Shooting 007: And Other Celluloid Adventures (46 page)

It was important that I did not leave out the account of my family before the war: a personal history of those not so good old days when life was not easy for my parents or the proud working-class families who struggled to scrape a position in life. Possibly a few forgotten chestnuts still remain to be written, which perhaps are better saved for another time in another place. However, I will enjoy living off these past reminiscences, which I hope will be replayed time and again with old mates at the local watering hole as we retell the same old stories as if they were new. I should also apologise to my family, who continue to suffer these accounts, having heard them all before many times; they smile politely at a silly old fool holding on to past memories, reluctant to let them go. It hurts when they have the disrespect to correct my account if I get the story wrong – it really is sad getting old …

This background will not deter the students at the NFTS, where wannabe cinematographers will inevitably discover that this film industry could also become their obsession, where sacrifices would be made to move on and move up. Many of them will wait quietly in the wings for their opportunity. That is how it was for me, and I was feeling down in the dumps when another film was suddenly offered to me in South Africa, again about Shaka Zulu.

The offer came from the director Joshua Sinclair who wrote the original series. In conversations over the phone I could not be sure if Joshua had directed a film before and I suspected that his know-how was limited, even so, the director appeared positive in his suggestions and said that I should wait to hear from him.

Joshua’s offer came while I was filming the television series
Soldier Soldier
;
w
e would stay in contact over many months as the film went through the usual preparation period; everything appeared to be going well for the director, who claimed Roger Moore would be playing the lead role in the film. Hearing this, I foolishly mentioned my relationship with Roger.

With time passing, the film kept going back and doubts now started to creep in but, to the director’s credit, he kept me informed about the obvious lack of progress. Finally Joshua arrived in England to film tests with his Italian leading lady, suggesting that all was well. I was asked to organise the shoot, camera crew and stage space, with the lighting and camera equipment all generously supplied free of charge by Samuelson Film Service through the old pals’ network. The only item not free was film stock; Samuelsons would have nothing to do with that nonsense, so I took care of that problem myself, if only to keep Joshua’s show – and mine – on the road, and would worry about collecting the money later.

Roger never came to England for the test. By now he was past believing Joshua about the situation in which the film appeared to be, finally pulling out altogether. However, after all this time, I continued to go along with the director’s requests, though privately admitting this was more in hope than expectation that the film would ever take off.

Later Joshua casually mentioned that he was having financial problems and needed to sell some of his valued paintings to pay the bills; I also had the impression that his house could be in danger of going the same way, yet even with all of these mounting problems the call finally came to travel to South Africa to prepare filming. My agent still had reservations with all this; only with guarantees of return flights and accommodation would I be allowed to travel to Johannesburg.

After all the hassle it was good to finally get going. My enthusiastic director greeted my arrival with the news that Roger was still interested in the film, even though privately Roger had told me he had pulled out. Nevertheless, Joshua remained as determined and positive as ever, saying, ‘Roger is still on the show – phone him, tell him you are here and all is well!’ With that appeal I became more concerned than ever, not for the film or that I would be abusing my relationship with Roger, but suddenly realising that I was getting involved in matters which did not concern me and were well above my pay grade, and even that I was being used. Reluctantly, I tried – and failed!

Undeterred by this setback, Joshua decided that we should travel to the Transkei where a large boat was already under construction and where we would meet up with the talented production designer Hans Nel, who designed the original
Shaka Zulu
series. My hopes started to soar again when I saw what Hans had achieved so far; the set looked truly magnificent! All my negative thoughts now quickly began to diminish, though somehow they would not go away completely. Now came the whispers in the background that Hans had no money to finish building the sets, alarm bells started ringing again, this time louder than ever.

We were looking at the wall, having a pee, when Joshua casually mentioned a call he had received on his mobile; his solicitor was advising that more money was necessary to keep the film on track, which I assumed would mean Joshua selling more of his treasured paintings. He paused before turning to speak, his thoughts elsewhere … fortunately he’d finished peeing! This was the first time I had seen genuine concern on the director’s face, leaving me to assume that the money had not been in place from the beginning, with Joshua alone financing the pre-production period in the hope that all would be well in the end. Sadly this did not happen and I returned to England out of pocket with yet another hard lesson learned, as others have also learned before and after me. We all become addicts to the drug of making films – I was no different.

The never-say-die Joshua, just like many others, was the total film addict who remained confident all would be well in the end. In a way it did turn out well – if not for me. Later I learned that Joshua directed the film
Shaka Zulu: The Citadel
in Italy with Henry Cele once again playing the title role; this time the critics would be far less enthusiastic.

I still hope one day to meet up with Joshua, if only to hear the full story – he owes me that. I bear no resentment to the man, whom I liked very much. He may have been naive about films and their financing, but again I could see much of myself in Joshua as he gambled to get his story off the ground.

Following the collapse of the film, I travelled north to Newcastle to film
The Rag Nymph,
a mini-series made by Tyne Tees Television as part of their Catherine Cookson series. Frank Elliott, my ever-loyal camera assistant, joined me but sadly this would be the last time we would work together; other issues would change his life and our long-standing friendship.

Pinewood Studios was the venue where the BSC celebrated ‘Operators’ Night’, an occasion in the calendar when camera crews get together and pat ourselves on the back, handing out awards to deserving technicians during an evening of celebration and high spirits. Frank was much quieter that night; his cheerful personality was noticeably missing, which was very unusual for him. With the evening drawing to a close he took me aside from all the revelry to tell me that he had been diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease and that his working days would soon be over. The atmosphere suddenly chilled, not unlike a scene from a script: ‘
An uncomfortable atmosphere takes over the scene with muted sounds of high spirits carrying on in the distant background’.
Frank’s worst moment would read like that.

He spoke quietly of his concerns for the future as he tried to come to turns with the situation while I encouraged him to carry on and not worry, although I sensed that Frank was not really listening to me. My friend had many colleagues in the film industry who enjoyed his irrepressible sense of humour – his company. Frank has recently passed away; he was a king in the eyes of the Zulus, my ever-loyal friend and camera assistant for twenty-five years.

Working in the film industry we experience both good and bad times and have many interesting stories to tell, but what still remains unresolved is the unfinished account of the Cherry Trees apparition, where you may remember the friendly spirit who happily shared our beautiful cottage in Bledlow Ridge, now many years past. Every word written in that account was an accurate description as told to Lesley and me, finally ending with my own personal ‘experience’ of the spirit.

Clearly, over time, stories of this nature change or become exaggerated, conveniently giving others something to smile about as they silently retain their biased scepticism. However, while others would prefer to keep their silence on such matters and offer no opinion, I would ask them not to dismiss out of hand this postscript which recently came to light purely by ‘accident’.

Driving one day through Bledlow Ridge with Suzy I pointed out Cherry Trees to her, explaining the alterations that had been made over the years, the most noticeable being the beautiful thatch which had been replaced with tiles, taking away the original attraction of cottage – at least for me – and removing its previous character. Seeing the current owner cutting the lawn, we walked down the drive to speak with him, explaining that I was a previous owner of the property now thirty years past and curious to see the other changes made. Of course the crucial question I needed to ask was the issue of the Cherry Trees ghost, which would be difficult to bring up. I silently smiled to the friendly phantom, which probably recognised me walking down the drive – okay, maybe that was wishful thinking …

After chatting for a while, the owner kindly invited us inside to see the changes they had made; the furnishings were now modern, which I thought took away the essential atmosphere Cherry Trees had previously enjoyed – to each his own, I thought to myself, still with no suggestion of any unseen company. Trying hard not to be too direct with the question that desperately needed to be asked, I finally managed to get it out, if with some hesitation: ‘Do you get any unusual visitors from time to time?’ – a direct reference to the past history passed on to Lesley.

The man paused and looked at me carefully. Then to my delight without hesitation came his reply: ‘Yes … yes we do,’ he smiled.

He went on to explain that he had once seen the spirit out of the corner of his eye, as his wife had, so fulfilling the legend of the friendly apparition who visits the cottage should it enjoy a happy environment, which you will remember was the condition the gardener had explained to Mrs Metcalf many years earlier. When the owner’s elderly mother had been staying at the cottage, she had also experienced the presence of a knocking noise in a separate room, only to find there was no one there, which matched my own experience of the spirit moving around the cottage with the creaking beams above me as I tried to hold a conversation with her. No longer would I believe that I was mad.

Another interesting account came from the owner’s wife, who had been experiencing pain with a slipped disc and found it necessary to lie flat on the floor for relief. As she lay there, she sensed ‘someone’ behind her head, but in her condition she was unable to turn to see who it was, and she heard a woman’s voice saying, ‘Don’t worry, it will be all right!’ A few weeks later the lady had an operation on her back to repair the disc – after which she has been fine!

Of course, you will draw your own conclusions from all this ‘rubbish’, which may well be that I should be put in a home, but I would answer that by asking you to open your minds to all this. Strange things happen in life which may draw our interest while others will see it as nonsense. With so many questions in life which cannot be easily be explained away, I tend to favour curiosity. I include those things in this autobiography, hoping that it might at least open up new frontiers for others like me with opinions about life after life.

On a personal note, I will finish with a story from my retirement, which has brought with it the inevitable chores of domestic responsibility while Suzy is still working. When I was standing one day in the queue at the local supermarket the cashier, who obviously knew the customer in front of me, politely asked the ageing gentleman if he was enjoying his retirement. I carefully tuned in to this interesting question, knowing the same could be asked of me. After a long pause, followed with a thoughtful sigh, I sensed his dementia in his short confused reply, as the man finally confessed to missing his workmates.

‘No, not really …’

Head down, he slowly walked away.

Of course I now recognise those same words, and I miss my friends as well as my occupation, but now it was time for me to walk away with my dreams fulfilled. Now I wonder where my next living form will take me – possibly more images to think about?

Sweet dreams, believers!

APPENDIX

FILMOGRAPHY