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shewhomustI had a phone call last week from the daughter of a friend of my mother; when someone you hardly know phones out of the blue, and the person you have in common is an elderly lady, you know it's going to be bad news, so I was already braced by the time she got to "I'm afraid I have some bad news..."
Marie was a mythic figure through most of my childhood. She was my mother's best friend's other great friend, so we (or at least, we children) never met her, but we heard about her. Of course, we heard via my mother, who was not exactly untruthful, but who never hesitated to improve a story if she felt it needed it, but most of what follows, I think, is true. Best Friend and her husband were both actors, and Marie was too, but she specialised: she was the queen of the voice-overs. The original voice of "I'd love a Babycham!" was Marie's. She had allegedly provided the voice of the Duchess of Bedford in an advertisement for chocolate biscuits (the then duchess had a strong French accent, which was felt to be a problem). Later there was an advertisement for Fairy Liquid which resurfaced because the child had become a celebrity in later life, and if you saw it in a compilation you had to phone Marie and tell her, because she had provided the mother's voice, and she could claim repeat fees.
But that was later. It was not until quite late in their lives that Marie became a friend of my mother's, as opposed to a friend of a friend. I'd like to say, that the duo became a threesome, but that never quite happened. We joked that it was like a cliché schoolgirl friendship, in which two were perpetually at odds with the other one, but you never quite knew who would be the two this time, and who the one. When Skip (my mother) and Marie came up to visit us, it was exhausting, because neither of them would be the first to admit to being tired, so no-one was allowed to rest. But Marie was generous with her time and her help, willingly acting as Skip's chauffeur (which Skip, unscrupulous as ever, exploited to the full), always entertaining company.
By now she was working as an extra; perhaps I should say 'background artiste', but Marie was never precious about her work. She took Skip along with her once, but it was too much like work for Skip - too much waiting around in the cold, she got bored. Luckily she had fallen into conversation with someone who turned out to be Jonathon Ross's mother, so she didn't feel her day had been wasted, but she never asked to do it again.
For Marie, though, it was a career, and she took pride in doing it, and in doing it well - and then in telling us about it afterwards, and where we were to look for her in the latest films. In the first Harry Potter movie, for example, she had been in the crowd at the quidditch match, sitting just below Alan Rickman. "I wouldn't have seen you, then," I said. "I'd have been looking at Alan Rickman." "Oh, me too," said Marie, "only of course I couldn't keep turning round..." (In the second Harry Potter film, which I haven't seen, I believe she was promoted to shopkeeper in Diagon Alley). In Calendar Girls she was a member of the WI, one of the audience when Geraldine James played the guest speaker. Marie was charmed, but bewildered, after the filming, when Geraldine James had thanked her particularly warmly, though they had hardly met: "But you know that trick when you're speaking to an audience, and you pick one person and speak to them? I think she must have picked me, and felt she knew me better than she did." In someone else, this desire to relate every detail of an unexceptional career could have seemed like showing off; but how could you resent Marie's combination of modesty about her own importance and enjoyment of the people she met, the films she made? If her ability to impersonate the Mother-in Law from Hell, a recurring rôle - and to convey her grim implacability by facial expression and body language alone, for extras do not speak - could bring her work, and work she could invite her friends to share, then this was a good thing. So we would be instructed to watch French and Saunders parodying Rosemary and Thyme (and gleefully recognise the murder victim).
After my mother died, we didn't see Marie - there were reasons why it wasn't easy to organise when we were in London. But we kept in touch. At Christmas we had a card from her, saying "If you get this in time..." to look out for her on the Jack Dee show. So despite her age, I was surprised, as well as sorry, to hear about her death, and I said so to her daughter, who explained that she had gone to Spain for a week's holiday, and had a heart attack while she was there. No-one would choose to die in a way that's quite so hard on the survivors, least of all Marie, who was devoted to her daughter and forever going out of her way to save her trouble - but it's consoling, at least, to think of her not slowing down, of her going on full blast to the very end.
Marie was a mythic figure through most of my childhood. She was my mother's best friend's other great friend, so we (or at least, we children) never met her, but we heard about her. Of course, we heard via my mother, who was not exactly untruthful, but who never hesitated to improve a story if she felt it needed it, but most of what follows, I think, is true. Best Friend and her husband were both actors, and Marie was too, but she specialised: she was the queen of the voice-overs. The original voice of "I'd love a Babycham!" was Marie's. She had allegedly provided the voice of the Duchess of Bedford in an advertisement for chocolate biscuits (the then duchess had a strong French accent, which was felt to be a problem). Later there was an advertisement for Fairy Liquid which resurfaced because the child had become a celebrity in later life, and if you saw it in a compilation you had to phone Marie and tell her, because she had provided the mother's voice, and she could claim repeat fees.
But that was later. It was not until quite late in their lives that Marie became a friend of my mother's, as opposed to a friend of a friend. I'd like to say, that the duo became a threesome, but that never quite happened. We joked that it was like a cliché schoolgirl friendship, in which two were perpetually at odds with the other one, but you never quite knew who would be the two this time, and who the one. When Skip (my mother) and Marie came up to visit us, it was exhausting, because neither of them would be the first to admit to being tired, so no-one was allowed to rest. But Marie was generous with her time and her help, willingly acting as Skip's chauffeur (which Skip, unscrupulous as ever, exploited to the full), always entertaining company.
By now she was working as an extra; perhaps I should say 'background artiste', but Marie was never precious about her work. She took Skip along with her once, but it was too much like work for Skip - too much waiting around in the cold, she got bored. Luckily she had fallen into conversation with someone who turned out to be Jonathon Ross's mother, so she didn't feel her day had been wasted, but she never asked to do it again.
For Marie, though, it was a career, and she took pride in doing it, and in doing it well - and then in telling us about it afterwards, and where we were to look for her in the latest films. In the first Harry Potter movie, for example, she had been in the crowd at the quidditch match, sitting just below Alan Rickman. "I wouldn't have seen you, then," I said. "I'd have been looking at Alan Rickman." "Oh, me too," said Marie, "only of course I couldn't keep turning round..." (In the second Harry Potter film, which I haven't seen, I believe she was promoted to shopkeeper in Diagon Alley). In Calendar Girls she was a member of the WI, one of the audience when Geraldine James played the guest speaker. Marie was charmed, but bewildered, after the filming, when Geraldine James had thanked her particularly warmly, though they had hardly met: "But you know that trick when you're speaking to an audience, and you pick one person and speak to them? I think she must have picked me, and felt she knew me better than she did." In someone else, this desire to relate every detail of an unexceptional career could have seemed like showing off; but how could you resent Marie's combination of modesty about her own importance and enjoyment of the people she met, the films she made? If her ability to impersonate the Mother-in Law from Hell, a recurring rôle - and to convey her grim implacability by facial expression and body language alone, for extras do not speak - could bring her work, and work she could invite her friends to share, then this was a good thing. So we would be instructed to watch French and Saunders parodying Rosemary and Thyme (and gleefully recognise the murder victim).
After my mother died, we didn't see Marie - there were reasons why it wasn't easy to organise when we were in London. But we kept in touch. At Christmas we had a card from her, saying "If you get this in time..." to look out for her on the Jack Dee show. So despite her age, I was surprised, as well as sorry, to hear about her death, and I said so to her daughter, who explained that she had gone to Spain for a week's holiday, and had a heart attack while she was there. No-one would choose to die in a way that's quite so hard on the survivors, least of all Marie, who was devoted to her daughter and forever going out of her way to save her trouble - but it's consoling, at least, to think of her not slowing down, of her going on full blast to the very end.
no subject
Date: 2009-02-01 08:10 pm (UTC)