runs, then he would have made some formal provision for Lou. But again, his diary indicates that he had considered the matter less than a month before the fatal night: ‘Thought of making an end of it tonight & then wondered whether things were left in proper order. Should I write a letter to Michael? best of people & best of my friends. Would it be fair to ask him to tell all the others?’ It would seem that the problem of Lou was already settled in his mind, and Michael now confirms that it was so.
Michael Whittaker: ‘He hadn’t left Louie any money because he thought that she would go into a home and the home would take her money. He thought she would never ever live with her daughter, which she subsequently did. He said to me, because I was being left some of his money, “Anyway, if she’s in the home I know you’ll keep your eye on her.” I thought all this was academic anyway, that she’d die before Kenneth. To find that she was living with her daughter, sleeping on her sofa in a one-bedroom flat in Camden, I thought if Kenneth was alive
The infamous last Will and Testament that seemingly left no provision for his beloved 87-year-old mother.
‘It never went off. Some of the papers, usual stuff, they said “Kenneth Williams leaves his mother nothing”, “Poor woman out on the street”, all this drama! That’s why I was going to make a statement but it wasn’t necessary in the end. It was drawn up by my lawyers to say that she hadn’t been completely abandoned and I did, indeed, look after her.’ (Michael Whittaker)
Draft press release to address the questions Kenneth’s will had raised.
now to see his ageing mother like this! So I arranged for her to get an annuity and also to buy the flat upstairs which had two bedrooms and two bathrooms.’
Leaving the welfare of his closest relatives in the hands of Michael Whittaker proved a safe policy, though at first Lou and Pat Williams saw only the slight in it and not the wisdom. When they talked to Woman’s Own, Michael’s arrangements had yet to be made.
Pat Williams: ‘One of Ken’s beneficiaries came round, and he said, “I’ve been left half of Ken’s flat.” I rang the solicitor and said, “At least you might have had the common decency to have advised my mother first.” He said, “Why should I tell you? Neither you nor your mother are mentioned in the will.” I said to him, “I’m not interested for myself but my mother’s very upset,” and he said he’d send us a copy of the will.
‘It wasn’t a shock that I hadn’t been left anything, but the only thing that niggles me is that as Mother devoted so much time and affection on him, the least he could have done was make a proviso when he made out his will. He should have said, “I leave everything to Joe Bloggs, providing he looks after my mother for the rest of her life.”’
Effectively that’s what did happen, once Michael Whittaker had realized that Pat and Lou were living together under cramped and stressful circumstances.
Michael Whittaker: ‘He always thought Louie would go into a home and she would never live with her daughter, because her relationship with Pat had been rocky, to say the least. But she did indeed live with her daughter, and after things were sorted out she lived quite a few more years. She had that great London vitality. She was a real Cockney sparrow. She went dancing at the Irish Club in Camden.
‘Pat found it quite stressful. Fundamentally she liked having Louie there, but it was stressful. One day the doctor said to Pat, “Look, you need a rest. I’ll think up some excuses for Louie to have tests at the hospital, she’ll go in for a few days and give you rest.” Well, Louie went in to University College Hospital, then got a bug and died. Pat felt terrible.’
Even in the later years of his life, Kenneth was torn between putting Lou into a care home and continuing to look after her himself, as he revealed in a letter to Michael Whittaker.
Paul Richardson: ‘He changed his will about two or three years before he died because I was actually with him. After seeing his bank manager, we walked down the road with him tearing up the old will and putting it into each of the bins we passed. “You’re in it!” he said. When he died, his flat was left to myself and his godson along with all the contents of it which included the diaries and letters. Michael Whittaker was left the flats and the bulk of the money, and Michael Anderson was left the royalties.’
Michael Anderson:’ “I’ve been to see my lawyer,” he said, pointing at me. “You can keep the royalties, and I don’t want to hear any more about it!” I’d forgotten all about it, and then his lawyer rang me up and said, “Mr Anderson, Kenneth Williams has left you his royalties.” Then it all came back to me. An unusual thing to happen, that an agent be left somebody’s royalties. My colleagues couldn’t believe it! I did ask them – because they represented some pretty important people – and not one of them had ever been left anything by their clients! I think he thought it was tidy. He did say to me, “Because it’s easy, you don’t want to start sending them to other people. You may as well keep them yourself. It’s tidier that way.” It was a very practical solution for him. His royalties included sales of tapes of Round the Horne, sales of Acid Drops and the other books. No Carry Ons, obviously, because they were buy-outs.’
Many of Kenneth’s friends complained in his lifetime that they were allowed to dwell only in one zone of his life, and never glimpsed the totality of his acquaintanceship. Their one chance to do so came in the autumn of 1988.
Nick Lewis: ‘Michael Whittaker rang and invited me to the memorial service, which was very generous of him to remember me, because I’d only met Kenneth once. So on the 29th of September, a Thursday, I went down to St Paul’s Church in Covent Garden, and pushed passed the photographers on the steps to get in. It was, as the vicar said at the beginning, a very happy service, we were there to celebrate Kenneth’s life, not to mourn him. It was more like a variety show performed by Kenneth’s old friends: Gordon Jackson playing the piano while Kenneth Connor did that wonderful pidgin French song, various poetry readings, and my favourite – and this has stayed with me ever since – was Barbara Windsor singing an old music-hall song called “The Boy I Love is up in the Gallery”. First of all I was stunned by what a good singing voice she had, and the way she was singing it to the back of the church, it was just full of meaning as though he was up there watching us and enjoying it all. It was truly, really touching.’
Angela Chidell: ‘That was very, very moving. Her voice never once wavered and she sang unaccompanied. I was carried away by the perfectionism of the woman. Being something of a performer myself I appreciate those moments when something is so right that it’s a rare moment. She shone like a star from above. Everything just stood still and there was a beam of light across the whole congregation. It was a moment of time that you can’t forget, like a teardrop.’
The memorial service running order, which featured ‘All Things Bright and Beautiful’—a song Kenneth would often recite in German! (Even though the Actor’s Church has hundreds of commemorative plaques, a lack of wall space prevents any further tributes to deceased artists, including Kenneth.)
‘On one occasion when we worked with Kenneth he performed “Ma Crepe Suzette” and, of course, it brought the house down. We completely adored it and, rather nervously afterwards, asked him if we could use it. He was delighted and