Angus Mackay Diaries Volume III (1966-1977) ANGUS MACKAY DIARY NO. 35 Friday July 22 1966 David rang up last night after his first night, about ten to twelve, from the ‘phone-box outside his digs. (The digs are about ¼ of an hours walk, on the way to Walton-on-the-Naze.) He was absolutely miserable. I have never heard him so depressed. As far as we could tell, there was nothing tangible for him to be depressed about, except that he’d felt ‘wooden’, ‘spastic’, ‘the whole company got the laughs’. I’d say this last had something to do with it, as he’d thought himself rather good and better than the others. An audience soon tells one, and the leading girl, whom he hadn’t thought much of ‘came up fantastically.’ That would throw him technically, too. But principally it’s, of course, that it’s all much harder than he expected. As Peter Hoar said he gave a very good period performance, and he’s playing the murderer, not the detective’s assistant, in the next play. I don’t think they’ve lost faith in him yet! (Also, ‘Jane’ is almost certainly by far the better part of the two – Cinderella usually is – and she probably got a lot of the laughs and the praise.) I hope he’ll pick himself up quickly and get on. This will be the testing time, as he has obviously a tendency to give in unless everything is easy for him. So there he is miserable in digs all by himself, about his acting, just as I wanted him to be. I hadn’t reckoned on how it would upset me. I couldn’t go to sleep for thinking about him and had to take a sleeping-pill. (And all day in the studio today!) I feel so responsible for him, as he is only where he is because of me. Am I encouraging him beyond his talents or even inclinations for my own satisfaction? I honestly think he is very talented. But of course my affection for him is the worst. My heart ached for him last night. I know so well what that feeling is like, when there is no escape from blaming yourself. And now I have to see it tomorrow and say something wise and comforting and RIGHT, that will actually help him. And all without showing that what I would idiotically, like to do, is pick him up and carry him back home where he need not be hurt or miserable again!! The hardest thing is to judge him in the whole play. Saturday July 23 1966 He was better than I dared to hope. He really has got it. Of course it’s all a bit hit and miss, but it’s there. The audience loved him. The whole thing wasn’t bad. I nearly burst with pride, when the director said ‘He’s the best young man we’ve had at Frinton for years. A natural’. If only D. could have been here too. Sunday July 24 1966 After being worried I might talk in the dressing-room, he saw I would behave quite nicely, and indeed was quite agreeable when I was asked to the after-the-show party! Seriously he was adorable all day and suggested he meet me at 10.15 this morning. Very nice, on his only sleeping in morning. He saw me off, after I’d given him some quite good notes. He seems to take us even more for granted as parents now. He really loves us. D. burst into tears when I told her what Joan Shore said about him. Of course he still has a long way to go, but I really thought ‘He might be a star’. He’s mad about Sally Ducrow now, the one he thought nothing of at first. Thursday August 4 1966 Last night had Roger Lloyd-Pack to dinner. Was an ASM with David at Coventry. A calm, intelligent, amiable boy, far more amenable than David! We may be able to help him a little, and I believe he enjoyed his evening. I cannot however pretend that part of the reason for asking him was to understand David better. As they were rather friendly at Coventry. Roger’s opinions absolutely chime with mine. David found him interesting and stimulating. Yet David disagrees with most of what I say. D. is quite right. I must grow up if I am to be a father in any but a sentimental sense to him. I must be there to be provoked, there to be sure of myself, there to be reacted against, this last something he has never had. He is provoking because he loves argument, the investigation of his own ideas and opinions in which he has almost no confidence. And more provoking to me than to anyone, because finally he can more confidently count on me than on anyone else. As witness his saying that the ideas about Shakespeare, he wouldn’t say to anyone else. He has to test all these ideas out because he can’t find himself. (I mean his is terribly, at the moment, all talk and no do.) I sometimes feel desolate about him that he is quite cold and without feeling, just idly interested in argument, and fact grubbing and then remember his family, and how he once said to me they had forced him to become ‘independent’ i.e. not caring for anybody. His emotional life has been very narrow, and he has often been hurt. If, for instance, I said to him now, ‘I find after all, we have nothing in common, the experiment hasn’t worked, out you go’, he would say he didn’t mind, right, pick himself up and go straight on. But really it would inflict a wound that would leave him quite cynical for life. What I must do is, first, certainly, not lose my temper. (My only comfort is that sometimes he makes D. lose hers) second, and more important, put him first, so that I can calmly wonder what insecurity he is parading now, rather than what emotional need of mine he is not satisfying. He depends on me more than I even imagine. I must remember that he is testing me and himself all the time. This is all the more important now that he is bound to embark on a real affair any minute now. If she were the wrong girl, our influence and stability would be even more vital. He comes of bad stock, feckless and lazy. His mother was right when she said that he was like his father. It depends on me to bring out the wonderful best that’s there. I don’t think he can possibly do it alone. Even his lively inquiring mind is a snare to his laziness and lack of concentration, since it is easier to have an argument than actually to do something. I must think of what I can do for him not what he can do for me. And this includes not simply giving him things, treats, theatres, and so on, since his acceptance of them is something he gives me! (Even Roger L-P said his (David’s) powers of concentration were not of the greatest. He must learn to work. What shall I say if it turns out that, like Miss Brodie, I have encouraged him unrealistically?) Wednesday August 10 1966 If only D. were here, too, to talk it over with! Well, he may do it alone. He was better than before, and is on absolutely the right lines. All he needs is time and experience to bring sureness, and I honestly don’t know where he might get to. Except that general note, I really can scarcely think of anything to say to him tomorrow. Some passages couldn’t have been better. Tomorrow night he’s playing a character part, with an accent and a beard! Help. I went and sat in on lunch with him and Sally and Sybil Eubank. Sally is a very sweet girl, and they’re apparently always together. They had a rehearsal in the afternoon, after which I was supposed to be taking him out to dinner, or high tea. Much too early for me, but I wanted one quiet talk alone. Still I was rather relieved when Joan and Sam Hoar asked me out, and when I told David this, he jumped at the opportunity to eat in the theatre kitchen with Sally, with food bought by themselves. I said ‘Why didn’t you say?’ He said ‘Well, I didn’t want you to have dinner all by yourself.’ Ah! I must remind him tomorrow of my last letter. He, and D. and I have now got far enough to say to each other, there’s no need to be in my pocket all the time on these occasions. We’re together for life, as it were, and from that basis confidence can come. He was the only one playing the right weight for the play, and the only one with any real taste. Thursday August 11 1966 Met David at 11 at the theatre, went for coffee (where we were interrupted by Annette ? with whom I did 3 plays ten years ago in Hull!) Then walked along the cliffs, sat on a seat for a bit, and then went back to the theatre, where he gave me a large pile of dirty washing, and then I took him and Sally Ducrow out to lunch at my hotel.