It wasn’t my first choice of title, but publishers (as we all know) are second only to God. I had wanted to call this book Ham on the Bone, because everyone who knew Arthur knew what a foody he was; never happier than when holding a carving knife and deciding where to cut. Arthur was a great host, and my happiest memories of him are aboard the old Amazon with friends for dinner.
Arthur Lowe, Dad's Memory
Setting up this page I just re-read the blurb on the back, the prologue and the first chapter. I have to say I’m not too disappointed looking back: “Hugely enjoyable and revealing, this is a nostalgic, candid and deeply poignant biography of one of Britain’s most fondly remembered character actors.”
The actor Richard Leach, who was one of Joan and Arthur’s most enduring friends, said after he read it that I had told the truth. That allowed me to breathe again, because that is what I had believed I had done.
Virgin published this paperback version in 1997, and reprinted it in 2003. Finally they remaindered it, and I bought the remaindered stock. You can buy a copy from me if you want one, with the added value that these copies are signed by the author.
Arthur Lowe Dad’s Memory, paperback, Virgin, new. NZD 15.00 to include P&P in New Zealand.
NZ
Arthur Lowe Dad’s Memory, paperback, Virgin, new. NZD 25.00 to include P&P Worldwide.
I wangled it to call one chapter “Ham on the Bone”. He sought culinary quality that was hard to find in provincial British hotels. It would be harder still to find now. It was certainly not that he wanted haute cuisine, far from it. What Arthur wanted was a ham sandwich made with slices of carved ham and fresh-baked crusty bread. He wanted a pair of kippers straight from Arbroath. Also, these things had to happen at very precise times of day. Drinks time (two gins before dinner, never three) happened at 7.30 pm. One day we were cruising the Seine on the Amazon. In the late afternoon we had run aground on a mudbank. We were in the process of connecting a motor barge that had offered to tow us off when Arthur appeared on deck with a tray of drinks.
The narrow band of the road… I was hungry for new adventures and was truck-driving in Europe. It gave me time for reflection. It was on long night runs through France and Italy that I started to realise that I should write this book. I had expected some well-known biographer to do it, but no-one stepped up, so it was left to me. It might seem something of a cliched approach, but long road trips put you in a frame of mind that promotes introspection, reflection and analysis. Road trips buy you time.
I never want to forget this time. They are my earliest memories of my parents. We lived in a flat at Rutland Gate, off Knightsbridge. Arthur used to set off for the theatre with a little brown suitcase that contained his make up, his supper, and a book to read. I would play on the floor until bedtime, then my mother would do the housework and listen to the wireless.
