'Acting is like childbirth...you forget how painful it is'
Sheila Hancock is gearing up to star as a ‘dreadful, foul-mouthed woman’ in a three-month run of the West End play, Barking In Essex. ‘I like awful characters,’ she reveals. ‘I enjoy shocking the audience and at the same time making people laugh through that shock. It’s a nice reaction to go for.’
In fact, for this award-winning actress, life often imitates art. ‘On the whole, I think the impression is that I’m quite respectable when actually, I’m not. I’m quite shocking really. I swear a lot and I always have – and I’m constantly embarrassing my daughters.’
Sheila has a youthful, pixieish face, with bright eyes that fix you as she talks. She doesn’t look like an octogenarian, and in many ways she is astounded to find herself as one.
‘When I look at my life and compare it with other women of my age, I haven’t matured in the way that I should. I’ve learnt bugger all really. I still make the same mistakes,’ says 80-year-old Sheila. ‘It is very difficult to knuckle down to being old.’
But what’s even more shocking about Sheila is that, despite her hugely successful career as a thespian, being on stage doesn’t appeal to her. ‘I suffer terribly from stage fright and I don’t like it at all.’
So, what on earth has kept her at it for so long?
‘Oh it’s a sort of disease. Or it’s rather like childbirth – you forget how painful it is until you’re back doing it. What I try to get through to people is that I am a working actress; it is not a hobby, it’s my job.’
It also plays a part in her refusal to succumb to ageing. ‘It certainly keeps you on your toes. Eight shows a week is hard work – you have to be fit. To prepare for this show I’m swimming every day, walking all the time, eating properly. I think a lot of old people let themselves go, quite honestly. They sit in front of the television and the longer you sit, the less you can move. You’ve got to be disciplined with your body and mind.’
It is the interaction with others – the cast and the audience – that convinces her to conquer her stage fright every time. ‘It’s the joy of being with different age groups,’ she explains. ‘Anything when you’re older to keep you in touch with younger life and the big world, not just your closed world.
‘You have to see what’s going on, otherwise you’re only half living.’
Sheila certainly practises what she preaches. Along with her theatre work, she has just finished a five-year period serving as Chancellor of the University of Portsmouth; she is vice president of St Christopher’s Hospice; she is a founding member of a book group and, of course, she is a celebrated writer.
Following the death of her beloved husband, John Thaw, Sheila penned two hugely successful books – The Two Of Us, and Just Me – which chronicled their lives together and her efforts to come to terms with her bereavement.
‘The book I wrote about John was wonderful because I found out things about him. It was lovely to explore things I didn’t know, particularly his childhood, which he never talked about. It meant I could hang on to him for a bit.’
As Emmie Packer in Barking In Essex
The cathartic power of writing is widely recognised, but Sheila insists that she did not fi nd the process therapeutic. Rather she relished it because ‘it occupied my energy and my time. It gave me something to do.’
And with her theatre, philanthropy and other pursuits, she is continually finding something to do.
‘Now that I’m on my own, I can do that. When you’re younger you have a duty to your husband and your children, and there are a lot of people you have to consider before you do things. Had I not been widowed, it would be different. But I wouldn’t necessarily be happier.’
It is a bold – again, perhaps even shocking – admission, especially since in recent years Sheila’s name has become almost synonymous with the loss of her actor husband, John Thaw.
‘One thing I have learned as I’ve got older is that you don’t regret, it’s a waste of energy,’ she says emphatically. ‘I could sit here saying, “Oh I wish I hadn’t lost John and I wish I was still married”, but that’s not going to happen. Why even bother wasting your energy thinking like that? It requires a lot of eff ort and it takes a long time after somebody dies to do it, but you can.’
However, she does have one regret, which she reveals in hushed tones. ‘I wish I had started writing when I was younger. I was too frightened and thought I wasn’t educated enough. In my youth, women from my working-class background just didn’t write.’
Sheila is currently working on her first novel, and finds the process thrilling and frustrating in equal measure. She has the occasional twinge when she wishes she could relax and simply read a book instead, ‘but there is something in me that will always be driven.’
It is a character trait that has always fired her on, despite fear, grief and life’s other setbacks. It is also one that she inherited from the other great man in her life: her father. ‘My dad was very ambitious for me. He wanted things to be better for me than they were for him, bless him. He had hardly any education at all, although he was a wise and clever individual, but he was the sort of man who when I’d come back and say I was second in maths, he’d ask, “Who was first?”’
Would he be proud of her now? ‘He would, without a shadow of a doubt,’ she smiles. She goes on to give an account of her fi rst West End play in 1962, the acclaimed Rattle Of A Simple Man. ‘On the fi rst night, my dad was there crying in the dressing room – he was brought up in Italy so he was apt to be a bit emotional. I remember him with his arms around my producer, who was a rather distinguished man, saying: “You’re lucky to have my girl!” He was beside himself with pride. That was wonderful.’
Although she cherishes this memory, Sheila is keen to point out that she is under no illusion that her work will have a similar effect on anyone else. ‘People in my business are ephemeral. They are forgotten quickly, even within their own lifetime. You kid yourself if you think you’re important; you might be momentarily in the newspapers, but it doesn’t go very deep. It’s not like a great writer or composer whose work will live forever.’
Does that bother her? ‘Not in the least. If I’d have been Elgar or somebody I would have hoped I’d be remembered. But people remember Sheila Hancock? I don’t give a damn.’
Remembered or not, it’s clear she will be shocking till the last.
Sheila Hancock stars as Emmie Packer in Clive Exton’s new comedy Barking In Essex at Wyndham’s Theatre, Charing Cross Road, London WC2: 0844482 5120, www.barkinginessex.co.uk
In fact, for this award-winning actress, life often imitates art. ‘On the whole, I think the impression is that I’m quite respectable when actually, I’m not. I’m quite shocking really. I swear a lot and I always have – and I’m constantly embarrassing my daughters.’
Sheila has a youthful, pixieish face, with bright eyes that fix you as she talks. She doesn’t look like an octogenarian, and in many ways she is astounded to find herself as one.
‘When I look at my life and compare it with other women of my age, I haven’t matured in the way that I should. I’ve learnt bugger all really. I still make the same mistakes,’ says 80-year-old Sheila. ‘It is very difficult to knuckle down to being old.’
But what’s even more shocking about Sheila is that, despite her hugely successful career as a thespian, being on stage doesn’t appeal to her. ‘I suffer terribly from stage fright and I don’t like it at all.’
So, what on earth has kept her at it for so long?
‘Oh it’s a sort of disease. Or it’s rather like childbirth – you forget how painful it is until you’re back doing it. What I try to get through to people is that I am a working actress; it is not a hobby, it’s my job.’
It also plays a part in her refusal to succumb to ageing. ‘It certainly keeps you on your toes. Eight shows a week is hard work – you have to be fit. To prepare for this show I’m swimming every day, walking all the time, eating properly. I think a lot of old people let themselves go, quite honestly. They sit in front of the television and the longer you sit, the less you can move. You’ve got to be disciplined with your body and mind.’
It is the interaction with others – the cast and the audience – that convinces her to conquer her stage fright every time. ‘It’s the joy of being with different age groups,’ she explains. ‘Anything when you’re older to keep you in touch with younger life and the big world, not just your closed world.
‘You have to see what’s going on, otherwise you’re only half living.’
Sheila certainly practises what she preaches. Along with her theatre work, she has just finished a five-year period serving as Chancellor of the University of Portsmouth; she is vice president of St Christopher’s Hospice; she is a founding member of a book group and, of course, she is a celebrated writer.
Following the death of her beloved husband, John Thaw, Sheila penned two hugely successful books – The Two Of Us, and Just Me – which chronicled their lives together and her efforts to come to terms with her bereavement.
‘The book I wrote about John was wonderful because I found out things about him. It was lovely to explore things I didn’t know, particularly his childhood, which he never talked about. It meant I could hang on to him for a bit.’
As Emmie Packer in Barking In EssexThe cathartic power of writing is widely recognised, but Sheila insists that she did not fi nd the process therapeutic. Rather she relished it because ‘it occupied my energy and my time. It gave me something to do.’
And with her theatre, philanthropy and other pursuits, she is continually finding something to do.
‘Now that I’m on my own, I can do that. When you’re younger you have a duty to your husband and your children, and there are a lot of people you have to consider before you do things. Had I not been widowed, it would be different. But I wouldn’t necessarily be happier.’
It is a bold – again, perhaps even shocking – admission, especially since in recent years Sheila’s name has become almost synonymous with the loss of her actor husband, John Thaw.
‘One thing I have learned as I’ve got older is that you don’t regret, it’s a waste of energy,’ she says emphatically. ‘I could sit here saying, “Oh I wish I hadn’t lost John and I wish I was still married”, but that’s not going to happen. Why even bother wasting your energy thinking like that? It requires a lot of eff ort and it takes a long time after somebody dies to do it, but you can.’
However, she does have one regret, which she reveals in hushed tones. ‘I wish I had started writing when I was younger. I was too frightened and thought I wasn’t educated enough. In my youth, women from my working-class background just didn’t write.’
Sheila is currently working on her first novel, and finds the process thrilling and frustrating in equal measure. She has the occasional twinge when she wishes she could relax and simply read a book instead, ‘but there is something in me that will always be driven.’
It is a character trait that has always fired her on, despite fear, grief and life’s other setbacks. It is also one that she inherited from the other great man in her life: her father. ‘My dad was very ambitious for me. He wanted things to be better for me than they were for him, bless him. He had hardly any education at all, although he was a wise and clever individual, but he was the sort of man who when I’d come back and say I was second in maths, he’d ask, “Who was first?”’
Would he be proud of her now? ‘He would, without a shadow of a doubt,’ she smiles. She goes on to give an account of her fi rst West End play in 1962, the acclaimed Rattle Of A Simple Man. ‘On the fi rst night, my dad was there crying in the dressing room – he was brought up in Italy so he was apt to be a bit emotional. I remember him with his arms around my producer, who was a rather distinguished man, saying: “You’re lucky to have my girl!” He was beside himself with pride. That was wonderful.’
Although she cherishes this memory, Sheila is keen to point out that she is under no illusion that her work will have a similar effect on anyone else. ‘People in my business are ephemeral. They are forgotten quickly, even within their own lifetime. You kid yourself if you think you’re important; you might be momentarily in the newspapers, but it doesn’t go very deep. It’s not like a great writer or composer whose work will live forever.’
Does that bother her? ‘Not in the least. If I’d have been Elgar or somebody I would have hoped I’d be remembered. But people remember Sheila Hancock? I don’t give a damn.’
Remembered or not, it’s clear she will be shocking till the last.
Sheila Hancock stars as Emmie Packer in Clive Exton’s new comedy Barking In Essex at Wyndham’s Theatre, Charing Cross Road, London WC2: 0844482 5120, www.barkinginessex.co.uk