With great sadness, I must tell readers of the Bates Archive that Alan, who had been battling pancreatic cancer for nearly a year, died peacefully in a London hospital at 11 pm on Saturday, 27 December. His son Benedick and his brother Martin were with him.
A year ago, as the 2003 New Year celebration approached, Alan, at his home in Derbyshire recuperating from October hip surgery, learned that he would be knighted in the Queen's New Year list. Only a few weeks later, during a checkup, he received the cancer diagnosis, and began treatment immediately. He also contacted an old friend, actor Joanna Pettet, and asked her to join him in London for support. Alan felt and looked well and continued to work, filming "The Statement" and the American mini-series "Spartacus" during breaks in chemotherapy. His eventual hair loss due to treatment caused him to shave his head, and that is how he appears in "Spartacus."
He cherished his privacy, and asked those around him to treat him normally and not discuss his illness with others. As the year wore on he and Joanna attended plays, shopped, dined with friends, drove to and from Derbyshire, adopted a dog. He would admit to feeling "a bit tired," nothing worse; his courage and strength throughout his illness were remarkable. In October Alan cut the ribbon at a new arts center in Halesworth, Suffolk, and charmed the audience with an hilarious reading, complete with Scottish accent, of a poem by William McGonagall. It was his final public appearance. In late November the downward spiral began in earnest, and by mid-December he was in hospital.
Alan's nephew Karl, who lives in Australia, visited in late December. He writes: "... I am so so glad that I managed to have those precious ten days just being there with him. His wicked sense of humour shone through all the way as he held court with the specialists, doctors, nurses and of course all his visitors... pretending to fall asleep when he'd had enough and lifting an eyebrow when they'd gone! ... I feel blessed to have had such a strong cornerstone in my life."
We extend our sympathy to Alan's son Ben and his wife and little daughters; to Joanna; to brothers Jon and Martin; to Karl and other family; to Rosemary Geddes, Alan's secretary for nearly 30 years; and to Rosalind Chatto and Michael Linnit, his agents and long-time friends. They are in our thoughts as we mourn the loss of our dear friend and, with Alan's friends, colleagues and fans all over the world, celebrate his life and work.

Alan wrote wonderful, insightful memorial tributes, filled with telling details and good stories. It is a daunting act to follow, but I want to share with you some of my Bates memories:

- On one of my first visits to Alan's home in London he noticed, as I was leaving, that I was carrying several videotapes. He rummaged in kitchen drawers rejecting various plastic carrier bags until he found a pretty one from a Chelsea health food market. I was wearing mittens, so he took the tapes from me and packed them.
He was always attentive to small details such as that bag, and proud of his tiny house in St John's Wood - bought with his first film money - with its beautiful ornamental glass panels and clerestory windows that shed natural light in the bedroom and sitting room. It was filled with interesting and personal art. There were family portraits and a wall of paintings by his brother Martin; on the mantel, tiny mementos of plays and films; on a table, a stack of scripts; on the floor a large ficus benjamina always on the edge of extinction; on the walls drawings by Alan Halliday of Alan and Ben in various roles, as well as pastels of Tristan; in the kitchen, Don Bachardy portraits of Alan and his wife, Victoria; in the bathroom, a print by Paul Jenkins, the New York artist who did the huge poured paintings in "An Unmarried Woman," and remained a good friend; in the entrance hall, a portrait of Alan's mother as a young woman. Out the kitchen doors, the long, narrow walled garden was a magical place, beautiful in every season, with its bamboo, trailing vines, lavender and bumblebees, benches and roses.

- The house was a work in progress, with art frequently re-hung, rooms rearranged to make the most of very limited space. In the 90s Alan's little office moved from the guest room to a charming pre-fab shed at the bottom of the garden; the idea had come to him after seeing his friend Sting's work cottage. Thereafter, tea-trays and stacks of mail went to and from the Garden Office. Open windows let in bird song and the scent of flowers, and the skylights occasionally let in rain. Reminders of past work were everywhere: an anglepoise lamp was from the London production of "Butley;" coats and jackets in the hall closet were from "Duet for One" and "Force majeure."
One of Alan's costumes in "Antony and Cleopatra" was a sumptuous hand-painted silk robe. When I saw him in it onstage, I thought: "that will make a great bathrobe!" Sure enough, it eventually turned up on a hook at home, a piece of wearable art.

- How many critics have watched an actor while he reads their not yet published review? It is a singular experience. During the RSC's "Antony and Cleopatra," I was spending a month between London and Stratford, installing an orange iMac in Alan's office and working with Rosemary Geddes as she learned to use it and the internet. After seeing the play several times I wrote a review for the Bates Archive, in which I made one or two mildly critical observations about some of the costumes, which I found unflattering.
Alan read the four pages without comment, then looked up. Gently, he asked me to remove the bits about the costumes, saying "It's such a wonderful young company, and as it's on my web ['my web' was Alan's name for the BA] the actors will think it comes from me." I agreed, and removed the remarks. Months later, when the play transferred from Stratford to the Barbican in London, a number of costumes, including those I didn't like, had been changed.

- That same summer, when it came time for me to return to the US, Alan organised a lunch party. Sitting in the kitchen with a number of friends we ate pasta salad, drank wine and told stories. I mentioned an eccentric cleaner in New York called "Courteous Rapid Robert;" Alan loved the name, and followed up with a tale of one of his own cleaners, some years ago.
He said, "She came to me one day: 'Meestair Alan, you mohst give me more mohney. When I first work for you, is just you - now there is you; two boys; two rrrat-es [the twins' gerbils] ... and Mrs Victoria!" Alan was performing this, rolling those r's and also laughing at the same time, very animated, amused that she put his wife after the rrrat-es. He also said, "you know, she was right. We were a lot more work. I began to pay her more."

- An evening in New York, following an "Unexpected Man" performance, supper for four at Cafe Luxembourg. Rosemary (visiting us from London) and I are on the banquette, Alan and my husband Tom sit across from us. Alan enthusiastically regales us with a list of all the famous people who have come around to say hello after the play (Lauren Bacall! Mike Nichols!!) while at the same time reaching across and sampling bits of food from my plate. Later, in the cold street, he pulls on a Prada watch cap right down to his eyebrows, and looks marvelous - ruddy, handsome and vigorous.

- One night at the Dirty Duck pub in Stratford, Alan's kindness to my teenage daughter Polly, plying her with crisps while she has eyes only for his friend Leonard Whiting, across the table. In his teens Whiting had played Romeo in the Zeffirelli film, and Polly instantly recognized her hero, but was too shy to tell him so. Later Alan assures her that this was discretion, not shyness, but also says that Leonard would have been flattered to be recognized by a lovely young woman.

- A cast party at Sardi's in New York, given by Alan and Frank Langella to celebrate the 100th performance of "Fortune's Fool," a week before the Tony Awards. There are funny songs and a word game showing, as it's played, that not all actors know an adjective from an adverb. Waiters Bates and Langella, both superb hosts, pass among the tables with food and bubbly. Alan introduces me to friends as the creator of 'his web,' and says, when a Newsweek reporter raves about the BA, "You see, Karen, your reviews are as good as mine!"

- Chatting in his kitchen last December, I suggest that his occasional tiredness and tummy upsets might be due to the several operations he had endured during hip replacement: anaesthesia is a mysterious thing, with unpredictable after-effects. Alan says, "Oh, I don't mind anaesthesia at all! If I don't wake, well then, cheers - it's been lovely, but I'm off!"

There are countless other memories ... of his excess baggage which we and other friends sometimes brought to London, since Alan was a great shopper who accumulated CDs, books, gifts, wherever he went ... the books, music and poetry we both loved ... the pleasure of occasionally hearing his friendly growl on my voicemail ... the warm hellos and goodbyes until next time. And now this final parting, far too soon: there should have been many more plays and films, Falstaff, Prospero and Lear, more grandchildren, more time with friends, the autobiography he sometimes talked of writing when he had more leisure.
There's still a message on my phone: "Karen! Alan here ..." - so alive, it makes reality a fiction - I can't erase it.
Cheers, dear Alan - it has been lovely! Flights of angels sing thee to thy rest. |||

Karen Rappaport
Saturday, 27 December 2003

The photo at the top of the page was taken at Buckingham Palace on the day of Alan's investiture, 19 March 2003; the Halesworth photo was taken by Josephine Pentney; Alan and twins is from Hello! The other photos are my own.