This Much Is True

Lesbians are quite fashionable now, but it wasn’t always so. I slightly preferred it when it was brave to be a lesbian — now it’s a bit old hat. But Gertrude and Alice are icons to us dykes. They were witty, successful geniuses; they had a long, loving relationship; they survived Vichy France throughout the war although they were Jewish; and they were both strong, fascinating and remarkable women, whose contribution to twentieth-century literature was profound. The play told their story.

Win wanted to hear it read, so a reading was performed at his flat — for a free lunch I’ll do anything. At that point the play, which explores the forty-year relationship between Stein and Alice B. Toklas, was three hours long and written for eight characters.

Cut to a couple of years later, in 1984. I was looking around for a new project when I remembered Win’s play. Gertrude was a brilliant part for me, and I decided it had to be done. Since my radio repertory days, Sonia Fraser had been a good friend. I respected her opinion, especially since she had become a director, and I’d done two successful productions for her. I loved working with Sonia: she knew how to get the best out of me. I showed her the text. She suggested we cut it down to a cast of two and pruned the original script to an economical 100 minutes.

Although Win Wells is credited as the author, it is Sonia who is responsible for the text that’s now performed all over the world. The reason Sonia never insisted on her work being acknowledged was that Win was dying of cancer when we started rehearsals, and neither of us wanted to cause him any disquiet. Sonia herself died in 2013. I miss her every day; no one gave me such brilliant direction and such loving support.

The final script provided a challenge, because each of the two actresses — my Gertrude and whoever played my Alice — had to play several parts. Among other characters, I would play Ernest Hemingway; my co-performer would play Gertrude’s brother and Alice’s first lover.

Sonia had cast Lesley Joseph in the role of Alice B. Toklas. Lesley is famous now for Birds of a Feather, but few realise she is a superb serious actress — and she was the image of Alice B. But then she got pregnant. If there’s one thing Alice B. cannot be, it’s pregnant! So, only a couple of days before we were leaving for the Edinburgh Festival, we found Natasha Morgan. She was much more beautiful than the real Alice, but spiritually she fitted the role.

Natasha was brilliant, but she was difficult. (She won’t like my saying that, but it was true.) I find it interesting how you can work opposite, indeed play the lover of somebody you dislike, and yet show love on stage. Natasha infuriated me, but when I became Gertrude the moment of theatre was so powerful it overrode any personal animosity I might have felt.

I booked the Richard Demarco theatre in the Canongate Lodge off the Royal Mile and some accommodation in the city. Sue Ayres designed a brilliant set. Sonia hired Peter Jarvis to accompany us on saxophone and clarinet and he wrote some superb music. It was going to happen.

Before I took on the role, I wanted to see the portrait that Pablo Picasso had painted of Stein, which was kept in her Left Bank apartment in the Rue de Fleurus in Paris until she died. Gertrude had bequeathed it to the Metropolitan Museum in New York.

I found the gallery catalogue: ‘Portrait of Gertrude Stein by Pablo Picasso painted 1905 to 1906, oil on canvas, accession number 47106, on view in gallery number 911.’

I went to the reception desk.

Receptionist: ‘I’m sorry, ma’am, the Gertrude Stein portrait is not on display today.’

Me: ‘What? You can’t be serious. I’ve come from England to see this picture.’

Receptionist: ‘Ma’am, I’m sorry, the gallery’s closed for refurbishment.’

Me: ‘I’m not accepting that. I’m an actress. I’m just about to play the part of Gertrude Stein. Call the curator!’

Receptionist: ‘You want me to call the curator?’

Me: ‘Yes, please.’

Receptionist: ‘Yes, ma’am, just a second, please. Hello, Mrs Cohen, this is front desk here. There’s a young lady who wants to see the Gertrude Stein portrait. Yeah, I told her it’s not on display, but she’s an actress. She’s kind of overexcited. Would you be able to come out and talk with her? Thank you. You’re in luck! Mrs. Cohen will be right out. She will meet you by the totem pole.’

Me: ‘What totem pole?’

Receptionist: ‘Ma’am, the totem pole. It’s right over there. It’s at least thirty feet high. You can’t miss it.’

Me: ‘Oh, sorry. Thank you.’