My Elisabeth and Our First Meeting

Having completed my work contract up North in England, I was staying in London for a few weeks in September 1961, before going back to Denmark. My stay was also ending, due to the visa restriction at the time, I was an Alien and could only stay for 6-month periods, each time leaving the country and having to get another visa. A hassle, but most European countries had visa restrictions, and one could not just travel around.

One afternoon, I stopped for a coffee in Kensington High Street, a place I knew from before, a place to get a somewhat decent coffee and even Danish pastries. There were only one or two places in London where you could get a decent coffee, apart from Fortnum & Mason.

This coffee place was called Kon-Tiki, after the famous Norwegian explorer. After ordering an espresso, I noted an attractive, petite blond sitting alone having tea; she did not look around, but sat and minded herself. She looked rather attractive, with long blond hair, but I did not have my spectacles with me; I left them in my place in Stanhope Gardens. Therefore, I could not see her fully; nevertheless, we had eye contact, and as I did not see so clearly, I could keep my eyes fixed on her. Steering her in the eyes, which must have made an effect, she was dressed neatly, in a white blouse with long sleeves and a black, grey, and white check skirt.

Kon-Tikki was Norwegian, and I had previously seen Scandinavian girls in the café, som quite attractive. After staring into each other’s eyes for a while, I decided to go over to her table. I asked her, after introducing myself, if she was Scandinavian and if I could sit down. To my surprise, she stood up I realised that she was very small but very beautiful with long blond hair and white skin. She looked light like a feather, she put out her little hand and told me her name was Elizabeth and she was British.

I sat down and had another coffee, and she had another tea, and we started talking. Liz had big blue eyes, looking straight at me all the time, totally ignoring everything about us. We soon got into conversation, and as I told her about myself, she, however, was more reserved about her background and life. There was so mystic to her, something reminding me of a spy. I liked that. Sometimes when I asked direct questions, she was very good at answering and avoiding answering, like a trained diplomat. As I would later get to know, Elizabeth had quite a story to tell.

She asked me if I minded her smoking. She took out of a big black shoulder bag some coloured cigarettes, Sobranie, which I had never seen before and a cigarette holder, the length of a cigarette. She put the matches on the table, I took the matches and lit her cigarette.

After lighting her cigarette, she reached out with her left hand, touching my hand and said: I would never speak to a stranger in a café, but there is something about you, which makes me comfortable like I have known you before. This gave me a positive immediate reaction, that she was special. She held her cigarette holder in an attractive and feminine way when she smoked, like some actresses in the movies.

Despite, I had knowing so many women up North, many very pretty and attractive, mostly married, for short affairs, this woman was something different. This moment, our first meeting, I have recalled again and again, because Liz has been my wife for 54 years and gave me three sons. Liz never liked to talk about the meeting with the boys or anyone else, as she did not like to admit, we became lovers the first night.

When we were five years later danced to Frank Sinatra’s Strangers in the Night at Sotogrande in Spain, we both loved the text and song; little did we know that that night, our Hans Christian was conceived.

Strangers in the night exchanging glances
Wond’ring in the night what were the chances
We’d be sharing love before the night was through
Something in your eyes was so inviting
Something in your smile was so exciting
Something in my heart told me I must have you
Strangers in the night
Two lonely people, we were strangers in the night
Up to the moment when we said our first hello little did we know
Love was just a glance away, a warm embracing dance away
And
Ever since that night we’ve been together
Lovers at first sight, in love forever
It turned out so right for strangers in the night
Love was just a glance away, a warm embracing dance away
Ever since that night we’ve been together
Lovers at first sight, in love forever
It turned out so right for strangers in the night

Liz and I danced at the opening of the Sotogrande Club. When we danced, there were lots of celebrities, including Prince Juan Carlos I, who nine years later became king after Franco.

Well, back to our first meeting, I told her that I had just come from Sheffield, some days before, and she told me that she had grown up close by outside Doncaster, where her parent had a large estate. We talked and talked, and as time went by; therefore, I asked her to join me for dinner. She accepted with a beautiful smile, and when she stood up, I helped her with the coat, and she gave me a compliment, as a gentleman. She took out of her handbag a black beret, like the French wear, to put on, but put it back in the bag. I also saw she had long black leather gloves in her handbag, despite this being September.

We walked down Kensington High Street towards the Commonwealth Centre, already in the spirit of love. Walking in the street, I noticed how petite, slim and small she was; she had to look up at me, despite that she had black high heels on. She moved her hair constantly aside when she looked up at me, and appeared very feminine and delicate.

Walking down the street, I truly felt the attraction and already laid plans to take her back to Stanhope Gardens and had all “wicked” plans, not just wanting her. But first, we enjoyed a meal with wine, I recall a French restaurant, just off Kensington High Street. To show off, I ordered a bottle of Châteauneuf-du-Pape, with escargots and snails for starters, then entrecôte, finishing with the waiter cooking in front of us Crêpes Suzette pancakes with Grand Marnier. Liz was totally fixated on me and looked at me like I was her God; no one else mattered in the room.

Thereafter, I recall, it was very easy to get her into a taxi, although we could have walked down Earl’s Court Road; I wanted to make sure that we went to Stanhope Gardens; I did not want to take any risks – this was my woman.

She told me that she had just finished a photo session, having pictures taken in men’s shirts. She was somewhat secretive about herself, but said she had lived in Bournemouth, a place I knew. However, she told me that she was not tall enough to be a mannequin; therefore, she took photo shoots. Originally, she was educated as an SRN nurse. She told me that she had only been in London for a short time.

Well, I did take her back to my little rented flat in 38 (possible 41) Stanhope Gardens SW3, on the top floor, 4th. She pointed out, coming out of the taxi, that she was brought up in a strict Catholic home, and she did not do such things. (me responding – not knowing what she meant).

I had a habit of leaving a large bowl of apples, smelling good in the rooms, and I recall Elizabeth loved the smell of the apples when she entered. I noticed she smoked quite a lot, which I was not keen on, but thought it was to calm her nerves. Practically, all the women I had known up North were smokers. I told her this was a no-smoking flat, but that did not stop her. I was used to smoking around, as my dear mother smoked small cigarillos and my stepfather smoked pipes.

The bed was quite big and high, with many mattresses. As one sank into it, one disappeared into the middle. Before, she told me that since I did not like cigarettes, she knew her hair would smell of smoke; therefore, she asked if she could take a shower and insisted that she wanted to wash her hair. The bathroom, I shared with another apartment, I took her outside and gave her my dressing gown and a fresh towel. I had to put on the gas fire in the fireplace; one did this with coins. I still recall she sat for a long time to dry her hair after the shower, as I did not have a hairdryer. I still recall her sitting in front of the gas fire, with the white shoulders, very long hair and feminine body, having just taken a shower, still a little wet. She used my dressing gown, which was way too large for her. She had already, to my surprise, put on her feminine lingerie in the bathroom.

Considering that I was going back to Denmark, as my visa soon expired, I had given notice to the owner of the apartment (2 rooms + kitchen) and had to leave within at the time two weeks.

Interestingly, I did not detect when she spoke that she came from Yorkshire, but when I challenged her, she spoke like a local Yorkshire lass, saying aye lasse. “mardy, breadcake, summat, nowt,” and even saying taarah. She told me Yorkshire dialect phrases come from all over God’s own county. Nevertheless, she hid speaking like that in London. Sometimes it came out, like when she said our lass, speaking about this with one of her sisters, Elizabeth somehow looked down on Yorkshire.

I still recall lifting her little body into the bed, where she sank down, just lying there, fragile, a little frightened. I approach her softly and gently, and that night we become lovers and merge our lives for years to come – in love.

After the second night, I walked down to South Kensington Station, via Harrington Road, to buy some snacks. It is not like now, with many food and snack shops; I recall only a few at the time. In the Italian restaurant-delicatessen, I could bring back lasagne and other Italian dishes I knew from Italy. I still recall buying various foods and soft drinks (no alcohol) and coming back to my flat on the 4th floor, with no lift, nothing for my young body, just seeing Liz in bed. I brought ready-made food, as Liz had already told me that she was not able to cook, as they had a cook and kitchen staff at home.

I brought a bucket of flowers and some fruit, and apples. I did not have a vase, so we put the flowers into two empty glass milk bottles I had and placed them in the bedroom. Liz appreciated the flowers and seemed quite impressed, whispering many times into my ear that I was a gentleman! Kissing my face. Taking her hands to my face, holding my face, kissing and kissing me. Although we did not go out, Liz insisted on dressing several times, sitting on the bed, putting on her stockings, with suspenders, slowly and very sexy. It all came off in our hot lovemaking.

Liz stayed in my place for days, but after 5-6 days, we went out together, at least across the road to an Italian restaurant on the corner of Gloucester Road called Romana (now Nando’s). I still recall the place on the first floor, where we could see from our apartment every night full. I ordered some Italian red wine, I believe Valpolicella, which impressed her again. Also, since I knew many of the Italian dishes, I told her about my time in Italy and travelling the world. Liz had never been outside the UK and showed she was impressed, always looking into my face. I did feel her warm response to me, and there were indeed emotions.

Since Liz said she also liked jazz, at least she knew Acker Bilk, the British clarinettist, I suggested one evening we should go to Ronnie Scott’s Jazz Club at 39 Gerrard Street, in the basement, a place I had visited before. Gerrard Street had only one Chinese restaurant then.
The staircase going down to the club was rather steep, and I lifted Liz down the stairs, which she was impressed by. Liz liked the place and the music. Liz was drinking Baby-Cham and smoking too many cigarettes. The place became very full, and I did not like all the smoke, so we left and walked down the street to Wardour Street and Whisky-a-Go-Go, where she danced so nicely, in front of me, swinging her skirt and showing a happy body and face, dancing like a 16-year-old girl. We went a few times back to Whiskey-a-Go-Go, with Liz always dancing in front of me and me sitting – yes, I was in love. Liz told me that she since very early had to dance solo Irish Dance, an old-style stepdance, in front of her father, him playing the old drums. She could really dance Irish step dance, dancing on the same spot, and did many times later, including five weeks before Mogens was born.

Liz thought at the time I was older than her, possibly late twenties, and was surprised when I told her my real age, also finding out that Liz was five years older than me. Such things do not matter when you are in love, and no doubt I had been smitten.

After some days, Liz told me something, quite unbelievable, that she went to a fortune teller, the week before, and the fortune teller had told her that she would meet a tall foreigner, with dark hair and with a white coat, and go across the sea to another country and get married. Liz thought it was a doctor, but the fortune teller said he was not. Interestingly, when I returned to Denmark, I worked for Hirschsprung, the highly respected Cigars, pipes and tobacco merchant and did wore a white coat in one of their shops.

I did not have a television or radio, as I only rented the apartment when I was in London. One day, going for some snacks at night, I saw the newspaper headline that U.N. Secretary-General Dag Hammarskjöld had died in a plane crash. I like him, and he was well respected around the world. I was sure then that this was not an accident, but murder. After decades, this was confirmed that he was killed. Yes, this was a time, without mobile telephones and instant communication, when I had not even read newspapers for a week or more.

Every time we entered out, we could not come back fast to Stanhope Gate to make love – it was like a drug!! So, most days we spent in bed, only going out at night.

My car had been parked in the street for days, but when I drove her after the change of clothes and her record recorder, we went to Hyde Park, sitting in the car, kissing, and talking. However, we did have a confrontation, as I told her that I really had to leave London. Before this confrontation, Liz looked at some small children playing in uniforms and said that she wanted her boys to go to the school of the children – that school was Hill House. I certainly did not think about children; however, afterwards, thinking about it, we had no protection during our time together in London. Although I through 16 months up North, had so many relationships, nearly all with married women, I had not, for days, been lying in bed every day, even weeks, just making love. Therefore, this was something very special.
Running Away

I told Liz that I must leave the UK by the 1st of October, but she was not happy and could not understand why. Well, when your brain is between your legs, the authorities – any authority. Go out of the window, so when the 1st came, I took my two suitcases and put them into the car. Liz packed a bag, a portable record player and some records with her favourite singer. And we just took off out of London. My people in Regent Street thought I left London for Denmark. They had been calling me and pointing out that under no circumstances could I stay beyond 1st October 1961.

I had never been to Windsor before, and neither had Liz, so we went into Windsor for a late lunch, somewhat in the centre. Asking for a good place to stay, we were recommended a place outside Windsor. Somehow, I found the place; despite it being dark, it looked like a residential hotel, a large Victorian house, possibly with 25-40 rooms max. It was surrounded by a park, showing all the autumn colours, and next door was a dog kennel specialising in Afghan dogs. Interestingly, when I was 5-6 years later, searching for the hotel, I never found it, nor the dog kennel. Despite this, I got to know the area well when we lived in Sunningdale.

Liz, my boys, and I have stayed several times at the Berystede Hotel in Sunningdale, even with Wellington, our dog, but we never found the hotel where we stayed in October 1961. Knowing the area well and having lived in Sunningdale, it is strange we never found this hotel later.

We booked in, just with my passport (good, they did not look at my visa). Liz did not sign in. I think they thought we had just married. Breakfast and dinner were included in the price. I booked for a week. Somehow, I do not believe they took bookings for one night. We had a quite large room on the first floor, with a likewise huge bathroom with a bathtub for 2-3 people, one of the old Victorian, with the bathroom full of wall mirrors.

Good that Liz had her portable record player, but she had only 3-4 records, all with Kathleen Ferrier, who died in 1953; her life was cut short when she died at only 41, from breast cancer. Liz loved her voice, and I got, after a while, also to become a fan, hearing her Contralto voice, they became sacred pieces to me. We played every day while lying in bed, making love and recovering. In view that later, in life, Liz became rather prudish, it is difficult to imagine our sexual life then. Nevertheless, I learned the Friedrich Haendel – Serse Larghetto of Serse “Ombra mai fu”. Also, Blow The Wind Southerly. I told Liz about my experience learning opera with Edgard Midling-Jensen, even visiting La Scala in Milan, only two years earlier.

Well, we took breakfast in bed and did not leave the room for two-three weeks. Young, madly in love!! We did have some dinners brought to the room, but I can’t really recall, although I remember some of our encounters in detail. I remember Liz was very open to everything and quite naughty, although later, “butter would not melt in her mouth”.

I think I told the hotel people, my wife did not feel well or something, as an excuse, since we never went for breakfast downstairs or dinner. After two weeks, when we finally decided to enter, going down the stairs to the dining area, all the hotel guests looked at us, as museum pieces. I do believe some must have heard lots of noise from our room and believed we were honeymooners.

After a week, we did sneak out in the afternoon, just to get some fresh air, also we had heard dogs barking close by. It turned out to be an Afghan dog kennel, which had been very fashionable for model shoots. This eye-catching hound is extremely self-confident and with an independent streak. Liz just loved them, and I said that one day I would buy her one or two. Sadly, I took pictures of her with the dogs, all lost later in the London docks.

An issue which was constantly in Liz’s mind was the fact that I was leaving the UK; she could not understand that I had overstayed my visa. This led to confrontations, although they always ended in making up and making love.

Liz was a vivacious person in many ways, but no doubt later, when the boys came along was more reserved, even prudish and a hypocrite. When we went out, she took her time for makeup and always used black eyelashes, using an Eyelash Curler and artificial eyelashes. When she was smoking, she used a cigarette holder and mostly only smoked 50/60 % of the cigarette. Later, this caused a lot of problems because she let the cigarette burn in an ashtray, sometimes falling on the table or cabinet.

Both of Liz’s parent were Irish, and Liz was very Irish in many ways, including having a bad temper at times. One night, when we had returned to London, staying in the Cumberland Hotel, she told me a story about her girlfriend. She had a boyfriend, who was a big, strong man. Because he played around and was not faithful, she wanted to get him somehow. One night when he was asleep, peaceful in his sleep, she took her long stiletto shoes with a metal heel and hit him in his eyes. When Liz told me this story, I frankly was very frightened, as this was Liz, I even considered calling the reception and telling them to look out for this “crazy” woman.

Although I always had cameras and took thousands of pictures, sadly, most have been lost. Liz never liked to be photographed; therefore, not many pictures ever existed of her and me. Liz had a habit of moving her mouth and lips when she was mad or even had her picture taken. When I photograph her, she always pulls her face, for some unknown reason. I did find this infuriating, specifically when I took a picture of her with the children.

Coming to Denmark

As the fortune teller had predicted, Liz did travel abroad, across the sea (Harwich – Esbjerg), having taken the train from Liverpool Station in London, arriving at Copenhagen Central Station on the 19th of December 1961. I have seen to it that my future wife was travelling in style, first class, all the way – after all, this was her most important journey.

My dear mother and I were there to receive her with a large bucket of red roses, and Liz looked like a Hollywood star, coming from the train, with 5 large leather (off white) suitcases and a vanity box. She looked gorgeous and full of smiles; everyone at the station was looking, and she did make a good impression on my mother. Further, one case was full of presents for my mother.

Mogens’s birth in Copenhagen

I still remember the Saturday morning on the 9th of June 1962, (the day that Carl Nielsen, the Danish composer, was born), when my son Mogens Alexander was born in Olga Limskovs Clinic “Fødeklinik” in Copenhagen. I had been there all evening and night, even acting as a translator to my wife, as most of the midwives and nurses did not understand the English words which came from my wife. I am thankful that I did not translate most of the words, which all included your F…. Danes, you are all a bunch of Nazi, torturing me. I had been, for hours, gripping my wife’s sweaty hand, mopping a dripping brow, and supporting upright a groaning, tottering mother-to-be for the evening and night, bumped with gas.

Since I had never witnessed a birth, in all its detail (just turned 21 two days before), I was surprised to see all the bodily fluid which came from my wife’s body prior to the arrival of my son. The pains she expressed constantly were excruciating to hear, and I held the gas inhaler close to her mouth. I clearly understand women can take more pain than we men, but I was in no way prepared for seeing so much pain in a little woman I loved.

My son, when he arrived, seemed like an old friend: his head emerged with fluid, rotary movement, so that his face swivelled upwards, giving me the sensation of being a Father. My son!

When I later left with a girlfriend of my Mother who had come to the clinic and stayed for the birth of my Mogens, we walked through the streets of Copenhagen, in fact walking for miles, that sunny June morning, I felt so special. In all my exhaustion and relief, through which I felt a pure beam of transcendence lance. No, relay: I felt as if space and time had been annihilated, and I was walking on water and at the very centre of being itself.

I could witness my son growing up, then begetting me a grandson or daughter, who in turn would beget his parent her own child. In that amazing moment, I somehow fully apprehended my own identity, as a young man, and saw it was comprised mostly of petty status obsessions and overwhelming insecurities. Yet this did not matter. I had become a father, and my life had changed forever.

I specifically remember that on Saturday 9th June, Mogens’ birthday, to have read the Herald Tribune, that Marilyn Monroe had been on the birthday sacked from the studio. Later, I found that she also that day had been prescribed the drugs, which may have killed her, Nembutal. I always purchased the New York Herald Tribune Saturday editions.

Some Danish men of my generation had attended the birth of their children. Whereas many also attended the changing of their nappies, applying antiseptic powder to the umbilical stump and fetching the breast pump, I was partly spared. My wife was British, with an upper-middle-class view, God knows from where. We first had my mother around, giving Liz a helping hand; however, Liz disliked my dear Mother telling her what to do. Therefore, having moved to a nice villa at CF Rich Vej, in an attractive part of Copenhagen, we were so fortunate to get an older lady, Mrs Christensen, to live with us. Therefore, I had only the work I liked, like fetching the breast pump, my wife had so much excess milk, and I took advantage of her large breasts at the time and even played a little baby self-image to get some affection.

The incredible thing about Mrs Christensen, she used to reverse backwards out of the room when she left either Liz or me, just like a servant at the Royal Court. She also spoke to Liz, as Mrs Director.

Mrs Christensen was truly something; she also cooked for us, as it was apparent that Liz just could not cook properly. When I came back home around 18:00, Mrs Christensen had prepared a nice laid out table and Liz and I could sit down and enjoy a Danish meal, without hearing our little baby. Mrs Christensen taught Liz that the baby should have a good feed late and then sleep through the night. Interestingly, Liz learned this with Mark and later Hans Christian. We never had problems at night, only for a short time with Mark. I always heard from other fathers that they could not sleep at night because of their babies.

Since it was summer, most days Liz would prepare herself to walk with Mogens. When walking, she looked very attractive, sometimes with hats, but always with a Hermes scarf (I had brought three scarves at Birger Christensen), and the pram was a sensation everywhere, bringing her constant attention.

Sadly, when we moved to Djursholm in Sweden in October-November, we lost Mrs Christensen. She worked from early morning to late evening and had a lot of influence on how Liz later took care of her baby.

I am sad that we lost all our pictures and negatives when we later moved to London, all lost with so many items and several thousand books. I did take many pictures with my Hasselblad camera. Liz, at the time, did not care about pictures and always made faces.
When Mogens was still a little baby, just 16 months old, the world was confronted with the third world war and I specific did get very concerned, I felt I had some connection, first with the Cuban people after my travel there in 1959, secondly with the nuclear bomb, which I had painted on my whole wall (Nuclear testing at Bikini Atoll), in my room at my parents’ home.

In October 1963, starting the 22 October, Kennedy was confronted with the problem of Cuba’s missile site; the following two weeks, the world was confronting the third world war and the end of man. I recall this period clearly, just 15 months after Mogens’s birth. Love Me Do by the Beatles came out just months after Mogens was born in September 1962.

During the summer, July and August of 1962, Liz and I enjoyed very much the Rolls Royce of all prams I had purchased (I believe it was a Silver Cross Balmoral), by going to Frederiksberg Have, and a large open restaurant, enjoying showing off our beautiful baby. No one in Denmark had seen such a beautiful pram with a beautiful baby. Liz even came to my job, at Hotel Royal in Copenhagen, where I was the manager for a small, exclusive cigar and pipe shop for Hirschsprung, all the way. We sold the most expensive handmade pipes in Denmark and had a great selection of pipe tobacco and cigars. Liz would somehow walk from Frederiksberg to get there, down Gammel Kongevej. Yes, I was the manager, mostly alone, again working for someone, which I had not really done since I was 16. I told them I was 26 years old. They could not understand when I told them I was leaving, as they were very happy with the shop’s turnover.

Liz would even go into the reception hall of the Royal Hotel, somehow with the pram, showing our little baby to everyone. Hotel Royal was the best hotel we had in Copenhagen, just opened in 1960 and designed in all details, including the shops, by Arne Jacobsen.

The Royal Hotel was conceived as a showcase for Scandinavian design at the time. The Egg Chair and the Swan chair were specifically designed for this hotel, with its 22-floor glass tower rising above the railway tracks looked more like something from Madison Avenue and the tallest building in Scandinavia at the time.

Arne Jacobsen even came to the tobacco shop many times, as he was a heavy pipe smoker, I recall speaking to him about the draws and display in the shop, which he had designed in details, down to the screws. Also showing him our latest Dunhill pipes gave me a chance to tell him about my trip to Brazil and seeing Oscar Neimeyer’s partner Lucio Costa in Brasilia. I believe I told him I had used his name to try to see Mr Niemeyer, in fact, conned my way about – also that my mother ones worked and helped in his office and that I had been there as four years old, I still remember him standing there with his pipe listening to me. He was a great man. 

At the time, I still dreamt about becoming an architect myself, a dream I had from early childhood. I cannot remember if I told him; however, some years later, when I met Le Corbusier (client of the Swiss bank I worked with), I did tell him, and he said it was never too late. Many times, I wished I had followed his advice. When I met Ove Arup for the first time, in London, I did not want to tell him this, because if you really want to be something in life, there is nothing which can stop you. However, I did tell him how I conned my way to Niemeyer’s office in Rio.I did like working at Hirschsprung, speaking to all the foreign customers, some very famous and indeed learning a lot about tobacco, cigars and pipe tobacco. The money was very restricted; however, I found a way to make

Burestigen, Djursholm, Sweden

In the autumn (October) of 1962, we went to Stockholm, and I found a lovely house in the best area of Stockholm, Djursholm. The property was part of a large estate owned by a Finnish widow. Her property was like a castle. Our property was partly furnished, but I remember buying the latest television, standing on one foot, the latest B&O Hifi. Also, various other items, as Liz liked certain modern Scandinavian furnishings..

Liz and I’s routine was to wake up sleeping close together, wrapped up in each other. Liz was very petite, and I was my full 196 cm, but slim. We had a lot of love, also during the day, when Mogens was in a pram outside.

I started to draw and paint and made several pictures, including one of Liz and her breasts. I had them all framed, sadly, they have since been lost. Liz allowed me to draw her semi-nude at the time.

We both enjoyed the peaceful place, with only the sound of the birds. We felt so good, at least until we had the telephone installed. Liz always dressed up, like the lady of the manor, when we went shopping close by in Djursholm. After the first week, the owner of the grocery shop, which was the only one around in Djursholm at the time, told me that he would open a monthly account. After this, Liz only had to telephone, and they made deliveries, which she liked. 

So we woke in our arms, surrounding each other’s bodies and souls, most likely with the odour of sexual activity, from before we slept.

Liz always wanted to get up and check, first thing, on Mogens, thereafter, making breakfast for us all, as a truly devoted housewife. I still remember the beautiful cream negligee she wore, sometimes, feeling the cold Swedish morning, taking a quilted dressing gown on top. Liz always washed her hair when showering, because she knew I hated smelling smoke in her hair.

When Liz became pregnant with Mark, after a few months, she told me that sex is bad for the baby. Although I reminded her of us making love every night, practically up to Mogens’ birth, she told me that was different; now we have to be responsible. Interestingly, after 4-5 months, Liz started wanting to make love even though she was pregnant; she instigated this.

So Liz got up, took Mogens into the kitchen, and even put a tablecloth on the table and lighting candles. All very English, with a typical English breakfast, eggs, toast, and many mornings, the whole issue of the British breakfast with fried eggs, tomatoes, mushrooms, and toast with marmalade. Moments in my mind, still sitting there looking at Liz and Mogens in his baby chair, this was a nice place to be.

Mogens was still a baby, and most days, Liz and I just wanted to get back into bed, making love. We still behaved like rabbits, never enough. Lis was very petite, and I could always move her around; she would always end up on top of me. As to what is happening with Mogens, it was always an issue until we had an au pair. What could Mogens be doing or seeing?

Liz was very English and never wanted her son to be subject to seeing a sexual act. Most disgusting, even though he was only one and a half years old. Therefore, always a problem, at least until we had an au pair, a Finnish girl, who looked after Mogens from morning to evening. Interestingly, this au pair was very Finnish, with long blond hair, as Liz, much taller than Liz, and even with large breasts, but somehow Liz was not in any way jealous. I must say later, Liz was never jealous of any staff we employed in the house, as to me.

Yes, we were very much in love. Just seeing Liz sitting on the bed, putting on her stockings, and fastening her suspenders, made me very randy. When you are young and in love – so what.

It was quite easy for me, as I was my own man and did not have to clock in anywhere at a given time. This status remained throughout our marriage. Frankly, I never had to get up to a specific time, although later in London, I wanted to work and see to things. Moreover, for years took the children to Hill House school.

The problem we had at Burestigen was that Liz could not cook. This issue remained until years later when Liz joined the Gordon Bleu cookery school.  We had for six months got used to the food that Mrs Christensen made, when we lived at C.F.Richvej in Frederiksberg. In between my mother cooking and all the time, Liz was watching, as she could not cook. When we had the Finnish au pair, she helped Liz in the kitchen.

A Moment in Time

In December, when Liz came to Copenhagen, we stayed with my parents; however, it became too much of a problem for us, since we had little privacy for the two lovers, as we constantly made love and with apparent noise. Moreover, we both wanted to be alone. My mother was a little upset, however, after moving to an apartment on C.F.Richvej, we did go back for dinner at my parents’ many times. Also, my mother went during the day many places with Liz, going around Copenhagen, visiting doctors and dress shops.. I was working at Hirtsprung all day and did not see Liz.

Living alone together in Copenhagen, at C. F. Richs Vej, from March 1962, I worked during the day. Liz met a nice lady, Mrs Christensen, who later was a great support to us, looking after baby Mogens and indeed acted like a true servant. Even walking backwards out of the door.

In early August, I started travelling with a team in Sweden, going to Lund and Göteborg, and later to Oslo in Norway, leading a team with around 20 students, 60-70% women. After two trips, Liz insisted to travel with me; I suppose she was concerned about all these young female students. This resulted in us even travelling with Mogens and employing a Nanny.

Travelling in Norway and Sweden, staying in many hotels, with the people working with me, Liz did enjoy most of the places, and we met some nice people in Oslo. We had not settled into married life, as we did later in Burestigen in Djursholm. I suppose in Copenhagen, my mother was close and had a big influence on our lives, also Mrs Christensen, who, after all, took over as to looking after Mogens and indeed dictating much of our lives through her being there and indeed her authority as to what to do.

In Djursholm, we truly came to appreciate each other, we were ourselves, both in love, alone and our love for “our” family, with Mogens, discussing having another child. A tranquil moment, although I had to make a living and money was important, as we lived very well, with considerable expenses, relatively speaking. We even had a Finnish au pair, allowing us to go out at night, even to Stockholm and the few clubs we liked. This was the time that we met the French Film Director Roger Vadim, through local friends in Dursholm, we went out several times with them and Roger Vadim, going to Strand Nightclub.

Liz joined the International Women’s Club early, where we met so many people. Many of the members’ husbands had leading positions in commerce, like head of GM, Gillette and General Electric.

Shortly after we had moved into Burestigen, we were woken very early in the morning, surrounding our bed were 10-12 girls, all blond with many candles on top of their heads. They were singing Swedish Christmas Carols in the Swedish tradition of Sweden celebrates Sankta Lucia, the celebration of light. The Lucia celebration literally brings some light into the dark winter months. Girls wear long white robes and wear candles in their hair. Everyone eats lussekatter or saffron rolls and gingerbread.
I knew they were coming, as I left the front door open, but I forgot to just walk up. However, Liz was choked and could not believe it, she said, “I am in Heaven, I knew it!”

My son Mark was created deliberately since I had read that it was best for children to grow up 20-30 months between their birth. Further, I wanted a family and many children. So Liz and I planned to make Mark in the summer of 1963 in Djursholm at Burestigen. A beautiful place, with a large garden. As we went to Copenhagen to see Maria Callas, Mark may have been conceived during this trip.

Sadly, shortly after this “creation” of a son, Liz told me about John and also about Adnan, all this changed slowly my idea of having more children with her. Although later, I again ignored all this and created Hans Christian in Estepona in early 1967.

When Mark was born, we moved to Wasavagen and lived in a large house which we shared with the owner; they lived on the ground floor, which was not really on the ground, as the cellar really was built up. Liz and I had the second and third floors, which included a huge loft.

We had a good relationship with the owners of the house and used to get together a few times a month. They liked Liz very much, as this allowed them to learn English.

Liz, was an attentive mother to Mogens; every day, he had a routine for getting outside, even in the winter. The first winter at Burestigen, Liz would wrap Mogens in lots of clothes and put him outside for fresh air, even when there was snow. She was a dedicated mother and focused all her attention on him and me. We always sat down for dinner in the dining room, and Liz was trying to cook her best, although she was not an accomplished cook, before some years later, when she went to the Gordon Bleu cooking school in Marylebone.

I had a good camera, I had been buying nice pictures, several prints, specifically one large scene with birds, which I liked, painted in Japan. In addition, we had a good musical stereo system, playing a lot of Frank Sinatra. I had several hundred books, as I worked with books. We had one of the most advanced televisions with ultra design, standing on one foot.

I went to work with Bonnier in the morning, after making a telephone call at home, then driving to Solna to the offices. Thereafter, I would visit prospects and customers.

Liz and I would do the shopping, sometimes Liz would telephone the shop in Djursholm and they would make a delivery.

So this is the background and atmosphere that Mark was in his mother’s stomach. We did have a few big events, with Kennedy’s murder. I still recall playing with Mogens in the lounge, with his nice dark blue suit, when Liz was cleaning up the kitchen. I had just told Mogens not to pull out the books from the bookshelf when the news came on our television, that Kennedy had been shot in Dallas. I immediately went out to the kitchen and told Liz that Kennedy had died and Lyndon Johnson, the man she had danced with, would now be president of the USA. I do not know why I said he was dead, because they said on the television that he had only been shot and taken to the hospital.

Liz had joined the International Women’s Clubs, and we attended many parties. In September 1963, the Vice-President of the United States visited Stockholm. He attended a big party that the International Women’s Club held together with the American Club and the Embassy.  We had a table with Kinross, who was in charge of General Motors for Scandinavia; others at the table were important business people, including the British head of Gillette in Scandinavia, who was our personal friend at the time. The next table was the Vice-President of the USA, with all the various ambassadors. Lyndon Baines-Johnson had an eye for good-looking women and saw Liz very early, although he first danced with some of the women at his table, he ultimately danced possibly for more than 15 minutes or more with Liz.

When he came back with Liz, we were all talking, and Liz certainly said, after the vice-president had left: “Will he ever be President?” I said I did not think so, unless the president dies, then he will automatically be president. Kinross agreed with me. Little did we know that he would become president within a few months of that evening. So when Mark was lying in his mother’s stomach, at the time 2-3 months old, he was inches away from the President of the United States, in his mother’s stomach. Close to the man who later escalated the war in Vietnam, and got all the civil rights that Kennedy could only dream about, Lyndon got this through Congress and made it law, a great man really. I have never thought about this before, in that way.

Yes, Lyndon was quite a big man, and Liz was in this beautiful light green dress with complementary shoes, absolutely beautiful. I still have a picture in my mind of her dancing with Lyndon Johnson. This beautiful dress we had been shopping for in Kungsgatan with matching shoes, was lime green with a delicate, large flower in silk, the shoes also in silk, and high heels were also special. Liz, with her lovely long hair, looked absolutely great, and I loved her very much, spending hours looking for clothes with her.  This dress was the most expensive I had purchased, apart from all her wedding clothes in Denmark.

Thinking it is more than 50 years ago, as of writing, and I still recall Liz, trying out the dress, which I first saw in their window. Sadly, I do not have a real photograph of her in this dress, as we lost all those photographs in the London docks. Nonetheless, they are in my mind. Liz even had long silk gloves, which women wore and a silk handbag for this dress.

I recall we also purchased the most beautiful handmade skirt with fantastic colours, made by a famous designer in Sweden. Both Liz and I loved the skirt. Apart from the parties, we had 4 crystal decanters of drinks standing at home, which we served to visitors. However, I did not drink and apart from Liz’s Gin and Tonics, we did not really drink. Liz did, however, smoke quite a lot.

We attended these at least two to three times a month, these big parties, get-togethers and events with the alcohol flowing and cheap, so Liz loved them. I recall at one party, where they were serving in large beer glasses whiskey, gin and tonics, etc., I said Why do you serve so large drinks, The answer was, “To bring down the traffic to the bar”. The embassies provided cheap alcohol; we did not have to buy from Systembolaget, the state shop for alcohol and wine, and the embassies paid no tax.

This is a little of the background that Mark had when lying in his mother’s stomach. We have regularly been visiting the local birth clinic for tests, etc. It was at Danderyd Läserät (hospital), only a few kilometres away, and we also had a nice family doctor, an old man, who came home to us.

Having pain and showing signs, I took Liz to the hospital on Monday, the 30th of March 1964. I had arranged a private room and birth at Danderyd (now) Hospital. It all turned out to be a nightmare, with a difficult birth, with Mark being born with the umbilical cord wrapped around his neck, and blue on his face. It was a complicated birth, and I acted as the translator, mostly not translating what Liz was shouting, as she said so many abusive words and sentences that I tried not to translate all this abusive language to the two doctors and midwives present.

Liz was giving them hell and shouted everything from Nazi to rubbish Swede, stupid and simple people, but it was a difficult and very hectic atmosphere for me and all in that hospital theatre when my son Mark Anthony was born. They really warned me, at a stage, that Mark could be dead when born. Although he came out with a blue face, shortly after, when I looked at him with his wrinkled face, I thought he could be Winston Churchill; he just looked like Winston, very old and so wrinkled, but with a face definitely willing to fight living on. I was again a proud father, a father with lots of plans and dreams for my two sons.

Within days, Mark looked lovely and became a little annoyance for me, because Liz insisted on having him for months in the bedroom, which made our sex life difficult at times. Also, I recall we could not have sex for 6 weeks or more, to my great frustration at the time, as we both were quite active. Liz just had to show her suspenders.

During Liz’s pregnancy, she went mad about using cleaning items, all the various liquids for cleaning, and all the chemicals. Sometimes, I could find Liz at night cleaning in the kitchen, the sink or the floor, because she likes the smell of all those chemicals. Also, she started wanting chips at all hours; we did not make chips; however, I could buy them from a street wan in Stockholm.

One night, with tons of snow outside, right at 12 or 1 in the night, Liz wanted chips, we had already gone to bed, and I had pyjamas on. Because she wanted chips NOW, I just put on an overcoat and scarf, went to the car and drove all the way into Stockholm, at least 10 plus miles away.  So there I was, driving in the snow, freezing outside, just dressed in an overcoat and pyjamas. I got the chips and returned safely that night. But another time, I ended up with a true disaster, because I ran out of petrol, just dressed in a pyjama and overcoat, stranded in the night, and at that time we did not have mobile phones or car telephones. Yes, Liz had cravings, and there was no argument to stop her from getting her chips. I was a true slave who adhered to everything she said and wanted. Later on, various women considered that I was really bullied; I suppose I was, but then she was my woman and the mother of my sons.

I still remember the lovely pictures I took of Mogens, first in front of some of his toys, in his car, sitting in front of all those shelves of toys, this was in the loft, a huge loft which we used as a playground for him and me.  On the evening that Liz started getting pain, possibly on the Sunday, when Mark was first born on Tuesday night, the 31st, I had been photographing Mogens on the stairs, we always played on the two long staircases, which were very wide and polished.

Well, the drama at the hospital.

Thinking that this was more than 50 years ago, I still recall coming back to Liz in her private room, with flowers and chocolate later that day, Liz asking for various items. She did have a telephone in her room, so she called me at Wasavagen asking for various items. I had to look to Mogens, although we did have help, specifically, from our Finnish au pair and from our neighbours downstairs. Because of the complication, Liz stayed several days in the hospital.

We still had winter, with snow all over, so the roads had to be cleared every day for snow. I recall driving home to Wasavägen with our baby and Liz and arriving with our neighbours standing there, eager to see the little baby. Taking him out of the carry-cot, showing him off as a proud father, little did I know how much pain and grief this little boy would one day cause me in life! 

It was a nice, large house, built of wood on the outside. Somewhat bigger then Burestigen with high ceilings. I did go and see this house with Hanna when we visited Sweden in June 2009. Djursholm has totally changed and frankly overbuilt. What was nice with Djursholm was that all the villas had large, some very large gardens, and many houses were mansions. Now that has all changed.

We had this special old railway from Stockholm going through Danderyd to Djursholm, a very old railway, like taken out of the 19th century, with wooden seats and a nice wooden floor, all polished and looking so clean and polished at all times. I recall the old trams in Copenhagen, also made with wooden seats; the railway was a little more luxurious and refined. It was so lovely when driving in the winter back to Djursholm. Unfortunately, I used the car most of the time.

Everything was really so special and the whole place reflected the best, including our local shop, there was only one, and we had, like everybody, a tap paying once a month, they delivered. So Liz would walk down and buy items with Mogens, and then they would later deliver. This was her daily walk with Mogens in a pushchair. It was a special place to bring up children, and I regret that we went to England,

Back to Wasavägen was funny, the first time we had a snowfall, Liz and I woke up early morning thinking that the Martian had landed because it was 4-5 in the night, we lay in the bed looking at each other and looking at the windows and ceiling the blinking and flashing of lights all over, some yellow, red and white, hearing a roaring noise around like several aeroplanes were landing outside. We really thought this was it, but when I looked out, I saw two large tractors driving around the house, clearing the snow in the dark night. They had a big job because there was at least 1-2 meters of snow. Yes, I still recall how totally disoriented we both were, as we had been downstairs to a little party in the evening.

Knowing what we know today, and something I did point out at the time, I did not believe smoking was good for pregnancy, also drank alcohol, like Liz did a lot before Mogens’ birth. But Liz would not listen to me about this, even though I hated smoke and smoking. After making love, Liz always wanted to smoke, and I hated that in the bedroom, but accepted it very reluctantly. Because I found it stupid to buy one packet at a time, I used to buy boxes with many cartons or just a few cartons at a time. Otherwise, I would have to go after cigarettes every moment.

When Liz came to Denmark, I had two large boxes of her favourite cigarette, Dunhill, I think 24 cartons. I calculated that when Liz would die, there could be several large lorries driving after her coffin with empty boxes of cigarettes, and a few lorries with empty whiskey bottles, and I used to joke to her as I had made a true calculation of her consumption for 50-60 years.

As a mum to babies, I can’t negate Liz in any way. She was a good, dedicated mother, always attending to the babies and unselfishly providing them with everything, including clothes, when they were growing up, always the best. In London, all the boys, including Hans Christian later were dressed like the Queen’s sons; they had beautiful coats with velvet collars and suits. I still remember Mark and Mogens on the front page of the Mail or the Sun in March 1966, photographed in Hyde Park, standing in their overcoats (brown) with velvet collars, among flowers showing the first day of spring. With Epstein’s fountain in the background. I should try to date this and see if I could find a copy of the newspaper, which was a Sunday paper, I believe, in possible March 1965/66.  A place that I, 24 years later, used to meet up with Romana in Hyde Park running in the morning. Hyde Park has been very special to me and my family, so I need to write about this later.

When we visited Denmark in 1967, I still recall the beautiful light blue coat Mogens and Mark had, also with velvet collars. We drove up to Denmark from Bad Homburg, outside Frankfurt, where we lived. Driving in a large Mercedes-Benz. Liz was pregnant with Hans Christian.

Sotogrande Spain

I initially rented a villa close to Sotogrande in 1967, where we stayed for a  few months; however, it was not convenient for Liz with the children as she could not drive, and I worked in Frankfurt and only came for long weekend visits. Therefore, she found an apartment in Estepona where she could go shopping, just outside the door. I came down for Easter, driving a Mustang all the way from Frankfurt in one go. They stayed in May when Liz wanted to live with me in Bad Homburg. I had been living in a small flat in the centre of Frankfurt, having quite a good time, with all the jazz clubs in Frankfurt.

When we stayed in the villa, overlooking Sotogrande and Gibraltar, it was at the time that the Spanish closed the border to Gibraltar. The hill, where the villa was, had many British ex-army and civil servants from the Colonies living there, fighting their battles every day with the gin bottles rolling down the hill. Because the children could hear about Spain making claims for Gibraltar, one morning, Mark came running to the breakfast table shouting Dad, Dad, the Spanish have stolen Gibraltar! Because of the morning fog, one could not see the rock of Gibraltar. Mark was so excited as he really believed that the rock had gone. We had previously visited the rock with all the monkeys. I had a funny incident, walking down the main high street in Gibraltar, the first time we went there, someone shouted Mogens far away in the street. It turned out to be a Dane I knew from London and who I had not seen for years.

Liz did not like Spain or the sun. When she took the boys to the beach, she walked with an umbrella, covering her head with a scarf. She did not leave herself open to the sun, which she insisted was bad for her white skin. Most people looked at her like a strange woman. Nevertheless, she was right and kept her skin white. At the time, the whole coast of Andalucia was undeveloped, although to me it was overdeveloped. Marbella was a small village, and Puerto Banús did not exist. Even at that time, I felt it was overrun with German and British tourists. This was in 1967, how wrong I was!

Inflation and a lesson to be learned

The first apartment I purchased in early 1965 in London, Mayfair, for our young family was 42 South Audley Street, Mayfair. Initially, we rented a large furnished apartment at 35-37 Grosvenor Square, an expensive furnished. We were looking for something permanent.
At the back of our flat, we could see 42 South Audley Street. One day, I saw that it was empty and contacted the agent. One could not buy the freehold, but I purchased the leasehold for £ 14.500. I oversaw all the refurbishment, including building a special bed for the boys and painting abstract pictures on the doors. Mark was just over one year old when we moved in, and Liz used to take them to Grosvenor Square and Hyde Park. Interestingly, we had walk-in large cupboards, which the children used to hide in. We made one of them their house, as most of the cupboards were too small for me to stand up in.

We purchased the largest bed we had ever seen from a furniture exhibition; it was 2.5×2.5 meters, somewhat too large to buy bed linen for, so we had to have it made, rather costly.

The bedroom was painted a wine colour with black Chantilly lace on the wall and with framed old master drawings of nudes (the children were small). The drawings were thanks to James Crabtree, the architect; he and I went on Saturdays to the East End to buy old art students’ work, sometimes he would buy it by weight. I recall once one ton of drawings. It was James I helped to start Axiom Gallery in Duke Street, Mayfair. I still recall when my mother came for the first time visiting from Denmark, seeing the bedroom, she was choked and thought it looked like a brothel – well, we were young and in love, so it was a love cave. Considering the size of the bed, my mother came into bed with the boys in the morning.

Since it took months of serious decoration, I rented a cottage in Cheam where Liz and the children stayed during the week, and I joined them at the weekend. The cottage was old and had a lovely garden. At the time, Liz wanted Mogens to go to the kindergarten school of Cheam; her wish was my command, so Mogens did go for 3-4 months to this Cheam School, where Prince Charles also had attended. The kindergarten school remained in Cheam, where most of the school was moved to Headley, in the civil parish of Ashford Hill, Hampshire. Sadly, we lost the pictures of Mogens in his uniform.

I had packed and sent all our belongings from Stockholm to London in 1964. After a lot of problems, I was told that it had all been destroyed, stolen, or burned in the London docks. I did receive some insurance, but nothing to really cover the loss of all my books from childhood and the hundreds of books I purchased from Bonnier and the bookstore I worked with. I believe I lost 2500-3000 books, all Mogens toys and some artwork I had already started collecting.

Downstairs, in South Audley Street, we had a luxury sports car showroom, which was visited by many famous people at the time, buying cars, including Cliff Richard and several from his band, The Shadows, including Hank Marvin, practically every Saturday. In fact, I saw many famous people around the area; some evenings, I walked with Charles Clore, the property magnate, when he took his little dog out for a pee. I did ask him about buying property, and recall he told me to wait for better times.

When we rented the apartment at 35-37 Grosvenor Square (expensive), we had Sofia Loren and Carlo Ponti living above us and Frank Sinatra and Mia Farrow on the second floor below us. I saw Sofia Loren and Mia Farrow several times, mostly in the lift, never Frank Sinatra or Carlo Ponti (Carlo Ponti I had seen in Cannes in 1959)

Next door in South Audley Street, we had Laurence Harvey, who later died at the age of 45. He lived next to my bank, Bankers Trust. I spoke to him once when he had coffee in the coffee shop on the corner, which had changed from a bank. I told him about some of my experiences up North and the good time I had with all the illicit affairs. He had a year before made a film up North a year before, with the famous Yves Montand singer’s wife Simone Signoret. He was not keen on the North. Little did I know he had cancer.

I recall when you went into the Connaught Bar direct from Mount Street; many times, you would see Sean Connery, Stanley Baker and Robert Shaw, who also died young. There was this large open fire and a real English bar at the Connaught; later, they closed the doors to Mount Street and only had the main entrance at Carlos Place. This was the hotel which did not want Marilyn Monroe staying there. Cary Grant stayed at the Connaught and purchased a house on Farm Street.

Mount Street then had everything, as to food, a dairy, a fishmonger, a greengrocer, and a very good butcher, Allens, and even the post office, all gone today. Allens had the best Scottish beef from the national park of Scotland; one always used to tip the cutter; obviously, Liz tipped most and always had fantastic cuts, the same in Harrods. When we later lived in Chelsea, I used to buy at Allens, and indeed, later, when we again lived in Mayfair, so I was a client for nearly 40 years. Allens supplied meat to Dorchester and many of the best restaurants around.
Sadly, I had no one to advise me about property or money in my family, having started young and fresh. I gave other people advice, much older people, and did not follow this advice myself. I saw some years ago that this flat was sold for £2 million-plus (see brochure). The apartment was on the top floor, and there was no lift, so it was work for Liz to take the small children up all the stairs.
The Scotts Restaurant had moved from Piccadilly to Mount Street. I used to go to the bar for lunch. I was sitting at the bar to eat. I still recall that Oppenheimer from South Africa had a reserved plate at the bar. His office was on the corner of North Row. I overlooked his building when I had an office in Park Towers.

After 18 months, including months of decoration, I wanted something larger for the family, so I purchased the leasehold of 94 Mount Street, a maisonette on four floors. The place was previously occupied by Churchill’s personal doctor from 1940 until the Moran died in 1965, Lord Moran. It had a beautiful open staircase and a butler’s lift, with a wood panel library, 6-7 bedrooms, with the kitchen on the 4th floor.
I went regularly to the auction to buy furniture and paintings for the place; I recall some large Victorian paintings I purchased for little money; once, I purchased 14 paintings for £ 2-3,000. These paintings I sold later with the place, and thanks to my later friend Roy Miles, who rediscovered Victorian paintings for the art world in the early 1970s, some of these paintings I had purchased very cheaply went for tens of thousands, but I missed out.

After I sold the apartment in South Audley Street, I recall for a price of £27,000 to Clive Hirschhorn, a film critic, making a little profit, as I had completely redecorated the place. I met Clive Hirschhorn later, when I was running the Residents’ Association, in fact, nearly 30 years later, and he told me that David Niven purchased the first-floor apartment shortly after he moved into our apartment. He also told me that Ingrid Bergman owned my maisonette in Mount Street before she died, having sold her apartment in Cheyne Gardens, London. I got to know Clive quite well after 30 years, but he was a little “strange”, possibly homosexual.

Clive Hirschhorn should know, as he wrote many books, some bestsellers, about Hollywood actors, including about Noël Coward, Jack Nicholson, Dustin Hoffman, Judy Garland, Rita Hayworth, Bing Crosby, Billy Wilder, George Burns, James Stewart, Alfred Hitchcock, Woody Allen, Mel Brooks, Rosalind Russell, Betty Grable, David Niven, Rex Harrison, Yul Brynner, Sammy Davis, Jr., Julie Andrews, Arnold Schwarzenegger, Kirk Douglas, Tony Curtis, Mickey Rooney, and Ginger Rogers. He had first-class contact with all these famous actors. According to the media, Hirschhorn has put together “one of the world’s finest collections of rare first-edition books. I recall he liked the big storage area in the apartment, as he told me he had many books.

When I initially sold the apartment to him, and he spoke about all the famous actors he knew or had “just” had dinner or lunches with, I truly was convinced he was full of shit, and it was all lies, as Liz told me. However, it was all true! Looking back, sometimes, when people told me about famous people and incredible experiences, I most time never believed them; sadly, some later have turned out to be true, confirmed by history and facts.¨

The two pictures below show our love after 15 and 18 years of marriage.