Being invested with a knighthood can have its advantages. The media will take a knight more seriously and give credence to their pronouncements no matter how inane. Financial services are generally easier to obtain. And there is the potential to be excused of questionable activities, no matter how criminal.
When the illustrious actor John Gielgud was awarded a knighthood in June 1953, he wrote to his friend Edith Evans to say that he “was very proud to be in such noble company,” and hoped to do his best and “be a credit to you all.”
Four months later, Gielgud was arrested for “importuning” an undercover police officer in a public convenience. He described this incident as a “moment of madness” that could have destroyed his career.
Gielgud waited a long time for his knighthood. He had been an international star of stage and film for over thirty years. He had starred in a record-breaking production of Hamlet on Broadway and caused a sensation in the lead of Romeo and Juliet in London’s West End. His contemporaries Laurence Olivier and Ralph Richardson had already been knighted by the time Gielgud received his honor—even though he was arguably the better, more respected and longer-serving actor. One can only assume that part of the reason for this delay came from suspicions over Gielgud’s long-time status as a well-known bachelor. This was something which had been a subject for comment and innuendo as far back as 1931, when in a eulogy to Gielgud’s performances in Romeo and Juliet and J. B. Priestley’s The Good Companions, some dignitary named Justice Langton commented that although “Mr. Gielgud [was] still unmarried” (nudge-nudge, wink, wink) he hoped the actor would “soon meet with not only a Good Nymph but a Constant Companion.”
Gielgud was gay at a time when homosexuality in Britain was punishable by a fine, or imprisonment, or chemical castration—as what happened to the code-breaking war hero Alan Turing. Gielgud was highly discreet about his sexual orientation. Not from fear of imprisonment but to avoid upsetting his mother.
In 1951, the Conservative Party won the general election and Winston Churchill was returned to office to serve his second term as Prime Minister. Churchill had high hopes for his premiership with plans to develop Britain’s “special relationship” with America and maintain the country’s position as the third major force in the world. At home, the Conservatives were preoccupied with building a new future. However, Churchill was old and his health poor. In 1953, he suffered a mini-stroke. Rather than retiring, he continued with his obligations as Prime Minister much to frustration of his deputy Anthony Eden. Under the Home Secretary David Maxwell Fyfe, 1st Earl of Kilmuir, the Tories seemed obsessed with a “plague of sodomy” which they believed gripped the country. Buggers were everywhere—or so it seemed to Fyffe. He became determined to “rid England of this male vice … this plague.” The press were encouraged to manufacture homophobic hysteria among the public by which the police could use their full force to arrest and intimidate gay men. Prosecutions for “gross indecency between men” rose by almost 500% to 5,443 under Fyffe’s charge.
The law stipulated that a man could be arrested for merely the intent of committing an act of “gross indecency.” Bars and clubs were raided, phones bugged, suspected homosexuals placed under police surveillance and officers were sent undercover to entrap men in public locations such as toilets which were known for cruising or rather cottaging.
Gielgud in his Oscar-winning role as Hobson in ‘Arthur’ with Dudley Moore and Liza Minnelli.
On the night of Tuesday October 20th, fired up by a few drinks and after a long day’s rehearsal on the play A Day by the Sea, Gielgud popped into his local public convenience on the off chance of some sex. There at the urinal lurked an undercover policeman to whom Gielgud unfortunately gave the “glad eye.” How he knew this unassuming young man was up for a bit of cock fun—one can only surmise. As the great Alan Bennett once joked, pointing percy at the porcelain for twenty minutes is a performance that merits an Oscar or a Tony—more often a Tony than an Oscar in such circumstances. Gielgud was arrested and taken to Chelsea police station where he gave his name as “Arthur Gielgud” and his occupation as “a clerk earning £1,000 a year.” He was charged with “importuning” and ordered to appear in court the following morning.
That night, Gielgud contemplated suicide. Though he reckoned his career was over, his greatest concern was the effect his arrest would have on his mother:
I thought it might kill her. She hated publicity of any kind. Thank God my father had died before that because he would never have got over it.
Perhaps if he had contacted his theatrical agent Binkie Beaumont, then a few favors might have been called in and the whole episode dropped. Instead, Gielgud decided to take full responsibility for his actions. As he later wrote in a letter to Cecil Beaton:
Of course I’ve been tortured by the thought that I acted stupidly afterwards, insisting on tackling it without advice of any kind—and I just couldn’t bear the idea of a case and weeks of obscene publicity—even if I had to go off with a clean sheet the slur would still have been there, and everyone would have gossiped and chattered. As it is - well, I can only feel that I’ve been spoilt and protected all my life and now it’s something basic and far-reaching that I’ve got to face for many years to come. The miracle is that my friends have stood by me so superbly, and even the public looks like letting me go on with my work. Both things would not have been so twenty years ago (though I don’t think either the press would have been so cruelly open).
There are many other things to be thankful for. For one, I don’t think my Mother has realised the full significance of it, or else she’s the most wonderful actress in the Terry Family!
[Gielgud was the great-nephew of the renowned actor Dame Ellen Terry.]
Sir John Gielgud by Allen Warren.
The following morning, Gielgud appeared at Chelsea Magistrate’s Court where he pleaded guilty to the charge of importuning:
I cannot imagine how I could have been so stupid. I was tired and had had a few drinks. I was not responsible for my action.
The magistrate claimed he heard “something like 600 of these cases every year” and thought it time he sent such people to prison. However, due to Gielgud’s contrite behavior and his guilty plea, the magistrate treated the whole incident as “a bad case of drunk and disorderly” and fined Gielgud £10 with admonition that he reported to his doctor immediately and seek medical advice.
Surprisingly, the magistrate failed to recognise Gielgud. This would have been an end to the whole sorry incident if there had not been a journalist from the London Evening Standard in the court. This hack (let’s imagine a low rent character like Minty from Graham Greene’s England Made Me) knew the true identity of the politely spoken clerk “Arthur Gielgud.” Within hours, Gielgud’s arrest and fine was front page news.
By the time Gielgud returned to rehearsals for the play A Day by the Sea the whole story was out. It left his fellow actors (Ralph Richardson, Irene Worth, Lewis Casson, Meg Jenkins, and Sybil Thorndike) in a tricky situation. Should they commiserate with Gielgud? Or, pretend nothing had happened? Thankfully, the grande dame Sybil Thorndike knew exactly what to do. Giving Gielgud a an all-embracing hug and a peck on each cheek she said:
“Oh, John, darling, you have been a silly bugger.”
Rehearsals were finished and the play taken on the road. The first performance was in Liverpool. Terrified as to how the audience might react, Gielgud froze in the wings and missed his cue. Realizing what had happened, Thorndike once more came to his rescue, as Richard Huggett recounted in his biography of Binkie Beaumont:
She grabbed him and whispered fiercely, “Come on, John darling, they won’t boo me”, and led him firmly on to the stage. To everybody’s astonishment and indescribable relief, the audience gave him a standing ovation. They cheered, they applauded, they shouted. The message was quite clear. The English public had always been loyal to its favourites, and this was their chance to show that they didn’t care tuppence what he had done in his private life ... they loved him and respected him dearly. It was a moment never to be forgotten by those who witnessed it.
After the tour finished, Gielgud suffered a nervous breakdown and never talked about his arrest again. However, the idea that a knight of the realm could be arrested for cottaging led some to think that homosexuality should no longer be considered a criminal act. This in turn led to the Wolfenden Report of 1957 which in turn led to the Sexual Offences Act of 1967 which decriminalized homosexual acts between consenting adults in England and Wales. This was later followed in Scotland in 1980.
Below, Gielgud discusses acting in an interview from 1965.
Previously on Dangerous Minds:
Noel Coward performing ‘Mad Dogs and Englishmen,’ 1955
Ian McKellen gives a Master Class on acting Shakespeare, 1982
Jayne Mansfield reads the poetry of Shakespeare, Shelley, Browning and others
Mick Jagger, James Fox, Anita Pallenberg, Nic Roeg, Donald Cammell filming ‘Performance’ in 1968