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THE GRASS IS BROWN ON BOTH SIDES OF THE FENCE

MELBOURNE THEATRE COMPANY (continued)

But back to The Man Who Shot The Albatross rehearsals. I hadn’t even met Frank at this time, but that was about to change. Rehearsals were over for the day and Frank was waiting on the curb for his usual, pre-booked Arrow Taxi. He saw me and said ‘Where do you live boy?’ I said ‘Toorak’. He said ‘That’s where I live, hop in I’ll give you a lift,’ so I did. He didn’t say much during the ride, just sat there as if waiting to start the Chariot Race in Ben Hur - which he had done in the movie. Twice. He had forgotten to take off his sunglasses on the first take and had to do it again. It doesn’t matter if that story is true or not, it fits him like a glove. As we got closer to Toorak, he asked me if I wanted to go to his place for a drink. ‘Sure.’ I replied. There was something about Frank that was never threatening. I don’t think he was active sexually. He liked male company. Absolutely. But I’ve never heard of Frank having a sexual liaison.

When we entered his house, I saw a shadow walking away down the hall. He obviously had a housekeeper - the idea of Frank ever having a tea towel in his hands is preposterous. In the foyer of the house were two large statues of black servant boys carrying trays. Frank removed his medallion, along with a couple of rings that you could anchor a ship with, and put them in the tray. The interior of the house was dark, because of the heavily curtained windows that kept the sun out. Sunshine and Frank would never be compatible. The lounge room furniture was expensive but not opulent. Frank was going to have a brandy and dry and did I want one? Yes, that would be fine thanks. I heard ice cubes that would be a threat to the Titanic, land on what I assumed to be the top of a steel kitchen bench. Then Brandy galloped into a glass, followed by the fizz of the Dry Ginger bottle top coming off. Frank came back into the room and handed me one of the vessels. It was so big I think I took it in two hands. Everything about Frank was huge and these drinking vessels were straight out of King Of Kings, another epic film he had been in, with Jeffrey Hunter playing Christ. That’s another Frank story. When asked what Jeffrey Hunter was like, Frank said, ‘Fuck he was a bad Christ. But Christ he was good fuck.’

Well, we got pissed to beat the band. His toilet was a museum of photos and memorabilia that for a star struck me, was a feast for the eyes. He had worked with the who’s who of theatre and film, and when he referred to them it was always by their first names.
Larry was Laurance Olivier.
Viv was Vivien Leigh.
Chuck was Charlton Heston.
Tone was Tony Curtis.
Kirky Baby was Kirk Douglas.
And me. Well he just kept on saying that I was the funniest looking thing he had ever seen.
He never made a move or implied anything sexual towards me. At one point, he patted my knee, but it meant nothing. His hands were so huge that the tips of his fingers were almost reaching my ankles. If he had wanted a piece of me, he could have simply pulled off a leg as he had done from the pig on a spit in The Vikings film.

I stumbled home to my bed-sit. My hangover was pleased that I was not required for rehearsal the next day. I was still feeling the effects of the brandy the day after, when I was needed. When I arrived, they were rehearsing a scene that involved Frank, but he wasn’t there. James Condon, a Sydney actor, was rehearsing in Frank’s place. When I asked where Frank was, I was told that he had haemorrhaged at home two nights previously, and was very ill in hospital. ‘Christ,’ I thought. ‘I’ve killed Frank Thring’. Well I hadn’t, but it was a close call, and Frank eventually recovered. But the time lapse meant that he would no longer be in the Albatross production. I never told anyone that I had been drinking with Frank on the night he collapsed, for obvious reasons. Their speculation of what had possibly gone on, and knowing that it would have embarrassed Frank, stopped me. I also didn’t get in touch with him or send him a note for that reason. We would work in shows together in the future, and he just acted as if it had never happened, and I did the same.

LEO McKERN

Leo McKern was all boil scars and bluster. His distinctive look was due to losing an eye when he was young. He was an Australian who had gone on to England, where he met with success on stage and in films. He had dropped out of the business to come back to Australia, with the idea of turning land he owned in Queensland into a bird sanctuary. It hadn’t worked out - ‘you can’t just drop out. You have to drop out up here,’ he said to me, pointing to his head. He had been enticed back into the business and had agreed to play Captain Bligh in Albatross, as long as he could also play Rollo in Patate, a part and play close to his heart. He hated flying and had returned to Australia on a cargo ship. His wife Jane was a health fanatic long before it was fashionable. Leo, on the other hand, was a pie and chips man who drank gin and water and Kaiser Stuhl red wine, that sat in a half-gallon jar on his dressing room table. Leo was down to earth, unpretentious and a master joke teller.

Two English Colonels were sitting in leather chairs in a London Club, reading their newspapers. One looked over his paper and suspected he knew the other.
‘Lionel?’ he asked.
‘George?’ replied the other.
‘Lionel’ repeated the delighted first.
‘George’ said the other, equally delighted to have met up with this distant chum.
‘Lionel. Good God it’s been years.’
‘I remember the last time we met George. We were on our trusty steeds galloping through the Punjab Pass.’
‘You’re right Lionel. I remember. We were galloping away when this bloody great tiger leapt out in front of us. And when it stood up on its hind legs and roared AAAAArrrrRRRRRGggggg - I shit myself.’
‘Well no one could blame you George, it was terrifying.’
‘No, not then. Just now, when I went AAAAArrrrRRRRRGggg.’

Leo also had a fear of surgery, and was apprehensive because he had something wrong that was going to necessitate an operation. He used to go and watch would-be surgeons operating on animals, so that he could come to terms with the idea.

During the run of the Albatross play, a passenger plane had dropped out of the sky and crashed into an ocean, killing all on board. It was front-page news. Leo paled when he heard about it and said, ‘Those poor souls. What would it have it been like for the 6 minutes that it took for the plane to hit the sea?’
Thinking like that explained why he had such a fear of flying.

He was great to be around and you learned a lot from him, some of it quite cheeky. When he came on stage to take his curtain call as Captain Bligh, the applause noticeably and understandably grew louder. As he moved downstage to take his bow, he would, without moving his lips, talk directly to the audience. They could not hear him for the applause, whereas on stage the cast could hear everything Leo was saying: ‘Oh you liked that did you? Well that’s very nice. Thank you very much spending all your hard-earned cash to see this. Now off you all go or you’ll miss your trams.’

Leo later went back to England where he was much in demand, and it was Rumpole of the Bailey, still some time into the future, that made him a huge star.

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