For Almost Australian I clambered into a camper van and set off in search of the heart of this vast nation. I spoke to struggling farmers affected by drought; I met First Nation elders, indigenous activists, off-grid nomads and transgender Tiwi islanders, and spent time listening to the stories of refugees from Afghanistan and Myanmar. I tackled the Australian concept of ‘mateship’, visiting a trucker stop where I joined the blokes for a pint and the footie on TV; then on to Alice Springs itself, reputedly the lesbian capital of the world. When I first went to the Alice, it was a hardy, pioneer kind of town. First Nation people lay in the street, drunk. They were invisible — people just stepped over them. And now it’s lesbians all over the place! I also ventured out of my comfort zone: I got quite vocal at an Aussie Rules football match; I tried fiery new cuisines and even stronger drinks; my public dislike of children was challenged, when much to my shock I met a couple of kids I actually liked; and if that wasn’t enough, I even went camping for the very first time and had to handwash my humungous navy-blue knickers, a spectacle that was gleefully captured by my cheeky cameraman.
I learned a lot in making that series, particularly about the troubled relationship between white Australians and First Nation people. Australia is a complicated country, with allegiances to England but strongly influenced by America, and it’s not going in the direction that I want. The Australia that the visionary Labour prime minister Gough Whitlam envisaged is the Australia that I love. I was absolutely shattered when the Liberals won the 2019 federal election. I voted in London at the Australian Embassy; I was so sure that Labour would make it. It broke my heart when their defeat became clear.
I fear the country is in danger of becoming a colony of America, just like us. One only has to look at the rise of the right wing and the growing cruelty to migrants. When I first came to Australia in the 1980s, it wasn’t like that. I’m also critical of the wholesale import of American trends and culture, most particularly on Australian TV–I want more Australian content. I want to see more of the highly gifted, home-grown Australian artists and actors: they’re not being given a fair suck of the sauce bottle.
When Almost Australian was recently broadcast, I was interested in the reaction. Some of my observations on the documentary ruffled feathers Down Under, and rightly so. I’m quite aware of the uproar in Australia when I make any negative comment — Australians are sensitive to criticism, particularly from the English. Understandably people say, ‘Who the fuck is she — she comes in, builds a house, enjoys it, then trashes the place?’ But I want Australia to be better. And Australia is a country that can be improved. Unlike England, it’s still got energy — it can go down a different, better path.
A New Habit
Every actress tries not to be typecast but I’ve played a lot of whores and matchmakers in my time. The nearest I’d got to the other side of things was in 1980, when I played an Egyptian gynaecologist in Mike Newell’s first film, The Awakening, with Charlton Heston, a lovely big boy. They had to dig a trench for him when we were in the same shot. He was too tall! But I dropped the forceps on the floor when trying to deliver Jill Townsend’s baby.
Undeterred, for years I had been a fan of Call the Midwife, the long-running BBC series adapted by Heidi Thomas from the memoirs of Jennifer Worth, about her days in the East End of London in the late fifties; the acting was of a high order, the stories were gripping and the attention to period detail formidable. It was exactly the kind of show I loved. I could see myself in it as a Jewish grandmother living in Poplar, a throwback to my immigrant roots. I knew my agent had mentioned me to them, to no avail. Every time I appeared on a TV talk show, I’d look straight at the camera and say, ‘Please cast me in Call the Midwife.’ Not a dickie bird.
Then one day, I went on the ITV programme This Morning and encouraged by the skilled and charming hosts, Phillip Schofield and Holly Willoughby, I made my plea again. I do like Holly and Phil. To my joy, my agent got an offer a few days later. But I was not to be a Jewish grandmother; quite the reverse!
To my amazement, I was to play Mother Mildred, a loquacious, energetic senior nun, who was bringing orphan babies to England from Hong Kong. I am not a lover of babies: I never wanted children, which was lucky because my womb and I parted company in 1974 and that was the end of that. But my first entrance to Nonnatus House was to be with an armful of babies, lovely to look at, but heavy to carry and often uncooperative.
My feelings about children haven’t altered; I’m constantly warned to keep my language pure when the under tens are on set. It was both a delight and a relief when Mother Mildred became Mother Superior and had slightly less to do with babies and more with being a fount of irascible wisdom at the service of the order. It was the beginning of a delightful professional experience which is still continuing. I hadn’t known Jenny Agutter, who is the mother of the company. She welcomes all new cast members with warmth and humour.
Call the Midwife was a reunion with Judy Parfitt (Sister Monica Joan), whom I first met in Los Angeles at Eric Matthews’ dinners in the Valley. She is a larky girl when not dressed as a nun — and politically miles away from me. Usually I steer clear of the Brexit divide, but Judy is different; I have to have her in my life. She’s eighty-five and from Yorkshire. More active than I am, sharp as a button, she continues to delight me both as herself and when she enters her character, playing with compassion and gentleness the ageing nun the nation has taken to its heart.
I based my character of Sister Mildred on a nun I met as a child in Oxford. There was a Carmelite convent just around the corner from ‘the hovel’ and I often met the two lay sisters, Sister Anthony and Sister Aloysius, on my daily walk to school. Curious about their lives inside the order, as was my wont, I had struck up a relationship with Sister Anthony.
One day, she told me she had mentioned me to her Mother Superior and then asked if I would like to meet her. I was only nine and said I'd better ask Mummy and Daddy first. My parents agreed and one afternoon I was invited for tea at the convent at four o’clock.
Carmelites are strict, closed-order Catholics, not like the Anglican Nonnatus House. I was led into a small room with a set of bars right across one wall. After a few moments a lady in full habit entered and sat down on a chair behind the bars. I moved my seat closer to see her better and we started to talk. She was totally practical and completely normal, a middle-class lady, very professional, like a lawyer or counsellor, with considerable authority. She told me she came from Liverpool and had been to the Liverpool GPDST High School, the sister school of my Oxford High.
I noticed her shoes were rather strange and I commented on it. She told me that the nuns of the order made all their own. I laughed and showed her my smart Clarks sandals; ‘I couldn’t make shoes for anything,’ I told her. I remembered that because I thought it was the weirdest thing. But she herself was utterly direct, down to earth, without any sort of spiritual nonsense. I never forgot her and I modelled my Mother Superior on her.
I turned up to the first day of filming with a bag of my snack of choice — whole, raw Spanish onions. When I first peeled then chomped into one, everyone grimaced, imagining, I suppose, how ghastly it must taste. But I just munched away. I couldn’t understand what all the fuss was about. I have eaten raw onions all my life — I like the taste. I like radishes too. The sharper the better in my book. They make my eyes water but I don’t mind (same with curries). I don’t know if it’s good for the constitution or not, but it’s sensible in winter because my onion habit tends to keep people away from me, so I catch fewer colds. True, I’m slightly less popular in the make-up trailer.