Screenland (May 1943-Oct 1944)

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The place she had in Capri — no one knows what has happened to that. Gracie has open house every weekend for the boys in the service. Whenever any English boys of the RAF, British Merchant Marine, and of the English Navy get a leave, they head for "Auntie Grade's" where they listen to her sing, swim in her pool, play tennis on her court, and eat plentifully of her food. Recently, the American boys have been running their Allies a close race for these visits to the Fields home. Often, Gracie writes letters home to the boys' relatives. Gracie was born in a family of ordinary people and she has yet to forget that she is one of the little people. She first saw the light of day in Rochdale in Lancashire on January 9, 1898. Her family was considered fairly well off in those days. Her father was an engineer and earned $7 a week. "Maybe we did have hard sledding," Gracie said. "But mother is sensitive about our finances and she always likes me to mention the fact that we weren't begging in the streets." Her mother used to do the laundry for the theatrical artists around Rochdale. When the laundry was finished, Gracie would take it back to the theaters. During these visits to the theaters, she would listen to the tunes and songs being rehearsed backstage. When Gracie got home, she would practise them. Soon she was being heard all over Rochdale. And usually in front of some theatrical office in the hopes that an impresario would hear her and ask her to sign a contract. She was six at the time and was the first of the four Fields youngsters to start a career. (Her brother, Tommy, is the only other one besides Gracie who is still entertaining. And he does the same thing as Gracie in England today.) Her first job was in a local movie house where, as Gracie says, "I was an echo backstage for another singer." Her salary couldn't have been much for she left this job to take another with a juvenile troupe, "Clara Coverdale's Dainty Dots," for more money. This time she got a shilling a week and keep — or twenty-five cents. But Gracie hardly ever collected her salary. It was a rule that if any child misbehaved, she would not get any money. Gracie did not always behave. At fifteen, Gracie was still trying her luck in the provinces — or "sticks." Then her father decided she ought to come home. His neighbors had been telling him that "bein' an actress wasn't a bit of a steady job." So Gracie came back and got a job in Rochdale in a mill as a cotton winder. But she kept right on singing. Soon the workers were stopping work to listen to her. Her audience grew day by day. While she sang, other girls would work her loom for her. This was fine for her, but the company objected, and, as she says, "I was asked for me resignation." Her next real job was in vaudeville where she did an act imitating popular stars. At this time, she had visions of being another Madame Patti, the Lily Pons of her day. One night she was doing a comic song and the audience howled. Gracie was crushed, for she had never considered herself a comic artist. That was the beginning. After this, she was on the stage in pantomime in a show called "Dick Whittington." This was in 1914. But her first big break came when she was cast in "Mr. Power of London." This was supposed to be a modest little affair to play only the provinces, but Gracie's performance made the play a big success and it was brought to London. From then on, she was made. While she was working in "Mr. Power of London," she married the producer, Archie Pitt, but was later divorced. In 1925, she played in "By Request," a show that ran three years in London. Then, in 1928, she received the first of three command performances before the King and Queen. At her last appearance before Their Majesties in 1938, she was awarded a rose colored badge and ribbon signifying, "Commander of the Most Excellent Order of the British Empire." Shortly after this, she came to America to appear at the Palace. Because she was told that people would never be able to understand her Lancashire dialect— or her songs — she was advised to Americanize herself. The result was that she flopped horribly. "That was the last time I ever tried being somebody but myself," she said to me. "Of course, some still say it's hard to understand me, but I don't see it. Supposing I do put an 'haitch' where an 'haitch' shouldn't be or leave one off when it should be left on. It's still English, isn't it?" Back in England in 1931, Gracie made her first film, "Sally in Our Alley." It was such a 'hit that she continued to make pictures. She also appeared in plays and revues at the same time. By now her salary was about $750,000 a year, making her the highest paid entertainer in the world. And she was, at the same time, the most beloved figure in the English entertainment world. Her public really loved her. In 1939, she became ill as the result of a serious operation. For days crowds flocked to the hospital to ask, "How's our Gracie?" The crowds were so big that finally bulletins had to be posted several times during the day to inform the people of her condition. This had never been done before except for the King. When she was at last able to go to her window in her room, she waved at the crowd still standing outside through rain and fog and cried out, " 'Ello now! I'm gettin' better." The cheers were deafening. At this time, Gracie was told she couldn't work for a good many months. Gracie paid no attention to her doctors, and a few weeks later she was in France entertaining the soldiers. Not many of the English Army who were later to see the horrors of Dunkirk will ever forget that Christmas Eve near the front when Gracie sang and sang for them. She stayed near them until about two weeks before Dunkirk. By the time you read this, Gracie will be on her way doing more shows for the boys in the service and overseas. When she returns U tollywood, it'll be another pictu ■ her and Monty Woolley. D-rSc hoi Is % lino pads 78 ScRliENLAND