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DAILY MAIL WEEKEND, 10 July 1999

A West End Girl At Heart

Wendy Richard lives in a four-storey house in London's West End.  She's played Pauline Fowler in EastEnders since the very first programme, in February 1985, and was sexy Miss Brahms in Are You Being Served?  Her character has, of course, had a traumatic life with an HIV-positive son, a teenage daughter who fell pregnant by a much older man, and an unfaithful husband who was wrongly sent to prison before inconveniently dying. All in all, it's been a stormy 14 years, and Wendy's real life has been equally tough.

Her parents ran the pub in London's Shepherd Market where Ruth Ellis, who was hanged for murdering her lover, used to drink.  Wendy's father had been married before and she has a much older sister who doesn't even know that Wendy, now aged 52 [sic], is a relation.  She spent a much-loved but rootless childhood moving from one pub to another.  When she was 11 years old, her father, who was ill and suffering from depression, committed suicide.  He gassed himself in the sitting room and she was the one to find him.  Immediately her devastated mother, who then had to run the business on her own, sent her beloved daughter away to boarding school.

At 15, Wendy yearned to be an actress, but she left school to become a junior in Fortnum & Mason's fashion department.  She earned just over £3 a week picking clothes up off the floor, but she was forbidden to speak to the customers.

By this time her mother was running a small hotel in King's Cross and had managed to save enough money to send her daughter to drama school.  When Wendy left the school, she was a leggy, stunning blonde and the acting work poured in.  She got a part in a movie with Albert Finney and her picture was outside the Empire cinema in London's Leicester Square.  Then, just as her career really seemed to be taking off, her mother died of cancer.

"She was only 64, which is no age at all," says Wendy.  "I was just leaving home to see her in hospital when the matron phoned and told me she'd died.  Mummy was such a hard worker.  I suppose that's where I've got it from, because I'm a grafter.  I was a late baby for my parents so I'm arrogant enough to think I wasn't put here for nothing."

Wendy's first marriage to businessman Len Black lasted only five months because they were totally ill-matched.  "I married him because I was afraid of being on my own," she said once.  She then married a man who beat her up and there were days when she went to rehearsals with lumps of hair torn from her head.

Her background has given her a strange mixture of vulnerability and stoical toughness.  She's never become grand, but when she makes up her mind, she can be implacable.  She's self-protective because for too long there was nobody else to protect her.

A few years ago she wanted to help other battered wives.  She agreed to appear on the television show Kilroy and bitterly regrets it.  "I was so naive, I though I was just going to be part of a group.  I meant to say to other women, 'Look, if you're in that sort of situation, you must get out of it.'  But then, unbeknown to me, someone from Kilroy gave the transcript to a journalist and it was banner headlines in the newspapers.  It looked as though I'd given an interview.  So I wouldn't touch the programme with a bargepole."

In 1990 she embarked on a third marriage, to Irish carpet fitter Paul Glorney, whom she met in her local pub.  "I'd just split with somebody else," she says, "and I was caught on the rebound."  He was six years younger and they had absolutely no interests or tastes in common.  Four years later it ended in acrimony and bitterness after some savagely unhappy times, and she said, "I'll never marry again.  I can't take the hurt.  I'm resigned to spending the rest of my life alone."

There were sad years when she worked all day and came home to her empty house with only her cairn terrier, Shirley, for company.  Possibly there were times when she drank a bit too much out of loneliness and despair.  "I was a bit low.  I'd got very thin and I was feeling run down.   I thought it was because my marriage had broken up, though I was totally relieved that he'd finally gone.  But I wasn't really eating because when you're on your own you don't really bother to cook for yourself.  You just sort of have snacks."

One Saturday morning, in February 1996, she was having a shower and was appalled to feel something in her breast.  "It was a huge lump.  I rushed upstairs to a mirror.  I saw the lump and it seemed to be glaring out at me.  But then it moved.  It was extraordinary, it just kept moving around."

Wendy spent a terrible weekend and on the Monday morning rang her doctor.  "I went to hospital for a mammogram and they said, 'We'd like to do another test on you.'  I could see from their faces it was bad news.  I thought, 'oh well, that's it then.  Who's going to look after my dog?'  I rang my girlfriend, Carol, who is a nurse, and said, 'You'd better get down here.'  She said 'I'm in my uniform.'  I said, 'It doesn't matter.  Get a taxi and I'll pay.'  I met her in the pub down the road from my house and had three glasses of champagne in rapid succession."

Later, Wendy's doctor rang and said, "It's not good."  She said, "Don't worry, instinct had already told me that."  He said, "Right, I've made an appointment for you to see the surgeon, Mr. Gilmore."  When people are given terrible news, they are often suffused with either terror or rage.

Wendy's response was one of anger:  "I was hopping mad.  If you're told you're unwell and straight away your shoulders go down, you've given in.  That's no good because you're conceding defeat.  I made the first phone call on a Monday, went in for the test on the Wednesday and the following day I saw the surgeon.  I walked into his rooms in Harley Street and Mr. Gilmore was sitting there.  He's a lovely man.  I said, 'If you want to cut anything off, forget it.  I find it hard enough to pull a fellow as it is.  I'd rather die.'  He said, 'Don't be stupid, we don't cut things off willy-nilly.'  Then he showed me my X-rays and said, 'This is your cancer, you're not very well but we're going to make you better.'  And I just believed every word he said."

Five days later, Wendy was admitted to London's Princess Grace Hospital to have the lump removed.  "I had to use people I could trust because I didn't want the rest of the world to find out.  I've got a cab driver friend called Tommy so I got him to drive me there.  I had my overnight bad and he said, 'Are you all right, Wend?'  So I said, 'Yes, I'm  going to be fine, don't worry.'  He said, 'Well, you've got my mobile if you need anything,' which meant a lot to me.

"I had my premed and I said to the anaestetist, 'I'm not asleep yet.'  He said, 'We know.'  The next thing I remember is waking up and it was all over.  There were stitches, I had a drain in the armpit with a stand by the bed and plastic bag with blood slushing around.  My girlfriend Lynn was looking at it and she said, 'Nice bag, you'll never get a pair of shoes to match.'

"My breast was very swollen but I've got a wonderful neat scar.  Also, they took away part of my lymph gland to check that it was all clear, and because it sends all the poisons round your body.  I suffer with backache and I couldn't have a fully body massage for over a year.  I just used to have my lower back and my legs done.  The first time I was able to have the full massage it was pure luxury."

At no time did Wendy fear that she might die.  "Somebody said, 'The reason you came through it so well was your attitude, because you're an argumentative old so-and-so.'  I have to take Tamoxifen which is an anti-cancer drug.  My hair fell out for a while, but that stopped, though it's not as thick as it was.  I call breast cancer being a member of the club nobody wants to join.  Women stop me in the street wherever I am and they all say, 'Are you on Tamoxifen?'  I've met some women who've been on it for 15 years.  You get nausea, sweats and bit of weight gain.

"I've decided when I can get the energy I'm going back to the gym.  I firmly believe that a lot of cancer is caused through stress.  I refuse now to get upset about anything.  I always allow an hour to get to work even though it takes 40 minutes top whack.  I give myself plenty of time in case there's an accident or roadworks.  I used to get in a right panic but nothing's going to panic me ever again."

Wendy went straight back to work after the operation and, with hindsight, thinks it was a mistake.  "I knew there was an expensive shoot in Jersey organized and it was a case of 'the show must go on.'  But it was only when I started my seven weeks of radiotherapy that I realized how tiring it is.  I was getting up at five, because they shoot my scenes in the morning.  Then I'd come home at lunchtime, have something to eat and go to the Cromwell Hospital.  I'd get home, fall asleep, wake and learn my lines.  Then I'd go to bed, get up in the morning and start all over again.  I still get very tired but I've learnt to pace myself."

Finally, she's also got a secure and loving relationship.  We meet in her favourite local restaurant and her chap drops her off at the door.  He's called John Burns and she's totally in love with him.  "He's from Belfast but he's been in London for years.  He lived near me, and I just used to see him in the pub.  He'd come round to watch videos and have a drink, but there was never any carrying on.  Then I confided in him when I knew I had cancer.  He was so supportive, especially during the dark days with the radiotherapy.

"I'd never have got through it without him.  I remember saying, 'Why me?'  He didn't mean it nastily but he said, 'God just doesn't pick and choose, you know.'  He's very wise and funny and great support to me.  The people on EastEnders love him to bits.  June Brown (who plays Dot Cotton) said the other day, 'I've never heard you speak about anybody the same way you speak about John.' "

John is a 36-year-old painter and decorator and they now live together in Wendy's lovely house.  "I get on with all his mates -- window cleaners, painters, and decorators, chippies, electricians.   John and his friends have just papered the front hall and the stairwell.  They're all good lads, very respectful to me and absolutely charming.  It's nice to look forward to going home, which I didn't for a long time when I was married.  John works hard but he'll cook a meal or do things in the house because he doesn't want me to be worn out.  If I'm working late he'll drive out and pick me up.  It's a real partnership.  He comes with me to the charity dos.  We're nearly always together and he doesn't get on my nerves.  I think I might get on his sometimes, but he's very easy-going and could chat anybody up."

They come from two different worlds, but she's clearly content and the old, stressed look has gone from her face.  She's also met John's mother and stepfather, who live in Belfast.  "I'm a Lady Taverner, and we went over there to a charity.  We spent a night at the house of one of John's sisters -- people were singing and we had a great time.  John just takes everything in his stride.  We were at the Variety Club lunch at the Hilton the other week.  We both smoke and we were standing at the table puffing away.  I turned round and Prince Philip was upon us.  I said, 'Oh, your Royal Highness,' and curtseyed.  I introduced myself and said, 'This is my partner, John Burns.'  John was standing there with a fag.  'Good heavens,' said Prince Philip, 'Are all those cigarette ends yours?'  John said, 'No Sir, two of them are hers.' "

After Wendy's operation, John came round every evening to see if she was all right.  He lovingly supported her when she needed him most.  "By my birthday that July obviously we were still together, so I took him on holiday with me.  I thought, 'I've been through a terrible ordeal, he's stood by me.'  I said, 'Right, we'll go to LA,' and we went first class all the way.  It cost a lot of money but we both deserved it.

"So we're on holiday in La and I'm a shopaholic.  We're up and down Rodeo Drive and I saw this lovely Chanel suit in a window.  John said, 'If you like it, go and get it.'  We were wearing shorts and T-shirts, but we went in to Chanel.  I said, 'I'm interested in that outfit in the window.' and we were treated like dirt.  Some people came in and one of them said, 'Excuse me, are you Miss Brahms from Are You Being Served?'  Instantly the assistant changed.  it was all, 'I'll just check the sizes, would you like a tea?  Would you like a coffee?  Do you want a Coke?'  John just sat back on the sofa and said, 'If she wants the suit in the window, get it for her.'  Then we were taken to this private fitting room and the seamstress came down.  We were staying at the Peninsular Hotel, so I said, 'We'll stop by and pick it up tomorrow.'  The shop chap said, 'Oh no Miss Richard, please, I'll deliver it to you personally.'  Well, we made sure we were out."

Wendy would have loved to have had a child, and says, "Sometimes I feel sad.  When Martin was first born in EastEnders he was given to me to hold and I was absolutely petrified.  I held this little bundle, and I could feel his heart beating through the blanket.  A baby is such a precious gift."  John has two daughters who live with their mother in Scotland, though they come to visit.  "They call me Wendy.  I'm Daddy's friend who Daddy lives with.  But John would never sleep in the same bedroom as me while the children are around.  He's very protective.  he goes upstairs with the girls and Shirley adores, them, so she goes, too, and I'm left on my own."

Wendy is besotted with her little dog Shirley, who sounds more of a prima donna and even trickier in temperament than Spice Girl Mel B.  She's now become vice-patron of Dogs For The Disabled, which trains dogs to look after handicapped people.  "There's one lady who has MS," she says.  "When she falls over, her golden retriever gets underneath her and gradually stands up and pushes her back into the chair.  There are dogs who empty washing machines, change channels on the television, switch lights on and off.  One lady who is frightened of falling has a mongrel called Binnie.  He has a special harness on his back which holds a walking stick, so he's a walking stick on four legs.  It's a terrible thing, but if you see someone with a disability you tend to look the other way.  However, nine times out of ten, if someone's with a dog, people always speak.  So not only does it help the disabled to get around, it gives them a bit of social intercourse as well."

Now Wendy is more content than she's ever been.  "John and I are very settled We're not getting married and nothing is ever for ever so we just take one day at a time.  We're very happy."

In fact, even the widowed Pauline Fowler is going to have a jollier life -- and none too soon.  "She's started wearing eyeshadow," says Wendy, "and she's going to have a little dalliance."  Whoever it is, he can only be a dramatic improvement on poor old Arthur.

Lynda Lee-Potter