At 88 she is one of Britain’s greatest actresses and still receives rave reviews for her West End roles.
Now, in the first extract from our exclusive serialisation of her reissued and updated memoirs, Dame Sian Phillips reveals how she fell helplessly in love with the charismatic Peter O’Toole — and how their marriage began to be corroded by his drinking and obsessive sexual jealousy . . .
In the wee hours of the morning, I was awakened by the noise from my Notting Hill front room’s ground floor window. I got up from my bed and turned off the light.
Improbably, there was a face pressed to the glass and a tall figure perilously straddling the gap between the window and the steps to the front door.
Slowly, I lifted the sash and then two of my hands reached in to grab the frame. Then, with a heave, two long, slim feet swung down to the floor, and over 6ft of Peter O’Toole sketched a little bow.
Sian Phillips, actress, is pictured here with Peter O’Toole (actor), at their London home in 1964
“Before O’Toole met me, I hadn’t even tried whisky, let alone beer. It was obvious to me that I needed an appreciation for draught Guinness in my life. I persevered and sipped the drink slowly every evening when O’Toole had drank the stuff.
It was my desire to cheer. My surprise was that after performing together in a show, we were now close friends, but then had fallen apart.
I had innocently repeated to a friend something he’d told me about a former girlfriend — and when O’Toole found out, he had reacted with such fury that I never expected to see him again.
He said, “I have a car,” now. Are you looking for some tea?
“It’s three in morning.”
‘So?’
‘I’m in my nightie.’
“Put a Mac on.”
In 1958, that was our start. In our 20s, we were able to adapt our lives to each other’s needs.
Although I hadn’t been one to stay up until late at night, it was something that I loved. And he began to enjoy seeing the world in daylight hours — streets and parks as well as the dark interiors of bars.
Drink was the only problem. Prior to meeting O’Toole I had never tried whisky or beer. It was clear to me that I needed an appreciation for draught Guinness in my life. So, I continued drinking the drink slowly in evenings O’Toole had drank the same age.
Phillips married O’Toole 20 years ago, in 1959-1979. They divorced after that time
Phillips and O’Toole posing with their third daughter, Kate, in 1963. In 1963, they were married and had their second daughter Patricia.
Everybody we knew was a heavy drinker. My nonconformist Welsh heritage meant that I was interested in the amusing, guilt-free nature of excessive drinking.
It was easy living together — and with wonderful sex thrown into the mix, it was ecstatic. While I played lead after lead in live television plays, O’Toole was in Willis Hall’s The Long And The Short And The Tall, his first big London success.
The company moved to the next-door bar after the play. When the pub shut, there would be a muttered conference and a large part of the crowd would drift off to parties in basement flats, then hit the after-hours clubs.
I loved the part at the end of each night that was fag. We would go together to Covent Garden’s all-night tea-andsandwich stand and get huge cups of tea. Then we would sit opposite Lloyds Bank and eat our hot sausage sandwiches and mugs of tea.
Fortified, O’Toole would say, ‘OK. He would climb the Wall of Lloyds.
Sian Phillips played Livia in Roman historical dramas and dark comedy I, Claudius in 1976.
Peter O’Toole’s role as the hero of Lawrence of Arabia in 1962’s Lawrence of Arabia is his most recognizable contribution.
The first time he did this, I was terrified and tried to dissuade him. In a short time I accepted his risky behavior as quite normal and would now sit with him on the wall, drinking my tea, and watching.
He had a great sense of balance. He was also very lucky. The regulars knew him as ‘Pete’ and gave him a little cheer as he finished the descent.
In our bedroom one day, O’Toole looked at my wardrobe of good clothes and said, ‘You look as though you’re in mourning for your sex life — all this black and violet. Please give it to me.
It was late at night and raining as he gathered up armfuls of organza and wool, bags, shoes, gloves, frocks, hats and suits and, opening the window, flung thousands of pounds’ worth of clothes on to the wet cobbles below.
“All my friends, advisors, and employers were appalled. He would destroy me and tramp over me. It was obvious they were insane, I thought. It was impossible not to fall in love. There was nothing that could go wrong.
It was a brief moment of regret. I thought, “But what do you want me to wear?” So I inquired.
He lifted me up into his arms and said: “My clothes.”
As a result, we were the only London couple who had a shared wardrobe. Winter and summer, we wore cotton trousers, canvas shoes, lumberjack shirts and big knitted fisherman sweaters. Of course I had no choice but to roll up his pants, making me look like a waif. (He looked like an elegant pirate).
O’Toole’s close friends did not approve of me. O’Toole was still free and refused to be sucked into the traditional marriage. His friends tried to end it, but with no extra ill will towards me.
‘Our wedding in Dublin was essentially an excuse for a p***-up. As we met well-wishers, we went from pub to pub as we traversed the city. By 3am there were just five of us left, standing in a shebeen’
I didn’t mind. They weren’t to know we had a new kind of equal partnership and that the last thing I had in mind was domesticity — as alien to me as it was to him.
Employers, friends and advisers were also shocked and said bluntly that he was going to ruin my career.
Their madness must be my thought. It was impossible not to fall in love. There was nothing that could go wrong.
O’Toole, during an Irish break, suddenly grabbed me, and asked, “Have your children?” O’Toole suddenly grabbed me during a break in Ireland in 1959 and asked me if I had any children.
It dawned upon me five weeks later that I was pregnant. O’Toole was not the only side that was conventional. He kept insisting on his traditional side, even though he had never asked me to marry him.
Our wedding in Dublin was essentially an excuse for a p***-up. We walked from pub to pub that night and met many well-wishers as we went. By 3am there were just five of us left, standing in a shebeen.
Phillips as Lady Ann Smiley with Alec Guinness as George Smiley in TV drama Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy, based on the novel by John le Carré
Phillips is well-known for her theatre and screen work. Phillips portrays Marlene Dietrich, in I Wish You Love.
Peter O’Toole played Macbeth in the Old Vic Theatre, London for their September 1980 production.
Did it change him because of his marriage? In London, he used to come home grumpy at night and go right out the next day. I was his only companion. Sometimes he wouldn’t even come home one night.
It was obvious to me that he was still living the life we shared, although I was now the wife. He was not interested in me working or at the very least, not in leadership roles, as I realized.
I didn’t say anything. All I’d ever wanted was to act — but the idea of a wife with a career, demanding rights, was laughable back then.
O’Toole accepted an offer to be Shylock for Peter Hall’s new production of The Merchant Of Venice. We moved to Stratford-upon-Avon in January 1960 as we were nearing the end our pregnancy. Mount Pleasant, a huge Edwardian mansion that was our rental house, was quickly renamed by O’Toole as ‘Mount Unpleasant’.
Heavy now — and resenting it — I was surprised to find that my free spirit, my equal partner, expected me to clean the house, wash, iron, provide meals and be on parade when needed.
Our marriage became more about drink now. When I got home from work, I made dinners and then threw them away. Often I’d wake to find O’Toole asleep in an armchair, by an overturned glass.
Smart women refused to be stifled by the stupidity of men in 1960. It was clear to them that they were likely to be labeled as “strident” if anyone complained. They were ridiculed when the women tried to stamp and scream. ‘Stupid cow’. Nobody had sympathy. However, I would be devastated if I didn’t realize that O’Toole had become a complete wreck.
Phillips with her third husband Robin Sachs, who she married on Christmas Eve of 1979, shortly after her divorce with O’Toole. Phillips and Sachs remained together up to 1991
We knew that his reputation for drinking was spreading and his career as a Shylock actor would depend on it.
He was well prepared but his moods changed. He justified this in a most unexpected way — by taking the moral high ground over my sexual past (no worse than that of most of the actresses he admired and respected).
Weeks passed with constant critiques of my morals. In public, he would still be harshly critical.
Why would I do this? Despite everything, O’Toole was worth the effort. He was my best friend. I knew that O’Toole had suffered a horrible childhood, and that his poor behavior stemmed from it. He swore to me secrecy and I will never tell him what he said.
In any event, his occasional sobriety periods brought me wonderful interludes with repentance. I found that I loved myself immensely and was needed. However, when I was treated as an impotent burden I believed this just as passionately.
He visited the ward only once after the birth of Kate. The aerial was not there. The aerial sat silently in the corner.
Rudolf Nureyev: A wild night with him
Rudolf Nureyev was my first encounter in 1962. By our second meeting, he was a star and a partner to Margot Fonteyn.
He arrived at a Belgravia dinner right after his performance and grabbed a tiny bottle of plum brandy. Then he drained the contents in a matter of seconds.
He appeared to then levitate onto the table and move down its length. Next, he extended his arms to grab several of the false hair-pieces from women and lifted them off with force.
Margot was also now here, looking happy and in control.
When I was pregnant, I wore a Dior velvet green dress and jacket that were accented with large jet beads.
Sian Phillips first met Soviet-born ballet dancer Rudolf Nureyev (pictured) in 1962
It was too hot and exciting. I felt dizzy as I sat down to chat with Margot.
When I started to fall I felt somebody catch me.
When I regained consciousness I found myself floating on a stairwell.
Rudi, I realized, was lifting me up above his head.
He was drunk. I weighed in at a ton.
He took me to a nursery and we chatted until he began to throw up violently.
O’Toole shouted “Come on, mushie!” as Rudi was grabbed by his legs, and began to push him down the densely carpeted staircases.
There were cries of, ‘Be careful! Pay attention to his feet.
‘To hell with his f*****g feet,’ muttered O’Toole.
One night, I woke to hear the sounds of drunken revelry from the grounds outside — O’Toole and a car full of actors had left the pub to come and serenade his daughter. As I hoped no one would notice, I sat silently looking up at the ceiling in my attempt to keep from complaining.
The Sister and my doctor were talking another day. When he mentioned a girl from gypsy and I, he stated that both should be kept in the house. Both do not have a home that is suitable for them.
It was shameful to see my daughter.
While I was busy at home, there were many people to feed and I had to keep my eyes on Kate’s next meal. The mother-in law paid an infrequent visit. When she suggested that her son drink, it was difficult not to respond. What did she know? “Just one more little one, son” marked the beginning and end of an evening.
Later, we had a visit from his father — a bookmaker from Leeds who was a feckless, occasionally violent drunk. O’Toole told me that he saw the father who sat his child on top of the mantelpiece. He would stretch his arms out and say “Jump!” I will catch you. I’m your friend.
When the child jumped, the father withdrew his arms and, as the child fell to the floor, he said, ‘Never trust any bastard.’
O’Toole considered this a positive story. It was deplorable to me.
I was miserable after having my baby. My husband made a mockery of my character when O’Toole’s childhood friend came to visit. He then fell into deep sleep.
My friend smiled at me as he took out a large bowl of salad and poured the oily contents onto the light green carpet. After smirking, he took off his glasses and grabbed a half-full bottle Scotch.
I grabbed the salad, cleaned the carpet, and pulled out a rug to protect O’Toole while he slept in his armchair.
Kate was just four weeks old when I took her to see The Merchant Of Venice. It was referred to as “One of our great theatre nights.” As the curtain calls erupted, my eyes rolled with emotion. It didn’t matter what it cost me, I wanted to make sure this talent was always remembered.
Soon afterwards, I opened in a play myself — The Taming Of The Shrew. The scene was rescheduled after the bad atmosphere returned to my home.
By the time Kate was nearly five months, our house had become a kind of ramshackle hotel for people who wanted to see the plays and stay over. O’Toole offered lavish hospitality, but was rarely there to take care of his guests. My life was a constant struggle as I tried to make it through each meal, making sure that my laundry got done and changing the beds.
O’Toole flipped a table early one morning after drinking hours. His car raced erratically on the long drive as doors slammed.
My nightgown was on my back as I left the house. Even though it was getting close to dawn, the temperature wasn’t too cold. It was my wish to be ill and then die. “Let’s just go,” I said.
The country sounds around me woke me up at dawn. Kate was in bed, resting in her basket. What was my thought? As long as she was here, I would have to be there. Getting up, I returned to the house and sat on the floor, leaning against the wall, waiting until she woke. O’Toole’s behavior was not something I wanted to confront. But sometimes, unable to resist speaking up for myself, I’d add fuel to the flames.
Phillips was seen in Romeo and Juliet in the company of Michael Byrne. This added 70 years to Shakespeare’s total love life for Juliet And Her Romeo, Bristol’s Old Vic’s in 2010,
Phillips was not the only one who continued to act late in life. O’Toole, too, continued acting. Pictured: O’Toole and Jodie Whittaker star in Venus in 2006.
In a rage, he would erupt out of the house, running in bare feet across the dark Warwickshire fields while I stood alone, crying.
O’Toole was aware that O’Toole was destroying my self-confidence. At times, he would be remorseful and beg for forgiveness — though never for anything specific.
He announced to me that his parents would be taking Kate to Ireland for one week. He was right again. Why? Why?
It took only seconds for bags to be packed, fridge to empty, and car to be loaded. O’Toole extended his hand to me, and I was unable to resist. He was still there two days later and I was completely content with the decision to remain married.
The trip was a blessing in disguise for a time. Kate and I went to dinner at the restaurant every night after his show. She slept under the table in her basket.
O’Toole would sometimes clutch at me like his life depended upon me. Occasionally, O’Toole would grab me as though his life depended on it.
I lost my precarious happiness. My precarious happiness, which I did not consider to be depression, grew closer. I was being criticized more and more, until one night I made the decision to go.
Next day I assembled Kate’s items, packed them, and called a taxi.
The war was over. It was over, or so I believed. . .
Adapted by Corinna Honan from Private Faces And Public Places, by Sian Phillips, to be published by Hodder & Stoughton on November 25 at £12.99. © 2021 Sian Phillips.
Corinna Honoran has additional material about Sian Phillips. To order a copy for £11.69, go to mailshop.co.uk/books or call 020 3176 2937. Free UK delivery on orders over £20. Offer valid through December 6, 2021.