Women in Love' at a Cinema in Leicester Square

By the time Rosemary bad put away her sketchbook and bad walked along a gravel path from the Azalea Garden towards the Water Lilly House at Kew, she felt able to resume her enquiry. The first thing that now came to mind was that a whole year had passed since she first saw the depth of the identity problem Freddie was facing at that time. A lot of water had gone under the bridge by then, which had become clear to her only after they had gone to see Ken Russell's Women in Love, in Leicester Square, in September 1969.

All the complex images from that decisive day came flooding back to her in an instant: it had been a late weekday afternoon, Rosemary and Freddie sitting in an empty cinema—the audience had all left. "That was brilliant...' she had ventured, breaking the tension of Freddie's rigid silence that had gone on well after the end of the screening. The film, as it transpired, had opened up a can of worms for him; one neither of them was consciously expecting. Rosemary had only read a couple of Laivrence's works before that time, The Phoenix and The Woman Who Rode Away; she was enthralled by his radical ideas about relationships. Lawrence had been questioning the whole notion of monogamy—fifty years before her time. 'Why couldn't people, just naturally, have diverse partners?... Why did some people stay with one partner forever, and some only for one night?' she had begun to wonder. Rosemary had not been really prepared herself for the questions these concepts brought up about her own life and relationships; or the potential answers; she had not been ready to take them on board at that moment. But Freddie was devastated by the polemics the film had revealed so astutely on several levels. 'Lawrence was right; you can't stay with one partner forever and ever—it's not natural...' Freddie had blurted out, bursting into tears. Rosemary had been shocked but also too elated by the film to translate it so quickly into personal ethics, although there was a large part of her that needed to transcend the 'personal', to look at the kind of 'ethics' she wanted for herself in those hedonistic days. But Freddie had fallen into a really dark mood that she just could not coax him out of. After a long silence, whilst she sat looking at her watch and working out how⁷ long it would take to walk to her next 'engagement', he managed to stammer: Tin so pulled apart by all that... I need a male partner and a female partner...like Birkin; why can't I have both?...lean see myself going off into the wilderness to die like an animal....' Freddie had tears running down his cheeks: 'I'm waiting here. I've got to see that film again, right now...'

Rosemary wasn't expecting that, so she had maintained a practical stance, since she knew she hadn't the time to respond deeply to these issues. Spontaneously, she put in, as though she was his sister, 'Don't think like that—it's all exaggerated: we've all got choices - it doesn't have to end like that....' But this had been pointless; Freddie had already buried his head in his hands and was weeping copiously. What was she to do? She was by then really in a hurry and needed to leave at once: 'Bloody hell, this is terrible, leaving you here on your own in this state—but I've really got to go, now,' she said, distantly, already standing up. Freddie had been adamant: 'Tell the usherette I fell asleep—I need to see it again and I can't get another ticket,' he had added under his breath. Just recalling those melodramatic moments stopped Rosemary in her tracks, so she sat down on a bench in the moist haze of the Water Lily House, more fully to focus on what had happened next. In an instant Rosemary recalled how she had become softer again: 'When will I see you?' she had whispered. Freddie was simply too wrapped up in his tearful and distraught state to say more; he slumped down further into his seat and began to wait for the next showing. 'O God, I feel really shit leaving you here on your own...but I've got to go...I'll phone you later.' Rosemary hugged and kissed him before leaving. She left him then, as a new audience started to fill the auditorium. On her way out she had felt pangs of remorse about leaving him on his own to cope with all that emotional turmoil...but she had supposed that he would face his demons. What state would he be in by the end of the next showing? She had to go, though.

A week beforehand Rosemary had committed herself to attending a meeting of radical speakers from the New Left Review, to be held in a room above a pub in Bloomsbury— within walking distance of Leicester Square. There were going to be speakers from international political platforms; she was right at the beginning of understanding the differences between Leninist and Maoist philosophies, among so many others influences. Rosemary needed to know why Western Marxists had had to reject a non-revisionist Communist Party with its philistine vision of social democracy. Yes, she recalled, Freddie had been right when he'd referred to her sometimes as a real 'pinko', because at heart that was what she was becoming. Talks on the writings of Theodore Adorno and Juliet Mitchell's Women: the Longest Revolution were part of that meeting's agenda.

Not having understood half of what was said, once she had reached the lecture—still being emotionally preoccupied with Freddie—Rose ma ry had slipped into a sudden, but overwhelmingly bleak mood, despite the focus of the different speakers. But here, in Kew Gardens, gazing into a horizon of huge water lilies opposite her wooden seat, Rosemary realised again that it had been there, amidst the radical Left, that she first experienced the real gender gap between the male and female attitudes, which had appeared to her so unbridgeable at that moment in time. To make things worse, Rosemary had the feeling that attending that evening's meeting was also somehow life changing. Did she also need to embrace Feminism as well as Economics?

Ever since the events of May 10.68 in Paris, two years after she'd been a student at the British Institute department of the Sorbonne, she had nurtured a secret determination to discover why people's lives became so different under polarising conditions. Surely many levels of social injustice could be changed through such knowledge? What was cultural materialism? What would change with Britain as part of Europe? She couldn't keep putting off this quest for such knowledge any longer. Dwelling on "personal stuff' indefinitely jarred too much, and took over the mind unproductively when there were so many more significant intellectual ideas to study; working out how to relate to Freddie would just have to wait. But wasn't he burning with desire for 'understanding' too?

With her eyes still on the delicate motion of the water lilies that were so at home in that beautiful Kew hothouse, Rosemary realised emphatically that Freddie's quest would take him on a very different journey from her own. Perhaps, she mused, he would take on Vaslav Nijinsky's maxim, as described by Marie Rambert: "Everything he invented was contrary to everything he had learned'. 'That might be where ft is particular genius lies', she concluded as she closed her eyes and imagined an exotic Nijinsky performance of L'Apres-midi d'un Faune, with Debussy's music. In a few moments, she was back in the moment: it was definitely time for another stroll.

The Who at The Coliseum

Rosemary walked towards the Palm House, another of Kew's spectacular edifices. Her reflections on dance and music naturally led her away from the traumatic events at the cinema, to the far happier occasion of The Who's Tommy, at the Coliseum in December 1969. She and Freddie had been getting on better then than they had for some time: 'Oh my God, Daltrey's done it again,' enthused Freddie, singing very quietly to himself: "Tommy can you hear me? Tommy can you see me?'' [after The Who].They're so fucking brilliant—I must grow my hair longer—I've got such a hard-on! That kit is such power—it's a real in-your-face 'wank you' to the audience! It says "we are absolutely fearless"—let's go to the stage door!' Paradoxically, Freddie didn't regard Daltrey with the same awe as he felt for Hendrix; but he was thrilled by the smashing up of their instruments and the experience of sharing this with an ecstatic audience. Rosemary just loved the music and the way a burst of mass fervour took you totally out of yourself for several hours, whilst Freddie had been really enthusiastic about the lyrics in Tommy, (he had said he was bored by the fact that many musicians were still writing songs influenced by Verlaine or Baudelaire). Rosemary had delighted in Tommy also because in it there were un-romanticised songs about contemporary issues. But somehow she still had misgivings, since, once outside the auditorium, the overall performance seemed to her more like theatre with music 'added' to the words. She had the absolute conviction that Freddie would go on to write music that would be both transcendent of personal experience and

musically experimental, like Hendrix, who had already radically innovated musical techniques on all fronts. Nevertheless, The Who concert was a brilliant experience, although for her it had not been as wild as King Crimson at The Marquee or the Stones in the Park concert; but she hadn't gone to those events with Freddie.

Rosemary liked to think that it might have been her who had first introduced him to the music of Frank Zappa's Hot Rats and Captain Beefheart's Trout Mask Replica albums; she knew Freddie had had notions of musical dissonance under his thumb well before 1969. The fact that he had not yet formalised any one style at that point in time, with the bands he'd contributed to, was not something that ever made him doubt his own potential.

The only thing that really bothered him at this very early stage of his musical career was, to her knowledge, not being able to own all aspects of his personality: the main issue being that he was a bisexual man who wanted at least an opportunity to engage in a sexual relationship with a man! That, beyond all else, seemed to stop him in his tracks, making him sometimes overbearing and inwardly neurotic. This factor alone undermined him; he had not yet manifested his burgeoning voice with the wealth of material he'd obviously accumulated, just waiting to be translated into song! It was there, smouldering like the start of a forest fire. Ye all, but have they got "outlaw" in them like Hendrix? This loud storytelling stuff isn't where it's at for you!' Rosemary had yelled into his ear, amidst the on-going applause after the final encore. But he hadn't responded; he had been too entranced with it all, sharing the moment with other friends, also in the audience. A minute later, when the applause had totally subsided, Rosemary went on: 'Yes, it's ran—but isn't it amplified Vaudeville Theatre?' Freddie had looked aghast: 'Don't bring me down when I'm feeling so generous towards them, darling!' He started singing very softly to himself again: "...da da da... do do _fda da..."

They had hugged and snogged, and moved with the crowds towards the Exit then the Stage Door. Perhaps this escape into temporary oblivion via the unbelievably loud amplification at the Coliseum Theatre took Freddie sufficiently out of himself to allow him 'time-out' from the inward turmoil that plagued him far too often in those days. It wasn't because he thought of himself as an 'outsider', either; his Asian roots were something he rarely mentioned. He referred to his Parsi upbringing in an abstract way, but in relation to biblical teachings about the struggle between 'light and dark'; she knew all that remained secretly important to him, since Freddie was intent on facing up to one's fears with a capital 'F'. Rosemary', until that point in her life, had never considered the concept of fear as part of a philosophical belief system. Significantly, it was a central tenet of the way Freddie thought about life in general. Facing up to and conquering FEAR was demonstrably 'where it was at'.

Rosemary remembered how Freddie had once told her that Richard Strauss's poem set to music, Thus Spoke Zarathustra, had been the land of tour de force that had radically inspired him in his youth; one day he intended to exceed "that composition" through his own music! She had known nothing about it until he had told her it was also the music featured in Kubrick's film 2001: A Space Odyssey, but she hadn't yet been to see it. Doing some research in the reference department of the Kensington Library, she discovered that Nietzsche's Thus Spoke Zarathustra, the inspiration for Strauss's poem, had also become a trendy text during and after 1968 and the Paris protests. She recalled later setting off to Foyle's in Charing Cross Road to buy a copy, eager to gain more insights from this 'new' knowledge. In retrospect, she could see that Freddie had agendas in his mind that were nothing less than astounding—perhaps a hidden genie waiting to be let out Reflecting on this new revelation more acutely had stopped her in her tracks—she looked up at the profusion of palm trees in that huge Kew conservatory, utterly gobsmacked and entranced. She barely even recalled walking into the Palm House. She was brought suddenly to the realisation that the many difficult stepping stones she'd endured in her relationship with Freddie could never be forgotten, because the person she was now, six weeks after their split, had been irrevocably formed and influenced by their time together during and after college. A Meal in an Earls Court Restaurant

Yes, she thought, as she left the Palm House in need of fresh air, there was no denying the impact the connection with Freddie had made on her. She reflected on the diverse, complex philosophical thought that had been integral to his character and evident to her quite early on in their relationship. About a week after The Who concert, meeting up at a much-frequented Indian restaurant in Earls Court, Freddie had sung a Hendrix song again, quietly to himself, as usual: "..da da, da da... hmmm...hmmm ...hmmm.'¹ Rosemary had gazed at him, bemused. She loved it when he sang so softly, but not when he sang loudly on the Tube escalators, or worst of all, in a lift! But his subconscious agenda showed itself again in his yearning to be taken seriously; not by his friends and peers, but by the whole world. 'I must be better than Daltrey...I'm a better singer... I am more original. All I need is to be discovered...perhaps I'll need to get some lustful record magnate up my arse first,' he laughed loudly. "Yeall', Rosemary had answered mockingly, 'put your perversity on the line first! Anyway your voice is so strong;—it's got to happen soon...'

She knew that Freddie never felt bad about constantly pushing himself to the fore; in reality he couldn't do otherwise; he was burning with so much desire for success. Some said he was a typical Virgo, but she had not met another like him. Not listening to a word she'd said, Freddie sang the same lines over again—it was a song from one of the other groups

he'd been part of; he obviously adored the way he could effortlessly immerse himself in others' music, in and out of band rehearsals. 'But how can I behave like / really am, when I'm not sure I am 'straight?' was another refrain that was frequently aired at that time. Freddie had become anxious again. Rosemary was always trying to keep everything they spoke of open-ended so that he didn't become morose; in a hopeful tone she had ventured: 'When you go to your next gig I'll bet you'll be really noticed', you don't know who might be there—it could be your moment—your fifteen minutes of fame, like Warhol says...let's get that pirate costume we got last week to fit really well—it '11 go down a bomb!' Freddie had smiled, trying to perk up: You're being a sweetie again—I love you so much—you keep me going—I'm so on my own in all this...I've got to find a way of getting my voice right...I know I can do it...just because I adore being really outrageous and glamorous...!' Did he really believe this? He hummed again, almost inaudibly this time; Rosemary knew they were back on a more positive track in an instant. 'Hey, Mister Vibrant—of course you can —but you've got to hang on to that Zarcithustra poem and be fearless. That's really worrying...' They both laughed, but only for a second. Freddie's insecurity returned: 'Everyone would hate me if they found out I was a homo'.' he had blurted out. Rosemary jumped in quickly: 'But you're only half homo! Isn't being bisexual like being ambidextrous? You do it with both hands!' Freddie was not amused: Yes. but homosexual men hate you if they know you've got a girlfriend—so you can't win...' it was as if he could hardly bear to state the obvious all over again—hadn't they been through it all so often before? Hoping to resurrect the situation, Freddie was quick off the mark with: 'Who knows about me being bisexual anyway, not even your Albert Muller?' This time Rosemary interrupted him at once with: 'I expect everyone knows about it subconsciously...just write down some Iyrics about it and rehearse it—could be a worldwide hit!' But this failed either to amuse or divert him. Yeah, but I'll need someone to make all that happen. I need someone with power—like your artist friends —I'll bet there's no stigma attached to them—they're in the centre of the art scene—I'm on the margins...' Freddie was really deflated now. 'They're doing painting and film ...so...' Rosemary was not going to pacify him with that! 'Yes, I know,' he intervened quickly, 'but if one of them fancied me, it might be different—perhaps they could introduce me to people.' He sighed despondently, but added seductively: 'Tell them I'm i rating a song called Blow Job—that might amuse them!'

Rosemary remembered having got really agitated after that; she'd come to the end of trying to be empathetic. With all this fury and frustration at not being able to create life exactly as he wanted it, his creativity was being put to the test more and more. Sometimes, as then, it was as if he was over-magnetised; an overcharged battery! But it was building up his sense of 'experience' to an explosive level—or was he just "born to perform"? Freddie's obsessions, like the one with Hendrix, were somehow identical with the line in Hendrix's song Are. You Experienced? All his jesting and questing for a path midway between his singing and his sexuality seemed to hold him in a state of permanent frenzy.

Coming back to the here and now, she had by then walked some distance in Kew Gardens, as if hoping to create some space between her and those complicated reminiscences that she was determined to confront. She remembered that one of the ways they'd both handled the "sexual difficulties" was by sending it all up; Freddie's love of humour had been renowned among his friends; it was something he could draw on whenever things had got too heavy to bear. Rosemary both loved and hated this simultaneously, but she preferred to laugh rather than cry about it, so what the hell? Many of their peers were busy taking large quantities of drugs in order to dissipate the psychic contradictions between needs and wants. Freddie had never succumbed to that way out, and the little Puritan in Rosemary had been with him there one hundred per cent. God knows, Rosemary had enough of that sort of thing to deal with at home with Albert, with his propensity for seeking oblivion in the next "trip", which was the very opposite of what she herself was seeking: Rosemary wanted "Knowledge'.

'I'm not going down that path again...' she had said firmly to Freddie then, adamant.

'Oh, please take me there—go on—please?' Freddie started up again, referring to Patrick Woodcock and his queer artist friends. 'No, I'm not doing that..anyway you wouldn't like all the art-talk—they are so competitive, as I've told you before! And they might ask you to smoke hashish and get drunk, too!' That was a good way to stop the obsessing, if only for a moment! I`m not smoking and ruining my voice and sapping my energy: just "...gimme something." They sat in silence, avoiding each other's gaze. But not for long: strumming his fingers on the edge of the table, he went, '...oo—ouchy-ooo, he's jnine...ooo-ouchy-bah, he's mine...!' as if in a semi-trance, followed by more silence. 'But you said once that one of them had had a scene with Nureyev? I told Vijay about that but he didn't believe me!' Freddie said, before laughing and pretending to hide behind the tablecloth. Rosemary remembered clearly that she had been utterly unable to respond at first, because suddenly she had felt almost malicious and for once not sympathetic to his desires and anxieties. 'For God's sake, just start "cottaging"! Go and hang out on Hampstead Heath or behind Earls Court station.' Freddie had seen she was angry, but nevertheless he had laughed loudly. She had become earnest again: You need to meet people in the music industry, not the visual arts!'

Their food had arrived then, and they ate their meal in silence. After a while, Freddie started up: 'What's he looking at? Over there, behind that pillar? ...Um...he looks a bit of a sweetie, but no...perhaps not. "I never forget a face, but in his case I'M WILLING TO MAKE AN EXCEPTION!'" Freddie laughed loudly, showcasing his Marx Brothers quotation, much to Rosemary's irritation.

Which was worse, she wondered, watching Freddie thinking of making a play for a bloke in a restaurant, or hearing about Albert Muller's latest conquests? At least he'd recently agreed to indulge this side of his personality mostly away from their Westbourne Grove flat; you only had to "advertise your taste" in the new Time Out to meet up with like-minded sexual partners, or gate-crash a party in Fulham. So with all these 'options' around Freddie could have met someone completely away from his usual social scene, but had somehow been unable to do so. During much of the time of their intimacy together, after college had finished, Freddie had no real privacy, sharing a place in Barnes with his fellow musicians. 'For God's sake shut up—you've got to stay focused., .how else will you become a really classy singer?' was Rosemary's final response! She was getting frosty. In joking mode yet again Freddie changed tack: 'OK. I'll suffer in silencer Rosemary had already switched off, but Freddie continued unabated: You don't realise how any sort of conformity bores me and angers me...I just can't fit in, even as a singer! God, I could do with a thing with a bloke RIGHT NOW, before I lose my nerve. Why has homosexuality still got outlaw status?' Rosemary couldn't answer that. 'It's your raging hormones again,' she had groaned, trying to smooth over the situation once and for all. But then, seeing him look so lost and forlorn, she kissed him like a mother kisses a child who has made an effort at pretend 'good-behaviour'; he reached out to her warmly across the table and kissed her on the cheek.

Bringing herself back to the present moment in Kew Gardens, Rosemary thought she needed to find herself a strong cup of tea, after that particular set of recollections. And she still had a lot of ground to cover regarding her own future, which so far she had barely addressed.