St. Paul had an amazing experience on the road to Damascus. He was literally knocked off his high horse and turned around in mind, body and spirit within a few glorious minutes. However, in his letter to the Christians in Rome, he openly says,
“For I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate.” Romans 7:15
In my case, the horse was missing, the bright light was missing, the speed was missing but the hand of the Lord was surely there. My mind and spirit knew he had answered my call and I felt the need to keep my promise to Him. Like Paul, however, I found that the ‘Old Man’ was still very much around.
Back at work, I found nothing really excited me, in fact it was beginning to depress me. Now that Jean had decided to move on, I decided that it was also time for me to do the same.
I left the advertising world behind and never looked back. Enough was enough! I took some temporary assignments in my fall-back career of accountancy to keep me going but I met up with Jean and he came up with a much more interesting suggestion.
“Why don’t we take off and drive round Europe?” he suggested. Seemed like a pretty good idea to me, better than hanging around in London just then.It was now early in 1963 and we set off in his Riley, going down south to Dover and taking the ferry to northern France and then on to Meudon, near Paris where Jean’s parents lived. Now this seemed like a great way to escape. We hung around there for about a month before setting off again through Switzerland on our way to Italy.
It was all easy going till we hit the mountains. We climbed higher and higher, the road winding around one curve after another. It was all plain sailing, no problems at all until we turned one particular curve and on into a long straight section. Jean went silent for a while and the car seemed to be losing speed. “What’s happening”, he said “we seem to be slipping” It was only then that we saw were surrounded by a thin layer of snow and ice. I could also see, on Jean’s side there was a massive drop. We slowed to a painful crawl as the wheels began sliding even more. “Get out and push!” yelled Jean, hands gripping the wheel as the car came to a halt. One back wheel was spinning in mid air over the edge.”What!” I objected, “If I do that your side will be heavier. It will go over for sure.”
“Just get out and push,” he shouted.
I did so, and together we manoeuvred the car back onto to road. That moment still sticks in my mind. The rest of the journey seemed like a picnic after that and we drove on towards Milan.
As soon as we arrived in Milan, we parked the car and went to see Anna Capprici, a friend who had been my neighbour in Kensington Court in London. We locked the car and left it outside, our best suits hanging from the hooks inside the back window, other belongings strewed over the back seat. We returned to find all of it gone. We were left penniless, except for what we had in our pockets. Nevertheless, we carried on and found a place to stay in Via Bronzino, not far from the La Scala opera house. After a couple of weeks we headed off again, this time towards Rome.
We had realised by this time, that we would have to find some work to keep us going, at least till things got sorted out. Nothing very grand, something easy and simple, so we tried our hand as waiters in a restaurant just outside the Vatican city. I lasted for a few days and was thrown out because I was useless at it while Jean just took it in his stride and swanned his way through it with relative ease.
During all of this, we were living in the centre of Rome in via Buenos Aries and our social life was beginning to look up. Jean was like a magnet and we seemed to be getting invited to one party after another. We mixed easily with the local crowd of up-coming young artists and go-getters and savoured all the interest and life of Rome. Often, we would bump into old friends from London. Roland Flamini, who had introduced me to J.Walter Thompson, showed up a few times as he was then sharing a flat with the actor, Anthony Steel.
After about six weeks of this, a chance meeting with the film director, Fellini changed things totally. He asked us to go and see Maria Cellis, the wardrobe mistress for the film ‘Cleopatra’. A day or two later we went up to Cinecitta and, after a few enquiries, found ourselves in a wide hallway waiting in a long queue of about a hundred people. I looked around at the muscley males around us and imagined them in gladiatorial costume. In contrast, Jean and I looked like typical, well dressed English gentlemen, totally out of place. I said, “Jean, I am not standing around here for ever.” and charged off, going straight up to the woman holding a clipboard at the head of the queue. She looked up as I approached. “Are you Maria Cellis?” I asked. “Yes, she said. I told her that Fellini had sent us. “Yes, I know she replied and told us we were to be assigned as Roman senators. Jean was getting right into it and was eager to start. Once again, I was getting tugged the other way. I loved films, the theatre but as a viewer, not as an actor. I felt repulsed with what I saw. It was as though something bigger than me was directing me all my life. I knew this was just not for me. The very next night, on my birthday, I was on a plane bound for Malta. Jean stayed on eventually becoming a producer and director of several successful films and stage events. He is now a well known French sculptor and artist.
Once again, I was back in Malta, totally broke, even my cheque for the flight had bounced and my family had to step in and pay for it.
This time, however, I didn’t hang around for very long, I was off again almost immediately and headed back to London to get my life back on track.