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Sir John Mortimer: ‘talented naughty boy who can’t control himself’ |
Rumpole and the Casanova casebook
The life of playwright, lawyer, novelist and ‘national treasure’ John Mortimer is laid bare in a new biography by Valerie Grove who shares her exasperation for her subject with Gerald Isaaman
HE gave us Rumpole, that old rogue of a lawyer that millions of TV viewers fell in love with, because Rumpole always stood by his principles, as well as “her indoors”, and trusted that justice will eventually prevail, no matter what.
And so nothing can dent the reputation of Sir John Mortimer QC, the likeable lawyer turned playwright and novelist, who has championed freedom of speech – and freedom of sex – as well as blasting politicians and a few judges too.
Yet Valerie Grove’s welcome, richly rewarding and enjoyable “authorised” account of his life – Sir John is now 82 – paints a remarkable picture of a confused man who shattered so many lives with his philandering passions that you do wonder if he is worthy of a biography running to nearly 500 pages.
Or ought to be treated instead as a talented naughty boy who can’t control himself when temptation appears at the head of the bed.
Indeed, Valerie became so exasperated with his inability to provide answers to her provocative questions, let alone tell her the truth, that she almost abandoned the project, her first biography of a living subject following Dodie Smith and Laurie Lee.
She is very much the reluctant biographer who never set out to be one during her journalistic career, and at her home in Highgate she declares: “I will never do anybody again, because it takes far too much toll on family life and friendship.
“The person you are writing about possesses you to such an extent, invades your dreams. They are the first thing you wake up to in the morning and think about, and that really skews your normal life.”
And she insists: “You shouldn’t write about a living person. A living person is hedged about by living relations, in John’s case nine children – four of his own, four stepchildren and love child following an affair with the actress Wendy Craig.
“And he is protected by a carapace of national treasure-hood which remains intact no matter what anyone claims. When you sit in front of Sir John and ask questions he calls up his lack of memory, says it all happened such a long time ago and goes off telling you another of his stories that everyone knows and have been printed before.”
Her exasperation is obvious despite her personal affection for Sir John, whom she has known since 1974, and recognises that he is a performer, especially now he is wheelchair-bound, and cannot indulge in his extra-marital affairs.
They began when Sir John, born in The Pryors, East Heath Road, Hampstead, spent his longest period in one house, living in Harben Road, behind Woolworths in Swiss Cottage, with his then wife, the late writer Penelope Mortimer, whose acclaimed novel The Pumpkin Eater mirrors their turbulent life together.
She accepts VS Pritchett’s view that Sir John suffers from “moral lassitude”, says he was silly to defend spanking magazines, enjoyed shocking people by telling salacious stories, and, in his Hampstead days, even wanted to bring his girlfriends home.
“He had this odd compulsion to bring his floozie home to meet the wife,” reveals Valerie. “He was either showing off or maybe he saw it as a threat to his wife. I haven’t interpreted it but he acted like a little boy bringing home his girlfriend to mum to seek permission, or may be to salve his conscience.”
His Casanova conquests were considerable, if not extensive, among them actress Shirley Anne Field, who urged Valerie to alter some of her references in the book, declaring that she was never a “good time girl, a party girl”.
Valerie laughs and declares: “Stupid idiot. What was she in the Fifties if not a party girl? But she is still gorgeous. And she shouldn’t care.”
So was Sir John any good in bed, given that he would proposition beautiful women over lunch and not feel offended if they preferred not to accompany him to his little hotel room nearby?
“I’ve no idea,” admits Valerie. “Jane McKerron got closest. She said, ‘Oh sex with John was very straightforward and great fun. We had a lot of laughter...”
Making people laugh has been one of Sir John’s great attributes, whether as a barrister in court capturing the headlines, unfulfilled novelist or playwright who fears he will not be remembered either as a social reformer or as a writer of merit, maybe not even a persistent performer.
Nevertheless, he amazes Valerie as she tours theatres with him to promote her book, and he sits back in his wheelchair bathing in the love and pathos he engenders from admirers as he endlessly repeats all his old jokes.
She dislikes her work being labelled the “authorised” version of his life because it smacks of pandering to his wishes, and points out that it follows the earlier sensational biography by Graham Lord, which revealed Sir John’s “lost son”, now reunited with his father after 40 years.
She declares that she never held back from the truth as far as her subject is concerned, only omitting four-letter words when too many of them showered down on her prose.
She documents how her self-confessed “champagne Socialist” subject railed at the Blair government because it banned hunting with dogs, though possibly too because he wasn’t awarded a peerage.
She remains personally disturbed that Sir John’s “anything goes” attitude to life doesn’t recognise the harm caused by the pornography he defended in court, and which is now so freely available on the internet, something he failed to see would happen.
“He always says we are all adults, that’s his excuse,” she complains. “But of course there are less intelligent people in the world who are very susceptible to such things. That’s a terrible thing.
“The other night at the National Theatre he said we should draw the line at images of sexual abuse, but that’s the first time I’ve heard him say something like that, ever.”
After wavering because she went 15 months over her schedule to write the biography, she completed her honest and enlightening mission for two reasons, one because Sir John couldn’t tolerate the idea that the Graham Lord account of his life would be the only one.
“The other was when someone sent me a cutting from the Shields Gazette, in South Shields, the paper where I started in 1965 in my gap year. There was this headline ‘Lass from Shields to pen book’ over a column by Janis Blower, wonderful name.
“She wrote, ‘Of all the writers in the world, John Mortimer is my absolute favourite. I always look forward to his next book. How wonderful then that the ex-Gazette lass Valerie Grove is going to write his life. I look forward to this book.’”
Adds Valerie with a giggle: “I just had to go on writing after that!”
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