GLADYS MONCRIEFF

Waikato Times, Volume 122, Issue 20510, 28 May 1938, Page 19 (Supplement)

GLADYS MONCRIEFF

NOT BORED IN HOBPITAL “LUCKY TO BE ALIVE’” WILL NOT WALK FOR MONTHS fc T’m the luckiest woman in Australia,” said Gladys Moncrieff. Breaking arms and legs in accidents ... losing valuable engagements . . . missing a chance to sing lor the first time in grand opera. It hardly seemed lucky to me, writes Charles Buttrose in a Melbourne paper. Hardly the thing to happen to the luckiest woman in Australia. . . . For more than a month Gladys has been a patient in Geelong Hospital. The arm and leg she fractured in a road accident near the town are starting to mend. But it will be months before she walks again. The luckiest woman. . .? “Well, have a look at this,” said Gladys. And she took from her bedside table a photograph of her car after the smash. It showed how, after skidding on loose gravel, the car was almost cut in halves when it crashed into a telegraph post. •They would not let me see this until yesterday,” she said, as she handed me the picture. Her Hospital Holiday “Now If I weren’t lucky to get out of that alive, then nobody ever was.” Mis* Moncrieff went on. “Quite apart from that, though, I was lucky to have had the accident because it means that, at last. I will have.a rest. For more than 21 years I’ve worked hard —stage shows, radio, recordings—even a film or so. Many times I’ve tried to have a rest, but I’ve never succeeded. “The doctors tell me that my ‘holiday’ in Geelong is going to do me a lot of good. They say that when I start ringing again my voice will have benefited marvellously. When I leave here—in about six or eight weeks, I hope—l’m going back to Sydney and then up to the Blue Mountains for perhaps six months of real holiday, and then? . . . well, we shall see. “Of course, I was also lucky in that if my accident has given me lots of fun,” Gladys said, with a twinkle in her brown eyes. “I’m sorry for those people who are involved in accidents and have no sense of humour. If I could not have seen the funny side of tilings ever since the crash I think I’d have died. Wouldn’t Believe Her! “You see, I was lucky even in the ambulance driver that came out to drive me into Geelong. ‘What’s your name?’ he asked me. I was just about out to it, but there was still enough life in me to reply: Gladys Moncrieff.’ • Sthat so,’ replied the ambulance man. Tm Enrico Caruso.* I tried to laugh, but the effort hurt too much. “When we got into the hospital I still had a job to make people believe who I was. While the doctor was trying to find out the extent of my injuries, he repeatedly asked me my name. “Gladys Moncrieff,’ I kept telling him. But it was no good. He would not believe me until they unpacked my cases—or what was left of them—and found out I was telling the truth.”

Gladys Moncrieff has had a fan mail since she has been in hospital that would dwarf even Garbo’s. Letters have poured in from all over the world and she has a suitcase literally full of letters and wires. On her birthday aione she received 300 telegrams.

Thanks for Sympathy Replying to this influx of mail has been a problem. Gladys thinks now, however, that she has a solution. She plans to send a card of thanks to everyone who has communicated with her. In the comers of the cards will be pictures of her two dogs—Chang, the Peke, and the Pomeranian, Chips. Between the pictures will be a brief message. During the day Gladys reads a bit and listens to broadcasts, and many theatrical folk have gone down to Geelong to see her. Among them was Lois Green, star of “No, No, Nanette.” For many months recently Miss Green played in revivals with Miss Moncrieff. “No. I’m never bored much in the daytime.” said Miss Moncrieff. “At tght, though, sometimes . . . you iow . . . round about 8 . . .when I know* the crowds are going into the theatres . . . behind stage there’s that last-minute rush . . . the band’s tuning up. I think that just then I get a bit sorry for myself. But I look round fhe ward, realise that there ar other people worse off than myself, j turn on the wireless and forget my little sorrows.” In Grand Opera Gladys Moncrieff has one other regret. That is that the smash stopped her from playing in the Melbourne j part of the Australian Broadcasting | Commission's recent opera season. In I Sydney she sang in two productions— i • Madame Pompadour” and “Mari- ! tana.” Previously she had never sung j “Maritana,” but she learned the main ' soprano role in a fortnight. Later Joseph Post, who conducted, said it was an almost perfect musical performance. “I had hopes of taking part in the more serious operas in Melbourne,” Miss Moncrieff told me. “I’d have lo\ed to have sung Tosca or Butterfly, Perhaps I shall get another chance in later seasons. Like many another Australian singer, I look forward to the day when we shall have our permanent Australian opera company. I don’t think that day can be far distant.”