The Avengers Forever: Fan Tales

	Fan Tales Page 1 of 9

How Margaret Warren Met Her Idols

In September 1967 my parents moved to the house my mother still lives in in West Los Angeles. By then I was of course an avid Avengers fan, and absolutely smitten with the handsome, elegant John Steed. I was still in high school, but I must confess that I'm one of these loyal types who, some thirty-odd years later, remains smitten with John Steed and, of course, Patrick Macnee (and no, my husband assures me he is not jealous in the least). I suppose all this had something to do with the fact that Steed was so gallant when it came to Progressive Women (and I was bound and determined to be such a woman, if ever I grew up) and, upon reflection now, I think it also had to do with the fact that he was cut from the same cloth as my father, who was an exceptionally handsome, debonair sort of fellow, with a head of thick, wavy hair, a nose of noble proportions, an impeccable taste in clothes, and a charming manner that melted women of all ages.

But I digress. When we moved to the West Side, I happily discovered that the local telephone directory included listing for the beachfront community of Malibu, a few miles up the coast from Santa Monica (which is the town adjacent to where we lived, and still live, in fact). I had read somewhere, probably in some ghastly Fan magazine, that Patrick Macnee was living in Malibu, or "Mecca", as I came to refer to that village. Pilgrimages (or "Haddj" or however one spells the word) were made to "Mecca" with mobile friends; I did not have my own car then, and only got to drive Daddy's on week-ends. One always hoped one might catch a glimpse of The Idol whilst tooling down the PCH (local term for the Pacific Coast Highway, which runs, not surprisingly, up the California coast and happens to pass though "Mecca").

Then one day I got the idea of looking in the telephone directory for the name "Macnee". An innocent age we lived in then, and an optimistic one. Having read a good deal of Agatha Christie by that age, I thought it wouldn't hurt to try to find my Idol, even in so pedestrian a source as the 'phone book. After all, why not at least eliminate the obvious? Well, as I said, it was an innocent age, before stalkers and weirdoes and suchlike, and apparently some Famous People did not find it necessary to go ex-directory at the time, for there he was, Patrick Macnee, listed in the West Side/Malibu directory. Complete with address.

Now bear in mind I had never done anything more radical than send a fan letter to Roy Rogers when I was about seven (got a reply, too, but that's another story). I was not wont to scour directories for Movie Stars. I didn't care about Movie Stars, or TV Stars, or anybody in The Biz—except for Patrick Macnee. So now, possessed of the knowledge of where the Idol lived, and what his telephone number was, I found myself confronting a real Moral Dilemma, to wit, do I intrude on his privacy just to tell him I am a Big Fan, or do I keep my new-found knowledge of his whereabouts locked in my teenage heart and remain forever the Incognita Appassionata?

After much soul-searching I decided to take a risk (not something I am prone to do at the best of times, being the circumspect soul I am, and have been since childhood—just ask my mother). I decided to telephone Mr. Macnee and tell him just how much I admired his TV program and, of course, him. It was May 1968—might as well have been a lifetime or two ago—and I actually got up the nerve to poke my finger in the holes of the rotary-dial telephone and spin that little wheel that would connect me to (I hoped) My Hero. God, what must that poor man have thought, getting a phone call in the middle of what sounded like a dinner party, from a 15 year old kid who thought he was the cat's pajamas.

Needless to say, he was very gracious about the whole thing, and very charming. He did discreetly ask how I had got his number, and I told him that it was quite simple, actually—he was listed in the telephone directory. That elicited an amused chuckle from him.

I don't recall exactly how this telephonic communication continued, but it did. I must have rung him back at some later date, because we continued to chat periodically over the next several years. He even returned my calls when I left a message for him. By then I was at UCLA, studying English Literature, and I reassured Mr. Macnee that I didn't want anything from him. I was not interested in show business, I only wanted to say hello now and then, and I think he probably appreciated the fact that someone would call him just to say hello and not expect to "get" something out of him.

I remember one time I spoke with him, and he mentioned to me, "You'll never guess who's here visiting." I did guess, but feigned ignorance. It was Diana Rigg. When I said, "Please give her my regards," he did, and told me she said to give me hers in return. In fact, it was Mr. Macnee who urged me to contact Diana when I went to London again in 1974.

Which of course brings me to my encounter with Diana. Right about the time I got my degree, I got a scholarship to spend the summer at the U. of Edinburgh taking various courses in Lit., History, etc. I stayed in London for a couple of days before going down to Edinburgh, and while I was there, I thought about what Mr. Macnee had said about Diana and how delightful she was, etc. and how she'd be delighted to have me say hello to her, that I managed to obtain her telephone number and rang her. She was very nice about the whole thing, too, and I did tell her that Mr. Macnee didn't think she'd get too upset if I rang her. Anyway, I suggested we get together for a drink. Unfortunately, she was very busy at the time with doing a play ("Pygmalion", as it happens) and would be busy until later; but she said I should get in touch again.

I then toddled off the Scotland, where I spent six or seven week, came back to London, saw her in the play, and sent her a note backstage that let her know I understood how hectic her schedule was and that I didn't have the heart to insist on our drinks date. I also told her I was leaving for the States within a few days. I stopped by the stage door of the theatre later, while on my way to a dinner engagement with a college friend, and got a very nice written note from her. As I was loping down the alley to get out to the street, the stage door chappie came chasing after me, yelling "Hoy! Hoy!" I thought I had dropped something. When I turned back, he was waving me back—the alley was a dog-leg, so I could not see the backstage entrance right away. When I did get there, however, Diana was standing in the doorway, still in costume, and told me she simply couldn't let me go home without meeting me in person. She'd assumed I was going to be at Edinburgh for a full term, you see, which is why she suggested getting together for those drinkies in November, when she would be free. She had no idea I was going back to the U.S. in September.

She appreciated the fact that I had some notion of how demanding it was to do a matinee and an evening performance (which was her schedule on that particular day, and which is why I only left her a note instead of hanging about). She was charming, gracious, and simply delightful, just as one would expect her to be.

Several years ago,I wrote to her, mentioning this episode from the mid-seventies, and she wrote me a very nice not in reply. Subsequently, when my husband and I went to London in 1992, we saw Dame Diana in "Medea", and I got a chance to talk briefly with her after the performance. I'm not sure she connected me with the person who'd called/met her years ago, but then I can't fault her for that. She was in one of those post-curtain states, where one is wound up and almost manic, so I assumed she'd rather be left to come down slowly, and not have some silly-ass fan hanging about!

When we chatted back in 1974, I told her I had seen her in "Macbeth" the year before. (She had appeared with Denis Quilley, whom you will recognize from the Avengers episode, "What the Butler Saw", playing Group Captain—"Groupie", in RAF parlance—Georgie Miles.) I mentioned that I was amused by her delivery of the line, "Screw your courage to the sticking-place, and we'll not fail." You see, she had paused, ever so slightly, between "Screw your courage" and "to the sticking-place," and I began to laugh (whilst the rest of the house remained seriously silent). At that point she looked up in the direction of the balcony where I was sitting. When I told her about this, she said, "Oh, so you were the one who laughed," and added something to the effect of, "At least someone was paying attention!"

And so, my friends, there you are—my brush with Our Heroes.