Drury were like a family, very close and protective
of each other. John remained close to all of them after he left Brookside. Gabby,
who played his daughter, Patricia, says he was like a naughty dad. They used to
hang out, eat and drink in abundance and do cultural stuff together. John would
confide in Gabby about his often tempestuous personal life. She giggles as she recalls
how he once turned up at her house seething about a letter he had received from
his fourth wife, Dorothy, and made her read it out loud. “John was a good actor,”
she says, “a very giving actor, terribly instinctive. I loved working with him although
he was a little tardy and didn’t always know his lines. He used to rail against
Brookside and love it in equal measure. He liked a bit of fame did John. No shame
in that.”The railing against it is to do with John’s fight for decent terms and
conditions for the actors in the face of a fairly ruthless management.
Steven, who played Max, John’s son-in-law, is in no doubt that his impact was
crucial. “As Equity rep, John single-handedly changed the working conditions at
Brooky. He was an old school Labour man. In that era it was very hard to achieve
anything against Phil Redmond’s company. You couldn’t negotiate wages. It was take
it or leave it.” At one point, the management decided to start fining actors who
were late. John was scandalized and wrote a letter to them. They replied, confirming
that they would take his concerns on board. They also pointed out that John had
been late sixteen times in the previous six weeks. The site manager told Stephen
that he was the worst offender. The upshot was that he found a loophole which prevented
the management from implementing their plan.
Steven recounts the story about John being somewhat the worse for wear when shooting
a scene: “John had miscalculated his schedule. He’d been in in the morning and,
thinking he was finished for the day, went home. He drank three shots of whisky
while watching cricket on the box. But he still had a scene to do and was called
back in the afternoon. I saw John returning on his bicycle, looking rather unsteady
and I thought to myself “that’s odd.” On set, he was clearly drunk and giggling
hysterically. All he had to say in the scene was “Scarborough?” but he kept exaggerating
the delivery and pretended to be flustered. It was a bit like Tommy Cooper on speed.”John
and Steven would often corpse when they were doing a scene together. “We just used
to set each other off, ” says Steven. “Your dad used to try and avoid looking at
me. Once, the director noticed that, instead of looking at me, John had his head
buried in a newspaper. He insisted that John look at me but John said he couldn’t
do it. There was some argy-bargy and it was all a bit strained.”
The story of John’s lost car is an integral part of our family’s folklore. According
to Steven, it’s also legendary in thespian circles. He is keen to give me his version
of events. ” John owned a red sports car, a Lancia Beta. He used to shop at Sainsbury’s
in Notting Hill and would always park his car in Chippenham Road, outside some red
brick mansion blocks. One day, he came back from Sainsbury’s to where he thought
he’d parked the car but it wasn’t there. He walked around looking for it, tried
a few different roads. Finally, John concluded that it had been stolen and went
to the police station to report it. A couple of weeks later he went to the States
on tour for eight or nine weeks. At the end of the summer, he returned. A few weeks
later, he went to Sainsbury’s and was walking home along Chippenham Road. He noticed
this car that was filthy and covered in bird shit. It was a red Lancia Beta. God
almighty, I used to have a car like that, thought John. And then he noticed a straw
hat on the rear shelf and thought, I used to have a hat like that. And immediately
it dawned on him. It was his car.
There are many anecdotes, it seems, from the Brookside days, when John’s funny
ways would amuse people. Karen, who played Max’s first wife, Susannah, recounts
one of her favourites to me. “Once, when everyone was on set preparing for a scene,
John announced that he needed the loo. What must have been a good half an hour later,
we were ready to start shooting but John had not returned. We were all standing
there twiddling our thumbs when he came into view. There he was, strolling along
without a care in the world, casually meandering back to the set. The producer,
Franny Harkham, quick as a flash, quipped ‘Look at John, taking the scenic route.’
Everybody cracked up.”
“John had the voice from heaven,” says Karen. “He was an acute observer of the
absurdity of life. Really got that juxtaposition of tragedy and comedy. He was intelligent
and serious but emotional and funny too. He was not judgmental and never made fun
of people. He was my acting advisor, I could always run things by him. Just keep
going, he would say. When I needed bolstering, he was always there for me.”
I ask Karen for her take on the character of Bing that John crafted. “I always
felt there was quite a lot of Johnny B in it, the way Bing was always doing the
right thing and was outraged at things. And his moustache was a stroke of genius
which lent the character a sergeant-major persona but then gave it space to develop.”
Andrew recounts to me two Brookside anecdotes. On one occasion, an old lady approached John outside the Gate Cinema in Notting Hill and said “I know you, you’re the guy off the telly, you’re the guy in Crossroads.” Another time, a scouser stopped John on the street and said, “You’re a right bastard you are.” He was full of anger and
was referring to Bing’s treatment of Max in the show.”
I do not think that it is an exaggeration to say that landing the part in Brookside
changed John’s life. In one fell swoop his exposure, profile, self-esteem and financial
security were enhanced significantly. Moving from London to Liverpool at a time
when the latter was undergoing a major renaissance was very exciting. In the early
days, John rented an apartment in a new development that was part of the Albert
Dock regeneration. There were divisions and no little mistrust within the Brookside
cast between the local actors, who were working-class scousers, and the outsiders,
who were middle-class and, in the main, southerners. But John, with his urbanity,
humour and sheer force of personality, eventually won the Liverpudlians over. Indeed,
he forged firm friendships with a few of the mainstays in the show, in particular
Dean Sullivan who played Jimmy Corkhill, and Michael Starke who played Thomas Sinbad.
As is the case with all actors, John suffered a few near misses; parts he almost
got and shows he was in that almost took off. The principal example of the former
scenario was when he auditioned for one of the leading parts, that of Henry Davenport,
the news anchorman, in the prestigious 1990’s Channel 4 TV series, “Drop The Dead
Donkey.” There was a short-list of two, John and David Swift, an actor he knew well.
John came second and he took it very badly indeed. It left a scar and became a taboo
topic that he was never able to talk about. The best example of the latter was “Together,”
a lunchtime soap that was put out by Southern TV in 1980. John played a character
called Dougie Webber, a caretaker for a block of flats. It was a sizeable part.
The show seemed to be catching on and, John’s brother, Michael, believes there was
every chance that it would have been moved to an evening slot. But Southern TV lost
its franchise and that was that. “Together” was radical in that it was filmed live,
in order to reduce post-production expenses. Every scene was shot inside the studio
and there were no external shots at all. It constituted a master class in the basics
of studio production and the discipline needed to put out a soap opera live.
Conversely, there are the times when fate intervenes in your favour. The prime
example of this in John’s career was when he was understudying the well-known actor,
Brewster Mason (who coached him when he was a student at RADA) in the 1987 RSC production of Richard II.Jeremy Irons was playing Richard and Mason, John of Gaunt. Mason had been a decorated world war two naval officer who was left with permanent damage to one of his feet. Tragically, he had a fall at the stage door which hastened his
decline. He passed away not long afterwards. John stepped into the breach. It was a fantastic opportunity for him, not only to perform alongside Irons but also to render one of the most iconic speeches in the entire Shakespeare canon. Namely, the “this England” one which contains the lines, “This royal throne of kings, this scepter’d isle,/This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars,/This other Eden, demi-paradise…/This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England…/Is now leas’d out-I die pronouncing it/Like a tenement or pelting farm.”
Michael was in the audience for his first performance as Gaunt: “I can still
hear him doing the “This England” speech and remember him being terrified that he
might make a mistake! He didn’t of course. I was especially proud of him that night.”
Barry Kyle, who directed Richard II, says that John showed great affection for Brewster
Mason. ‘It was interesting to see the torch passed from a noble, effortlessly aristocratic
voice (Mason) to a kind of fired-up ferret berating the monarch,” he tells me. “I
said to John at the time that I would have loved to spend one minute in a room with
Margaret Thatcher telling her what was wrong with her. Gaunt gets to spend five
minutes with Richard, lecturing him about how he’s fucked up the country.” Barry
then slips in a little nugget. “Jeremy Irons asked me to cast John Gielgud as John
of Gaunt. But Gielgud was getting on in years and it never happened.” He reflects
further: “John of Gaunt is a massive troublemaker. The part suited your dad down
to a tee. That speech is both lyrical and dramatic. It’s akin to Elgar’s Nimrod
in the context of world war two or the last night of the Proms. Most actors playing
Richard II know that they have an ace up their sleeve: however bad the abuse they
have to take from the all-powerful Gaunt, and a dying man does have the ear of a
room, when he’s gone you can seize his treasures-and finance a campaign in
Ireland with it.”
Barry is pleased that he worked with John. “John was a wonderful company member,
fully committed. There was a mutual respect, he would focus on every word you were
saying. In rehearsals, I remember above all his courtesy. An old-school politeness.
He was emblematic of character actors who had long careers of great professional
heft.” They were on the same page politically too.”John had a kind of Hattersley
socialism I’d say. I didn’t see him as a Bennite. Passionate views, but fair, educated
and thoughtful. A Gentleman Red.”
Barry and John had bonded six years earlier, when John had appeared in Barry’s
successful production of the rarely performed Jacobean play, “The Witch of Edmonton.”
Barry cast John as Old Banks, the violent ringleader of a group of indigenous folk-
in modern terms, a group of febrile UKIP’ers is how Barry describes them – who want
to burn a scapegoated woman, who then turns to witchcraft, at the stake.”The play
resembles The Crucible in the way that it puts a community of ordinary, lower middle
class people, on the stage. The accents were all rural Warwickshire. They are experiencing
grinding poverty, their crop fails, and they are looking for scapegoats. The power
of the ensemble was special. It has the smell of a coming revolution, in the same
way that Chekhov does. Our production was very much a left-wing interpretation of
the play. At the time, we were facing savage cuts to the arts and were arranging
RSC fundraisers.
We had a wonderful cast, including Harriet Walter and Gerard Murphy. There was
a very democratic way of working. Lots of rehearsal discussion. John had on the
most extraordinary make up, he turned his face into a kind of devil. He crawled
around on all fours, like a mad woolf. I let him loose and he thrived on it. He
played a kind of Jihadi in 1691 in Edmonton (north London”. I have a black and white
photo from a book,in which John, as a drunk Old Banks, sits on the floor with his
legs splayed and has a tankard of beer between them. It is classic.
In 1987, John played the part of Professor Sergeyev in an important RSC play
about the Chernobyl nuclear disaster called “Sarcophagus.” Performed only a year
or so after the event, the hard-hitting play was written by Vladimir Gubaryev, the
then Science Editor of Pravda who had been the first journalist on the scene after
the explosion. Michael Glenny, the play’s translator, saw it as a prime example
of Mikhail Gorbachev’s new policy of openness (glasnost).
In 1991, John worked with Anita Dobson in “My Lovely…Shayna Maidel,” a play
in which Dobson played a holocaust survivor. Dobson, a stage and screen actress
and singer, became famous in the 1980’s for her role as Angie Hobbs in the BBC soap
opera, “EastEnders.” In 2011, she appeared in the TV programme, “Strictly Come Dancing.”
Anita recalls treading the boards with John: “I didn’t know your dad terribly well
but working with him was a great pleasure. I found him to be a terrific force to
be on stage with, and hearing him talk about his work was a joy. He loved the business
of performing. He was also kind and polite and I’m very glad I met and worked with
him.” Milton Shulman, in the Evening Standard, wrote that “John Burgess is excellent
as a ramrod Jewish patriarch, proud of his jogging ability at 70, but odious in
his religious bigotry.”
Once something rankled with John, he could never let it lie. One such issue arose
in 2000 when he was doing a short run of “Death of a Salesman” with the Birmingham
Repertory Theatre. John was peeved that the audiences were so poor and, when an
opportunity arose, he made his feelings known. His actor friend, Jonathan Melia,
recounts the story. “They were big on fire drills at Birmingham Rep and ran them
with military precision. Once, when the theatre manager was within ear shot, John
said loudly: “This theatre is very adept at getting audiences out of the building
but they haven’t got a clue how to get them in.” He quickly followed up at an audience
Q and A following a performance. “We in the company are very disappointed with the
audience numbers. Is there anything that this theatre should be doing to make itself
more visible to the people of Birmingham?” This was controversial, says Jonathan,
as it was not the correct forum to raise the issue.
Nevertheless, it worked a treat and the woman who was taking over publicity at
Birmingham Rep requested a meeting with a group of actors. Up until that point,
the company had concentrated on mailshots which, Jonathan believes, created the
impression that the theatre was an exclusive club. A new publicity campaign was
devised, in which large, highly visible, lettering was attached to the building
and it was brilliantly lit at night. Posters were placed all over the city. They
turned it around, according to Jonathan, who was close to the old boy. “If I needed
an avuncular chat, he was always there. John didn’t let people down.”
After spending the 1990’s almost exclusively in television, John was more than
ready to tread the boards again. When, in 2000, Trevor Nunn, the then Artistic Director
of the National Theatre (NT), who knew him well from his RSC days, invited him to
join the company, he was delighted. John had played Lodovico and The Duke Of Venice
in Nunn’s much lauded 1989 RSC production of Othello, which was made into a film.
It was a star-studded cast. Sir Ian McKellen played Iago, Willard White, Othello,
Imogen Stubbs, Desdemona and Zoë Wanamaker, Emilia. Clive Swift, famous for his
TV role as Richard Bucket in the long-running sitcom “Keeping Up Appearances,” played
Brabantio. He says that John brought some dignity and authority to his role as the
Duke.
First off at the NT, John appeared as Capulet’s cousin in Tim Supple’s production
of Romeo and Juliet, which starred Chiwetel Ejiofor as Romeo. Shortly thereafter,
he featured in Proust’s “Remembrance of Things Past.” Directed by Di Trevis, it
was universally heralded as a resounding success. She collaborated with Harold Pinter
in adapting his screenplay for the stage. In her book “Remembrance of Things Proust:
A Rehearsal Diary,” she writes about why she decided to cast John in Remembrance
as The Marquis de Norpois: “The first actor I was enthusiastic to cast was John
Burgess, who had recently played in my production of Death of a Salesman in Birmingham.
I knew I needed an older actor of some gravitas and weight but had always had doubts
about such actors’ willingness to improvise and work in the free flowing way the
early work in rehearsal often involved. John had proved himself as keen and flexible
in approach as any younger actor, bringing with him years of experience at the RSC
and a sense of release from a long period locked into the television world. I knew
at once he could play Norpois and it was on the basis of this offer that he was
the first to accept.”
Andrew says that Pinter was also keen for John to be cast in the play and would
often turn up to rehearsals and spend time chatting to him.
In 2003, John played a gardener in an NT production of “Humble Boy,” which starred
Hayley Mills. An apt role given that gardening was one of his passions. He was certainly
green-fingered and created a wonderful little garden in his basement flat in Ladbroke
Grove – where he was living at the time he owned the red Lancia Beta. The play toured
around the UK and was reviewed by Michael Kelligan of theatre-wales.co.uk, who wrote
that “John Burgess’s magic embraces both the cast and the audience.” John’s sister,
Wendy, remembers him holding forth in her garden, not long after he had been in
Humble Boy. He was giving her gardening tips and spouting the Latin names of plants.
She was bowled over by the extent of his knowledge. John kept a straight face. Later
on that day, it suddenly dawned on her that half of what he had been saying had
come straight out of Humble Boy. They laughed long and hard. John loved a good tease
and he was pretty adept at stringing people along.
Harry recalls that John also played a gardener, in a west-country accent, in
“Christabel,” a 1988 TV mini-series about a plot to kill Hitler. Liz Hurley and
Stephen Dillane played the leads.
In 2006, John was playing the part of Lovewit in Nicholas Hytner’s NT production
of “The Alchemist.” It was a deluxe cast which included Simon Russell Beale, Lesley
Manville, Ian Richardson and Alex Jennings. The previews had been completed and
the reviews were overwhelmingly positive. And then, a nasty accident which stopped
him in his tracks. Coming down some concrete steps close to the river at Hammersmith,
John fell badly and broke his collar bone. It knocked him for six and left him partially
disabled in that he never recovered full movement in his right shoulder.
Happily, John bounced back and, during 2007 and 2008, could be seen on the box
in episodes of “My Family”, “Pulling”, “Midsomer Murders” and “Doctors”. In “My
Family”, he renewed acquaintance with Zoë Wanamaker, who starred alongside Robert
Lindsay. Zoë is the daughter of Sam Wanamaker, the American film director and actor
who was blacklisted by Hollywood and moved to Britain in the 1950’s. He was largely
responsible for the modern recreation of Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre in London.
Zoë, like her father, a CBE, is an international star of stage and screen and has
had long relationships with both the RSC and the National Theatre. Her film appearances
include “Wilde” and “Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone.” She pays tribute
to John thus: “He was a very intelligent, gentlemanly man who could enjoy a joke
and was quietly strong on stage. He was very kind to me. I remember him with great
affection.”
In “Pulling,” John had the opportunity to work again with Tanya Franks, with
whom he had appeared in a 2004 episode of “Holby City.” Tanya, an actor, writer
and producer, is well known for playing the parts of Rainie Cross in “EastEnders”
and Lucy Stevens in “Broadchurch.” She also had major roles in “The Bill” and “Family
Affairs.” Tanya and John were close friends, as she articulates: “I was fortunate
to have known of lovely Johnny Burgess before I met him, as I had already had a
friendship with his son Andrew. And then, in late 2004, to my pleasure, John and
I were cast in the same episode of Holby City, in which he gave a heartbreaking
performance. I introduced myself and we became friends in our own right. He was
very warm and generous of spirit, charming and fun. He liked to laugh and it always
seemed to me that his love of acting never left him. We also played husband and
wife in a play-reading of a rare Arthur Miller play at the National Theatre Studio,
which we revelled in for the afternoon.
He would speak fondly of his days touring Tucson, Arizona, where his sons ended
up living. I remember the day he told me of his illness at one of Andrew’s art exhibitions
which was being held in Primrose Hill. I was deeply saddened to hear his news, yet
he was wonderfully philosophical and brave about it, and I feel sure his positive
attitude of dealing with it helped him to appear healthy for such a long time after
the diagnosis (June 2008).
I’m sorry that I never got to spend a day going to Lords with him, which we did
speak of doing, but we couldn’t get our schedules to coincide unfortunately. I love
a good day at the cricket and feel I missed out by not getting there with him. When
I think of Johnny Burgess I can see his smile, feel his warmth, and hear the mellow
tone of his voice as clearly as if he’s standing with me.
I recently saw him in a repeated episode of My Family – that’s the wonderful
thing about the recorded medium of television, it’s like I was spending a few moments
with him all over again.”
In 2007, John played Antonio in Nicholas Hytner’s critically acclaimed NT production
of “Much Ado About Nothing”, which starred Zoë Wanamaker and Simon Russell Beale.
Oliver Ford Davies played Leonato, Antonio’s brother. In his shortish review, the
Guardian’s Michael Billington finds space to commend John: “Even a relatively small
role such as Leonato’s brother is invested with new life as we see from the way
John Burgess reaches for a drink when suddenly told he has a daughter who will supplant
Hero at the altar.” I am with Tristram Wymark who first met John on the set of that
production. He was understudying Russell Beale, who played Benedick. Tris says that
the camaraderie in the company was very special. “That company was like a love machine
and John was a pivotal figure. He turned 75 during the run and everybody signed
one of the large NT posters for him. Oliver gave a speech about Johnny and Johnny
literally wept. I ask Tris to sum up John’s abilities as an actor and he does not
hesitate. “Complete believability. Every time he came on stage you were utterly
convinced that he was that person. In fact, even from the first read-through that
was the case.”
John’s obituary in The Guardian was written by Mike Leigh. , who describes him
as a “versatile and highly intelligent character actor…..” Mike emphasizes how
much he enjoyed working with “this direct, drily humorous man…….John himself
was creative, open to experiment and improvisation, truthful and organic. Yet he
was always an old-fashioned precision-monger in the best sense. A real professional,
and a delight to work with, he was an ensemble player to the core, but always his
own man. His work was firmly rooted in the real world.” Mike explains that when
he was casting for his play “Two Thousand Years,” (National Theatre, 2005) in which
he explores his socialist-Zionist background, John, who had the same roots, was
the obvious choice. Charles Spencer, reviewing the play in The Telegraph, praises
John’s role as “Rachel’s splendidly cantankerous old git of a dad.” In the Guardian,
Michael Billington writes that :”John Burgess, as the grandad, smoking strenuously
through his emphesyma, has exactly the tetchiness of an old man who sees the modern
world as going to hell in a handcart.”
Appearing in “Two Thousand Years” proved to be an important moment in John’s
career. He had a major part in an important play which examined the attitudes of
British Jewry to the State of Israel and Zionism. John received a tremendous amount
of positive feedback and compliments for his performance, especially from other
actors. John and Mike Leigh had first worked together in 1978 at the RSC on a project
of Leigh’s called “Ice Cream.” Unfortunately, it never got off the ground and John
doubted very much that he would ever get the chance to work with Leigh again. That
back story made the success of Two Thousand Years all the sweeter for him.
At John’s funeral in November 2010, his friend, Anthony Naylor (whose multiple
television and film roles include parts in The Liver Birds, Juliet Bravo, Z Cars
and the 1974 movie, “Stardust.”) was master of ceremonies. He said, memorably, that
John “had a degree in curiosity,” before recounting an anecdote:
“The first time I really became aware of John’s mettle was in a rehearsal room
in Floral Street, Covent Garden. It was late spring, 1977 and we were both members
of the RSC.I, as well as being a member of the acting company, had been employed
to arrange the fights for HENRY VI, Part One. We’d been rehearsing for a couple
of weeks and I’d been working during a couple of fight-calls with about 15 or so
actors on one of the many battles that punctuate the play. We were, for the first
time, showing the newly created, meagerly rehearsed battle to the director. The
director was a permanent fixture at the RSC and – as they did in those days – had
responsibility for the entire season of plays in the Main House. He was therefore
very powerful and had given all the actors their jobs. His style was cool and he
could be sharp and critical where appreciation and encouragement would’ve got better,
more lasting results.
This particular morning he was very critical of one particular section of the
battle which involved John. As the director was giving his notes/observations, I,
as fight arranger had already stepped in-between him and several of the actors in
an attempt to deflect the ire. All the actors remained silent and a little cowed
as I tried to point out that we were still in the very early stages of development.
Nevertheless, he continued to find fault. Fault, now, with John. John hadn’t done
this…John hadn’t done that… John listened calmly and then with genuine good
grace and a smile, broke the actor-silence and accepted the director’s observations
and reassured him that he would do better. Further, he pointed to the spirit and
enthusiasm of his fellow actors as they worked creating the battle. Spirit that
he, John, was sure would bring success to all things martial within our nascent
production. This gentle, impressive act of courage and common sense changed the
atmosphere and the director smiled and acknowledge that John was right – there was,
he echoed, a great spirit and he concluded by thanking all the actors and me for
our work. This gentle, impressive act of courage and common sense was what made
me want to be John’s friend”.
On the subject of fight scenes, John actually had a scar on his thigh. His friend,
Natasha Roderick-Jones – who worked at the RSC in the 1970’s – tells me that it
was caused by fellow actor, Desmond Stokes, who speared John during a battle in
one of the Shakespeare plays. Natasha relates to me the story of how she knows that:
“Many years later, when I asked him how he got the scar, he said it was an old war
wound. I wanted to know the details but he feigned annoyance and said he did not
want to talk about it. I pushed him on it but he insisted it was something he never
spoke about. He kept up the pretence for quite a while. Eventually, he relented
and told me the story:’ I got it while fighting with Moshe Dayan in the desert.
A tank in front of me somehow, sort of blew itself up.’ After a few seconds I realized
he was bullshitting and we both burst out laughing.” I had seen the scar but why
I never managed to glean the information as to how it was sustained I will never
know.
Barrie Rutter, OBE, who John shared digs with John in Stratford in the 70’s and
went on to establish the award-winning Northern Broadsides Theatre Company, e-mailed
me with a tribute:
“Your dad was wanted by Mike Leigh for a project with the RSC at the Aldwych
in 1978. This meant that his part in the South African play ( forgot the title.
Peter Mcenery was the lead) was vacant . Howard Davies, its director asked me if
I’d step in. I duly agreed. Then found out I was being checked out for the film
of “Porridge” so was understandably grumpy as the SA play meant I wasn’t available.
As you know the Mike Leigh project folded—John asked Howard if he could possibly
have his old part back; Howard asked me; I agreed as rehearsals hadn’t started;
John was chuffed; I got “Porridge” so I was chuffed and laid down a deposit on a
1st house with the earnings……So, thanks to your Dad’s cancelled Mike Leigh venture
my house was secured. He was also a notable member of the charity fund raising Old
Time Music Hall group that I put together. A fine man. Barrie.”
The South African play that Barrie refers to is “The Lorenzaccio Story”, by Paul
Thompson. John’s close friend, Alan David (a veteran of stage and screen who, for
over forty years, has performed for the RSC, The National Theatre, The Royal Court
and The Almeida. He played The Professor in Jez Butterworth’s acclaimed 2011 play
“Jerusalem.”), relates an anecdote about acting with John in the play:
“John and I played the Goldsmith and the Silk Merchant who acted as a chorus,
commenting on the action of the play. All our scenes were together and always started
with a song accompanied by Stephen Oliver on piano. One night, John forgot the opening
line of one of the songs. Steven had given us a powerful and joyous introduction
and then there was silence. I looked at John. John looked at me. The opening line
was not going to be forthcoming! Steven realised there was a problem and played
the introduction again. Silence. I was desperately trying to remember what the line
was. So was Steven. John just smiled and said, “I’ve forgotten the line.” I said,
“I think we’ve gathered that.” The audience started laughing. John said something
like, “Will you sing your verse and perhaps I’ll then remember mine.” By which time
the audience was roaring. A crisis became a wonderful and memorable event shared
by all.”
As indicated by Barrie, John was always happy to support a worthy cause or give
up his time to support and advise either would-be or up and coming actors. One such
example is articulated by Hazel Collins, a family relative, who treasures the time
she spent with John in the last part of his life. “John was always so thoughtful,
loving and kind. My son, Matt, wanted to be an actor and John went out of his way
to help and encourage him. By introducing him to his dear actor friend, Tristram
Wymark, and by talking to Matt about agents – he introduced him to his own agent
– and the Actor’s Centre. He would invite Matt to the theatre at any opportunity
and guide and nurture him as he did everyone he knew and loved.”
During John’s time on Brookside, he befriended the actress Anna Friel, who played
the major part of Beth Jordache. He became her mentor and confidante just when she
was on the verge of becoming very famous. They lost touch when Anna became an international star but John never felt any rancour towards her.
My brother, Paul, describes John’s involvement with The Unity Theatre Trust,
which is chaired by Harry Landis: “Dad was a very active trustee of Unity Theatre
Trust. Every few months he would receive the applications for grants from various
Theatre groups. He would study them assiduously in preparation for the Trustees
meeting, at which decisions would be made on how to dole out the money. Several
times he would ask me to look through them with him and we would discuss the merits
of each proposal. Dad was always happy to advise young actors and would also occasionally appear for free in a short film to help an aspiring film maker.
Mike Leigh says in John’s obituary: “It is sad that we will be denied the richness
of his octogenarian characterisations.” I am sure I speak for many when I say that
we are all sad that we have also been deprived of his company, his camaraderie and
his compassion, the octogenarian vintage of which would have been a joy to behold.