I Once Met… Gracie Fields

My wife, Mika, had been in hospital with breast cancer. When she came out in September 1974, she was provided with a Zimmer frame. ‘Put that in the garage,’ she said, determined to get back on her own feet. By May 1975, she was fit enough to go on holiday to the Isle of Capri.

My father, who still lived in my home county of Lancashire, immediately thought of Gracie Fields when he heard of our plans. ‘If you meet her, give her my love,’ he said.

Gracie was the biggest celebrity anyone could imagine when I lived in Lancashire. Her songs, her voice, her Rochdale accent and her wartime films were legendary. I assumed there would be no chance to get in touch with her on her island retreat, where she had retired. She was 77 in the year we visited Capri.

The weather was superb, the cliff-top views memorable. A favourite spot was the central piazza. One day, we began chatting with a young Italian man who spoke very good English. He was the island’s publicity manager. We jokingly relayed my dad’s request and he said he could give us Gracie Fields’s telephone number. ‘She won’t want to be bothered by us,’ I said. ‘No,’ said the young man. ‘I know she loves to keep in touch with England. Give her a ring.’ So I did. A young girl answered. I asked if we could say hello to Gracie Fields. ‘Fine,’ said the girl. ‘Would you like to come round at 11 o’clock tomorrow morning?’ ‘Don’t you have to check first with Gracie?’ I asked. ‘I am Gracie,’ came the reply. ‘Oh,’ I gasped. ‘I thought you were Gracie’s young secretary.’ ‘I am Gracie’s young secretary,’ said Gracie. When we arrived at the cliff-top villa, Gracie opened the door and took us to a patio that was virtually balanced on the cliffs. There she gave us coffee. I told her my father had asked me to give her a message if we ever got to meet her. ‘What’s that?’

’Twas on the Isle of Capri: Gracie, 1973

‘He told me to tell you that he loves you.’

‘Well, tell him that I love him, too,’ she said.

My dad was the happiest person in the world when I told him. Mika was very grateful for that holiday – and to see our three sons grow three years older before she finally succumbed to the cancer.

During our visit, Gracie showed us a first pressing of an LP record that would shortly be released. ‘I’m quite thrilled,’ she confided, ‘that I have been recorded again. I’ve also got a tape of it.’

She fetched the tape and a small tape-player. She switched it on and, accompanying herself by clicking her fingers, she sang the theme song from The Godfather (1972). I can still see and hear her.

We heard a voice calling from the beach below the patio. Gracie pointed out her husband (her third), Boris Alperovici. A small, quite elderly, rotund man, he was signalling that he was starting the climb from the beach up to the house. Mika and I stayed some time, but her husband still hadn’t reached the top when we said goodbye.