The 007 love scene that drove my wife crazy – and sparked a race row

Live And Let Die is famous for Bond’s first black lover. In his mischievously candid diaries, the late ROGER MOORE revealed the untold story of . . .

THEY SAY when death is imminent, your entire life flashes in front of your eyes. But the only thing flashing before my eyes was a large corrugated iron shed sticking up out of a Louisiana swamp which I was approaching at a fair old 60mph in an out-of-control boat.

I was going to hit it — and there was simply nothing I could do about it. I ended up in a heap on the floor of the boat — my knee throbbing, my shoulder numb and my teeth feeling that they were being mangled one by one into little bits of gravel inside my mouth.

Here I was, about to start playing James Bond for the first time, with no teeth.

How on earth did I get myself into such a situation? It had all begun on Sunday, October 8, 1972, when, as the new James Bond, I left England in a blaze of publicity for the first location in New Orleans.

We flew via New York and our arrival was — what can one say? — Bond-style. My wife Luisa and I had two cars meet us — one for our luggage and one for us. Now that’s class!

To say I was apprehensive about taking over from the great Sean Connery — the first and original 007 — would be an understatement.

I’d said as much to the Live And Let Die director Guy Hamilton when we met for oysters and martinis (very Jimmy Bond) in London soon after I knew I’d got the job.

I confessed that when I was reading through the script, all I could hear was Sean’s voice saying: ‘My name is Bond.’ In fact, as I said my lines out loud, I found that I was doing them in a Scottish accent.

Guy had said: ‘Look, Sean was Sean and you are you, and that is how it is going to be.’

All very reassuring, but now, two days before filming had even started, I’d smashed myself up rehearsing the famous boat-chase scene and ended up in hospital with a cracked tooth and a crocked leg. Was this to be the shape of things to come?

FRIDAY, October 13, 1972: The first day of proper shooting following a very bad night with my painful leg, aching shoulder and rattling teeth. I staggered out of bed only to find that when I tried to do my workout my knees wouldn’t bend. Not a good omen.

We filmed the boat chase sequence for real today, and fortunately I was shot — by the camera, that is, not by a villain — sitting down in the boat so my limp didn’t show.

I had one nasty moment though, when, on a sharp bend, my boat headed for the camera vessel with director Guy and about 15 other people sitting in it. Although they were anchored, they seemed to be tearing towards me rather like the corrugated iron shed had two days before. I thought: ‘Here we go again,’ but I managed to come round on the wheel, thank goodness, and pull away just in time.

The water is dirty and slimy, so that when we rev up the motors, mud just churns up and the stench is awful. It’s also covered with nasty green algae and you can see black snakes slithering through it.

They put me at ease by telling me the alligators are rather tired in this area, so they wouldn’t be likely to bite. Thanks, guys!

Saturday, October 14: D-Day plus one or B-Day, for Bond, plus one. It’s also my birthday. Happy birthday, roger.

The place where we’re shooting today is part of the great state of Louisiana, known as the sportsman’s paradise. But as far as I can see it’s the mosquitoes who get all the sport, chewing us up and spitting us out.

Yesterday, the first day, I felt rather like a new boy with the crew because most of them had worked together before. It took them a day to discover that I wasn’t completely chicken. They really are a great group of people. Guy and Bob Kindred, the camera operator, tied themselves on the front of a boat today tearing at 60mph up and down the inlet, photographing close-up reactions of me. That takes a lot of guts.

It was then I knew why they wanted me to practise with the boats first — not so much for my safety, but for theirs!

B-Day four and we seem to be dogged by bad luck.

It’s either a gremlin or some Soviet secret agent trying to sabotage Bond’s activities.

Today, one of the boat drivers got caught in the eye by a flying wire. I wonder who will be next.

I spent the afternoon in a very expensive fashion playing gin rummy with our producer Harry Saltzman. I have a feeling he only asks me to play to get my salary back.

WEDNESDAY, B-Day five. At breakfast, I watched television: a horrifying amount of twaddle is served up at this hour.

A small group of actresses and fringe showbusiness people make the constant round of chat shows telling the same stories day after day. It is a mystery to me how the interviewer manages to look interested. I’d rather spend the day in the swamp with the mosquitoes.

Sunday morning and B-Day nine: Up comes the television’s verbal mush with the breakfast marmalade. It is too much to take at any time, and impossible at 6am.

B-Day 11: To my horror, on-set the other day I heard Harry bawling ‘n **** r’. He was not trying to start a race riot, but simply calling to our English props man, ‘N **** r’ Weymouth, a nickname he has answered to since the days of silent movies. I pointed out that it might be better to find him another name here in the racial hotbed of Louisiana.

As Bond, I make love to rosie Carver, played by the beautiful black actress Gloria Hendry, and my wife Luisa has learned from certain Louisiana ladies that if there is a scene like that they won’t go to see the picture. I personally don’t give a damn, and it makes me all the more determined to play the scene.

The rain-cancelled shoot today deprived me of a moment of glory — I was due to say my first two words as James Bond. The world will have to wait for my carefully rehearsed delivery of the two words: ‘Where’s Strutter?’

B-Day 12 and back to work. Paul rabiger, our make-up man, was telling me about other Bond films he has done. He said when you meet a girl every morning at around 7am without her make-up, it’s like being married to her.

Speaking of leading ladies, Paul agrees with Guy, our scriptwriter and myself that it would have been more interesting if Solitaire, our present leading lady, had been black, as she was in the original screenplay, but United Artists