Page 21 - My Story

Heaven knows how they put us all up – I seem to remember that the men moved out to other
accommodation, leaving the girls in the house, but I could be mistaken. Daddi showed us all over Graz, of
course I only remember the Schlossberg, a big, old clock tower. At the weekend we all went up into the
mountains to a place called Preblichl and stayed on a farm. It was all very primitive, and we were
practically in the farmyard with the chickens and pigs, but fun! We also visited a displaced persons’ camp
where refugees were waiting to be repatriated and joined in a dance there one evening. I can remember
dancing with a very nice young Pole and he suggested we go outside for some air. Uncle Nat missed me
and sent out a search party and would not believe that I had been earnestly telling the young man about
the differences between our two countries – mainly that England no longer had peasants! Poor lad, if
he’d had any other intentions, I hadn’t stopped in my chatter to let him get a word in edgewise.

We caught a train to Vienna and I was talking to a nice man going to the same place. “I hope
you’ve got your visas” he said. “I expect so,” I answered, “My uncle has taken care of all that”. Austria
was divided into zones in those days and each of the allies had a share. We were crossing from British
control into the Russian zone and soon enough Russian soldiers mounted the train and we, not having the
right papers, were thrown off. I waved goodbye to my friend and there we were in the middle of the
tracks with one town a few miles behind us and the next a few miles ahead! Uncle Nat took charge and
said that he and Stanley would walk to the nearest town and call the consulate and we girls should wait
there, preferably off the tracks. My memory fails me here, but I assume that after a few hours they
returned with the necessary papers, because I know we went to Vienna. Vienna was controlled by all the
allies and was exciting, apart from a heavy military presence – or maybe because of. The beautiful blue
Danube turned out to be a sort of murky greenish brown, but we loved the Viener Wurstchen that we
bought on the street and all the nice little cafes which had barely recovered from severe rationing. But
then, we were used to that. We must have seen the Schoenbrunn and the Opera, but my memories are
vague.

So, back onto a train (you didn’t fly to places in 1949). This time with paperwork in order and on
to Paris where we stayed with Margie. Margie had been born in London and we’d met her a few times
when she had visited after the war. Heaven knows what she and Renee and Benjamin had been through
during the Occupation but here they were, welcoming and cheerful, Margie with a husband and baby,
Fernand. Again, I don’t remember too much of our visit although we must have been shown the Tour
Eiffel, the Arc de Triomph, the Champs Elysee. I can only remember that it was Paris in an August
heatwave and we spent an afternoon at an outdoor swimming pool.

1949 was over. I had passed my school certificate and announced I was going to be an actor.
Shock and horror – I might have announced I was going into a brothel. This was not something that nice
Jewish girls did. No good citing Judy Garland – she had already proven she was not a nice girl by filing for
divorce! The subject was put to one side and it was suggested I go into Mrs. Dove’s class in the Commercial
Sixth form to learn to be a secretary. Jackie had graduated from there and now had a nice job in a typing
pool in a city insurance company, despite really wanting to pursue a life in music. In 1949 girls could be a
teacher, a nurse or a secretary. Only the very brainy went to University and what do you do after that?
Become a secondary school teacher and wear voluminous knickers?

So, I let a few weeks go by and then announced I was going to audition for drama school. Shock
and horror, again! My mother went to see the headmistress, Dr. Hunt, a severe, humorless woman who
looked very intellectual and drove a little Austin with the number plate starting FVK. She, very sensibly,
said let her audition for The Old Vic school. It is the best in the country and they will soon tell her whether
she has any talent. They did. I got through two auditions and then two with the London County Council
who gave me a grant so that my parents were not responsible for the horrendous fees.

Gabriel Wolf of Cameo Players fame coached me for the auditions, bless him. The Old Vic
auditions were terrifying. Well known directors were there like Glen Byam Shaw, George Devine and
Michel St. Denis as well as various other members of the faculty. But they were all charming and very
polite and did their best to make me feel comfortable.

It was at the second LCC audition at County Hall that I started chatting to Harold Pinter – we had
recognized each other – and it turned out he had also auditioned for The Old Vic. He was called in to

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