Those of us who were permitted to get fairly close to Ian Dalrymple in this unlovely profession of the cinema all knew him as that. He was modest, cautious, calm and in every way a gentle man. A gentleman is how he would best be described, but sadly that word is now out of date, perhaps one which he might have thought pretentious. Nevertheless that is what he was. In 1947, after six years of an active war, I had an overnight success (the sort of idiot thing so commonplace today) in a small theatre in Notting Hill Gate. The critics lavished their praise, the world and his wife came to see us. I was paid £5 a week, and Ian Dalrymple one night was in the audience. I don’t know exactly when he came, I only remember that he wrote, and said that he had liked my work and had I read, perchance, Esther Waters by George Moore. Of course I hadn’t; I’d only just managed to survive my war years with The Oxford Book of English Verse and a paperback of Forever Amber. Well, almost. He overlooked this crass error and signed me up for two films: Esther Waters and one to follow called Once a Jolly Swagman, about speedway riders.
What do You think about For The Time Being (1998)?
