Memories of Milligan. Norma Farnes

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СКАЧАТЬ and that Spike had appeared in the film. This was so typical of Spike. Filming meant nothing to him – it was something to be dismissed but the fact that he had taken a liking to Michael Palin was the one thing he thought worth mentioning.

      For Stephen Fry it was not just Spike’s originality that he so admired, it was ‘the fact that he was afraid of nobody. And the fact that he didn’t toady to anyone.’

      I wanted to include Eddie Izzard in this book although he didn’t really know Spike, was neither a friend nor an acquaintance. But I wanted to know from Eddie, as a more recent newcomer, what he thought Spike’s legacy would be. I knew he had memories of Spike, but more importantly Spike had asked me whether I had seen Eddie perform. At that stage I hadn’t and told him so and Spike said, ‘Go and see him. Out of this new breed he’s going to be the one that will last. He’s original and going to be around a long time. Most of the others are flash in the pan compared to him.’

      So, Memories of Milligan, some good, some not so good, but that’s what he was like – the little girl with the curl. When he was good he was very, very good but when he was bad he was horrid. But aside from all this was his unbridled talent – an original, a free spirit. He genuinely didn’t care what people thought of him and if he didn’t like someone he would dismiss them. He just didn’t want to know anything about them.

      Within an hour he could be mean, cruel, hateful and despicable, then generous, compassionate and understanding – a most complex man. In business he could betray me without a second thought and I would remind him, ‘I’m not your enemy.’ A typical Milligan reply would be, ‘Well, don’t act like one.’ And yet in my personal life he was a true friend. He was always there when I needed him and he never let me down.

      Life is not so much fun without him in my world. I miss the old sod.

      Norma Farnes, 2010

      Desmond Milligan

      Desmond Patrick Milligan, born 3 December 1925 in Rangoon, younger brother of Terence Alan Milligan, born 16 April 1918 in Ahmednagar, Poona. Simple, straightforward names, but this is the Milligan family where nothing is simple or straightforward.

      Their father, Captain Leo Alphonso Milligan, was a charming, eccentric Irishman. Their mother, Florence Mary Winifred Kettleband, was a resolute Englishwoman, strong and determined. She ruled her family with military precision. Both were from military backgrounds. For years I had assumed they had married in England, Leo had been posted to India, and they had gone there as bride and groom. The reality was rather different. Florence was taken to India where her father had been posted. It was 1901 and she was eight years old. Leo was posted to India in 1912, arriving in Kirkee, where the Kettlebands lived and where their romance was about to begin.

      When he was in England Leo had developed a love for the theatre. So much so, he changed his name to Leo Gann and had reasonable success appearing in the Imperial Palace in Canning Town, doing a soft-shoe shuffle dance, and a song and dance act. It was inevitable when he arrived in India he would form a repertory company and he performed at regimental balls and concert parties. It was in St Ignatius church he heard Florence playing the organ and singing in the church choir. She had a trained contralto voice and Leo was hooked – ‘I fell in love with her voice.’ Together they formed a double act ‘entertaining the troops’ performing at the Poona Gymkhana Club. They were both accomplished horse riders, and Leo became riding master and gave instruction on equestrian drill. One can only imagine what a wonderful life they had together.

      Leo was a wonderful storyteller, always insisting the stories were truthful, until one day, as a boy of about seven years old, Spike caught his father telling lies about a tiger he had shot. He said to Spike, ‘Now listen, son, would you rather have the boring truth or an exciting lie?’ For me, this sums up Leo more than any of his stories. No wonder Spike spent the rest of his life embellishing the truth.

      In her later years I grew very fond of ‘Grandma’, as I always called Florence. On her yearly visit to England (from Australia, where the family, apart from Spike, relocated) she would stay with me for a week. It was always a joy. We would go out to dinner in the evenings and she would relate stories of her time in India with ‘her boys’. The wine would be consumed, sometimes a little too much, and I do recall one evening in the Trattoo restaurant the resident pianist was Alan Clare, a very accomplished pianist and composer. In the middle of one of her stories she suddenly stopped talking and shouted over to Alan, ‘Alan, you played a bum note there.’ Then went back to telling her story. That memory will stay with me forever.

      A devout Roman Catholic, when she was staying with me I had to drive her to confession on a Saturday evening. I once asked, ‘Grandma, why do you still go to confession, what do you have to confess at your age?’ (She was about 83 or 84 years old at the time.) She replied in that strong voice, ‘Norma, please don’t you get like Terry.’ She was very artistic, she made beautiful clowns, hand sewn in bright coloured velvets, large pointed hats and stars for their eyes. The one I have sitting on a chair in my office is 3 feet high. She named him ‘Nong’, from Spike’s poem On the Ning Nang Nong. On one of her visits she knitted a beautiful white rabbit and gave it to me on the last night of her visit, attaching this little gift card (above right).

      And Grandma, I miss you very much.

      In one of our early conversations Spike told me he had a brother, Desmond, who lived in Australia. He extolled Desmond’s virtues, explaining that he was a great artist and his portraits were worthy of being hung in the National Portrait Gallery. How was I to know that the rest of the family called Desmond Patrick, or that, while Desmond called his brother Spike, the rest of the family called Spike Terry?

      I only discovered this idiosyncrasy when Spike was going to Australia and I received a phone call from Grandma Milligan. ‘Will you please tell Terry that Patrick will pick him up at the airport. He needs to know the flight number and time of arrival.’ Who was she talking about? Confused? Well, it gets better.

      Desmond was married to Nadia Joanna Klune who was born on 21 May 1932 in Alexandria, Egypt. Their son Michael Sean was born on 10 December 1965 in Sydney, Australia. According to Spike, apart from his own mother’s ‘curries’, Nadia’s mother’s cooking – Mama Klune’s – had to be tasted to be believed. He went on about it for years, and finally on my first trip to Australia with him we were invited to Mama Klune’s for dinner – a ‘welcome home, Spike’ dinner. I asked why ‘welcome home’ when he had never lived there and I was told, ‘Well, everyone thinks he lives here.’ And that was that; total acceptance. But I wouldn’t let it go. ‘Spike, you have never lived here. How can it be a “welcome home” dinner?’ His reply has stayed with me for nearly forty years. ‘Norm, your home is always where your mother is.’ Some twenty years later I was going to Yorkshire for the weekend, and although I hadn’t lived there for over thirty years, I said to Spike, ‘I’m going home for the weekend.’ He had remembered. ‘There, I told you so. Your home is always where your mother is.’

      So, welcome home dinner or what, Spike couldn’t wait to taste Mama Klune’s food again. No one had prepared me for the torrent of languages, a baffling clamour of conversation in three or four tongues, and the realisation that everyone seemed to understand except me. As we sat around the table, Mama Klune spoke to Nadia in Greek and Nadia answered in Greek. Michael answered in English, while Papa Klune spoke to Nadia in Italian and she answered in Italian. Nadia spoke to Michael in Greek, but again he answered in English. In all, Nadia spoke five languages fluently: Greek, Italian, French, Arabic and English. I asked Michael if he spoke these languages as he seemed to understand what was being said. ‘Oh yes, but I was born in Australia so I speak Australian.’ It was a wonderful evening, Nadia acting as interpreter for me. There was a lot of laughter. Spike was right, the food was excellent, and so I was catapulted into the Milligan family.

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