Free Biggins by Christopher Biggins

entrances as Jenks. Judi laughed so much she fell over.
     
    When London Assurance was well into its run, my mum brought my brother up to town for a matinée performance. It was a big day. Sean was only about seven and it was the first time he’d been to the theatre, so he was a little bit nervous about the whole thing. We went to Luigi’s for lunch and I was desperate for them both tohave a wonderful time. ‘Where are we sitting?’ Mum asked as we waited for the meal.
    This was where I could really show off to my baby brother. ‘I’ve got you great seats in a box,’ I told him.
    ‘Oh,’ he replied, and went very quiet for the rest of the meal. When we left Luigi’s there was a still a frown on his face. ‘Christopher,’ he asked as we headed over to the Aldwych, ‘will there be holes in the box for us to breathe?’
     
    Call me a soppy old romantic, but I love the fact that theatre people can’t stop falling in love. That’s why I was so keen to push Jeremy and Julie together at Bristol, I suppose. And romance was certainly in the air at the RSC. Judi and dear Michael Williams were inseparable – and clearly made for each other. They were both such open, attractive people. They fitted like a glove.
    I think that season was one of the highest points in Judi’s life – and this includes all her Oscars and film acclaim that has come these past few years. She was madly in love and producing electrifying performances on stage. It’s a combination you can’t beat. We were doing Twelfth Night when Judi and Michael got married. I loved it. When she took her curtain calls we threw confetti over her and the crowd went even more wild than normal. Judi loves animals and we had created a frieze of animals on all the walls from her dressing room to the stage door for her to see when she left for the night.
    Still the good times rolled. So much, so young and it all seemed so easy. Was there anything better than being in such stellar company at the Aldwych Theatre? Yes there was – London Assurance was transferring to the West End.We decamped to the Albery Theatre in St Martin’s Lane, near Leicester Square. John Gielgud, Sybil Thorndike, Laurence Olivier and so many other great names had acted there. Now I was moving into one of its tiny dressing rooms. I was so thrilled I could barely breathe.
    After six more glittering months, Judi was getting to leave the show. I was still the youngest there, so I was picked to organise her collection and get her leaving card signed. But was I really the right person to present it to Judi herself? Sure, we had been half-naked together in our rehearsal with John Barton. Sure, we had shared a thousand jokes in the dressing rooms by now. But I still didn’t feel I could presume to hand over her gift. I turned to Donald Sinden for advice.
    ‘Donald, do you mind me asking if you would do the speech for Judi tonight? I’ve got the card and the gift all here.’
    ‘I don’t mind you asking at all, young man. But I won’t do the presentation. I’ve got someone in tonight who will do it far better.’
    ‘Who is it?’
    ‘I’ll have to swear you to secrecy.’
    ‘I swear.’
    ‘Then come here.’ And he whispered the name in my ear – which wasn’t easy for someone with such a resonant, booming voice. It was my turn to nearly fall over.
    ‘You mustn’t tell a soul,’ Donald repeated.
    So I spent the rest of the day, and all of that night’s performance, tied up in knots of excitement and anticipation.
    ‘Come on in!’ We all crowded into Donald’s dressing room after the curtain calls. Everyone was giggling, joking, drinking and high on the occasion, the way actorsalways are. ‘Be quiet! Now, we all know why we’re here. Judi, it has of course been absolutely marvellous working with you and it is terribly, terribly sad you are leaving us. We all want to wish you the absolute best on this new adventure you are embarking upon.’ Everyone cheered. ‘And we look forward