'She was the only woman I ever loved'
Barry Norman – the film critic and broadcaster who has spent his life conversing with the rich and famous – writes in his latest book: ‘There’s a number of people whom I genuinely love, a larger number whom I like or like a lot, and the rest I’m not too bothered about.’
He may remain refreshingly unfazed by celebrity, but one person who did affect him profoundly was his late wife, the novelist Diana Norman (née Narracott). Diana passed away in 2011 after months of serious illness. ‘She’s been dead for two and a half years now,’ he says, ‘but it still feels like yesterday. A very important part of me has gone with her and there is nothing that can replace that. Nothing at all.’
In the weeks following her death, Norman penned an article for the Daily Mail. Opening with the line, ‘Two weeks ago I lost my wife and the best friend a man could ever hope for,’ it received an overwhelming response from readers. Now Norman has written See You In The Morning, his 21st book, which is an extension of that article, a chronicle of his family’s life and – in many ways – an ode to his wife.
‘I just thought people ought to know about her, because she was kind of special,’ he says softly. Barry and Diana were married for 53 years. They met as young journalists in 1957, when they were both sent to cover the Moscow State Circus which had arrived in town. ‘I remember the first time I saw her quite vividly,’ he smiles. ‘It wasn’t a job I particularly wanted to do – I’d been working all day and I wasn’t mad keen on the circus anyway – but I noticed her because she was young and pretty and about my age. Seeing her there cheered me up no end.’ In the week that followed, despite both having been on Fleet Street for some time and never having met, Barry and Diana ran into each every other day. ‘We both thought this is fate, so we better go out and see what happens.’
There’s was a long a happy marriage, but far from perfect. ‘I’m always amazed by people who’ve been married for 50 years and say they’ve never had a cross word. What kind of marriage is that? You can’t live with somebody for more than a day or two without some kind of conflict, unless you’re totally indifferent to that person. There was never any indifference in our relationship, and we had many a cross word.’
The portrait of Diana which emerges in See You In The Morning is one of a brilliant woman who, like everyone else, had her shortcomings. ‘I want people to like the book as I want people to like Diana. I really hope she comes across the way I want her to.’
And what way is that?
He lists Diana’s qualities in a slow and considered fashion. ‘As a lovely, funny, beautiful, eccentric and very talented woman. I would like people to feel this is a woman they would like to know.’
It is a testament to the skill of his writing in that although she does seem all of these things, she is made all the more likeable by the anecdotes which also reveal her faults. ‘She was very, very good at arguments. She always came out as the victim, no matter who started it and who was in the wrong. And she would never, ever apologise, or admit she was wrong.’ Norman writes of one instance, not long before she died, when Diana broke his electric razor. ‘That was astonishing, how it turned out to be utterly my fault that she’d knocked it off a shelf,’ he laughs.
Despite decades immersed in the film industry, Norman remains resolutely unluvvy in every aspect of his life. He was adamant that he did not want to romanticise Diana, or their life together, for the sake of easy reading. ‘It’s all very truthful. Diana would have hated to be romanticised, that would have really made her cringe. She was much less sentimental than I am.’
Diana as a young woman
Besides, it is clear that their relationship was all the greater for its imperfection. ‘Boredom never entered into it. Fury, frustration, anger perhaps…but never boredom. I suppose the book might help people to realise that if they’re having frequent rows in their marriage it doesn’t mean the marriage is no good. It means the opposite actually: it means that you care enough.’
Despite the sad realities of the book (Norman reveals that recounting Diana’s death, in particular, was an ‘emotional struggle’), it is prevented from being a ‘tearjerker’ by the stories of Norman’s career which interweave the tales of family life.
In his light-hearted, conversational tone, he regales the reader with accounts of his friendship with Laurence Olivier, run-ins with Mel Gibson and hilarious interviews with Sylvester Stallone. In fact, having been a gossip journalist, a respected film critic and all-round broadcasting legend for more than five decades, it seems there is virtually no one he hasn’t met. And yet – to hark back to his own admission – he is rarely, if ever, unduly impressed by somebody.
‘I’ve never been starstruck, but that was because I was brought up by film people.’ Norman’s father was director Leslie Norman, the man behind classic films such as Dunkirk and The Long and the Short and the Tall. ‘They used to come and talk to my Dad about whatever film they were making, sit and chat and tell him their troubles, and these troubles seemed to be much the same as everybody else’s. I realised very young that they’re working stiffs like the rest of us, only a bit prettier than most.’
Of course, with more than 25 years appearing on BBC’s Film as a critic and commentator, Norman also has personal experience of fame. ‘The first time I realised the fame accrued to you if you were on television was when I was interviewing Roger Moore at The Savoy. We came out together to get into our respective cars and there was a mob of people there. I stepped back – as I had always done as a journalist – but suddenly they were surrounding me too.’
Norman admits that he finds today’s cult of celebrity to be ‘total nonsense. Now you appear on television for five minutes and you’re a TV star with your love life splashed across the tabloids. Back when I started on television, I could honestly say the idea of becoming famous never occurred to be for one moment. Celebrity was a by-product, and certainly not one that any of us sought.’
Although he continues to write, and review the latest films, Norman long ago left the rigmarole of the celebrity circuit. He lives in the village of Datchworth, in the same house that he and Diana bought at the beginning of their marriage, and continues to miss her greatly. ‘There’s a sort of loneliness which comes, particularly in the evening. I’m not lonely for company – I’ve got too much going on up here,’ he says, pointing to his head, ‘to keep myself busy without having to make light-hearted conversation with somebody. But it’s her conversation that I miss.’ He reveals he still occasionally chats to a photograph of Diana, or to the chair in which she used to sit. ‘If I was working late, she would always wait up for me. I’d often find her asleep in that chair, waiting to make sure I was safely home.
He pauses. ‘There’s nobody doing that any more. These things affect you.’
Although he lights up when he talks about her, it is evident that his grief is a constant weight. ‘I do find I’m much more reluctant to get up in the mornings that I used to be,’ he says, without self-pity. ‘But I do get up and keep myself occupied. That’s pretty well all one can do really.’
Whether he will write another book remains to be seen, but See You In The Morning is certainly up there amongst his finest; it is an honest portrait of a real, flawed, fantastic relationship.
‘There isn’t any recipe for a long and successful marriage, I think you have to find your own way to it,’ he reflects. ‘We did that by tolerating each other, and being prepared to dislike each other from time to time.
‘And like and love are very different. Liking comes and goes, but love is always there. Diana is the only woman I ever loved.’
See You In The Morning by Barry Norman (Doubleday, £18.99) is published on 26 September.
He may remain refreshingly unfazed by celebrity, but one person who did affect him profoundly was his late wife, the novelist Diana Norman (née Narracott). Diana passed away in 2011 after months of serious illness. ‘She’s been dead for two and a half years now,’ he says, ‘but it still feels like yesterday. A very important part of me has gone with her and there is nothing that can replace that. Nothing at all.’
In the weeks following her death, Norman penned an article for the Daily Mail. Opening with the line, ‘Two weeks ago I lost my wife and the best friend a man could ever hope for,’ it received an overwhelming response from readers. Now Norman has written See You In The Morning, his 21st book, which is an extension of that article, a chronicle of his family’s life and – in many ways – an ode to his wife.
‘I just thought people ought to know about her, because she was kind of special,’ he says softly. Barry and Diana were married for 53 years. They met as young journalists in 1957, when they were both sent to cover the Moscow State Circus which had arrived in town. ‘I remember the first time I saw her quite vividly,’ he smiles. ‘It wasn’t a job I particularly wanted to do – I’d been working all day and I wasn’t mad keen on the circus anyway – but I noticed her because she was young and pretty and about my age. Seeing her there cheered me up no end.’ In the week that followed, despite both having been on Fleet Street for some time and never having met, Barry and Diana ran into each every other day. ‘We both thought this is fate, so we better go out and see what happens.’
There’s was a long a happy marriage, but far from perfect. ‘I’m always amazed by people who’ve been married for 50 years and say they’ve never had a cross word. What kind of marriage is that? You can’t live with somebody for more than a day or two without some kind of conflict, unless you’re totally indifferent to that person. There was never any indifference in our relationship, and we had many a cross word.’
The portrait of Diana which emerges in See You In The Morning is one of a brilliant woman who, like everyone else, had her shortcomings. ‘I want people to like the book as I want people to like Diana. I really hope she comes across the way I want her to.’
And what way is that?
He lists Diana’s qualities in a slow and considered fashion. ‘As a lovely, funny, beautiful, eccentric and very talented woman. I would like people to feel this is a woman they would like to know.’
It is a testament to the skill of his writing in that although she does seem all of these things, she is made all the more likeable by the anecdotes which also reveal her faults. ‘She was very, very good at arguments. She always came out as the victim, no matter who started it and who was in the wrong. And she would never, ever apologise, or admit she was wrong.’ Norman writes of one instance, not long before she died, when Diana broke his electric razor. ‘That was astonishing, how it turned out to be utterly my fault that she’d knocked it off a shelf,’ he laughs.
Despite decades immersed in the film industry, Norman remains resolutely unluvvy in every aspect of his life. He was adamant that he did not want to romanticise Diana, or their life together, for the sake of easy reading. ‘It’s all very truthful. Diana would have hated to be romanticised, that would have really made her cringe. She was much less sentimental than I am.’
Diana as a young womanBesides, it is clear that their relationship was all the greater for its imperfection. ‘Boredom never entered into it. Fury, frustration, anger perhaps…but never boredom. I suppose the book might help people to realise that if they’re having frequent rows in their marriage it doesn’t mean the marriage is no good. It means the opposite actually: it means that you care enough.’
Despite the sad realities of the book (Norman reveals that recounting Diana’s death, in particular, was an ‘emotional struggle’), it is prevented from being a ‘tearjerker’ by the stories of Norman’s career which interweave the tales of family life.
In his light-hearted, conversational tone, he regales the reader with accounts of his friendship with Laurence Olivier, run-ins with Mel Gibson and hilarious interviews with Sylvester Stallone. In fact, having been a gossip journalist, a respected film critic and all-round broadcasting legend for more than five decades, it seems there is virtually no one he hasn’t met. And yet – to hark back to his own admission – he is rarely, if ever, unduly impressed by somebody.
‘I’ve never been starstruck, but that was because I was brought up by film people.’ Norman’s father was director Leslie Norman, the man behind classic films such as Dunkirk and The Long and the Short and the Tall. ‘They used to come and talk to my Dad about whatever film they were making, sit and chat and tell him their troubles, and these troubles seemed to be much the same as everybody else’s. I realised very young that they’re working stiffs like the rest of us, only a bit prettier than most.’
Of course, with more than 25 years appearing on BBC’s Film as a critic and commentator, Norman also has personal experience of fame. ‘The first time I realised the fame accrued to you if you were on television was when I was interviewing Roger Moore at The Savoy. We came out together to get into our respective cars and there was a mob of people there. I stepped back – as I had always done as a journalist – but suddenly they were surrounding me too.’
Norman admits that he finds today’s cult of celebrity to be ‘total nonsense. Now you appear on television for five minutes and you’re a TV star with your love life splashed across the tabloids. Back when I started on television, I could honestly say the idea of becoming famous never occurred to be for one moment. Celebrity was a by-product, and certainly not one that any of us sought.’
Although he continues to write, and review the latest films, Norman long ago left the rigmarole of the celebrity circuit. He lives in the village of Datchworth, in the same house that he and Diana bought at the beginning of their marriage, and continues to miss her greatly. ‘There’s a sort of loneliness which comes, particularly in the evening. I’m not lonely for company – I’ve got too much going on up here,’ he says, pointing to his head, ‘to keep myself busy without having to make light-hearted conversation with somebody. But it’s her conversation that I miss.’ He reveals he still occasionally chats to a photograph of Diana, or to the chair in which she used to sit. ‘If I was working late, she would always wait up for me. I’d often find her asleep in that chair, waiting to make sure I was safely home.
He pauses. ‘There’s nobody doing that any more. These things affect you.’
Although he lights up when he talks about her, it is evident that his grief is a constant weight. ‘I do find I’m much more reluctant to get up in the mornings that I used to be,’ he says, without self-pity. ‘But I do get up and keep myself occupied. That’s pretty well all one can do really.’
Whether he will write another book remains to be seen, but See You In The Morning is certainly up there amongst his finest; it is an honest portrait of a real, flawed, fantastic relationship.
‘There isn’t any recipe for a long and successful marriage, I think you have to find your own way to it,’ he reflects. ‘We did that by tolerating each other, and being prepared to dislike each other from time to time.
‘And like and love are very different. Liking comes and goes, but love is always there. Diana is the only woman I ever loved.’
See You In The Morning by Barry Norman (Doubleday, £18.99) is published on 26 September.