Dotty Wyndham (VILLAGE TALES EP 59)

Dotty was an eccentric every village would be proud to have. 

Her theatrical fantasies, her imagining she  appeared in silent films and on the stage, 

and her relationships with the stars she claimed were friends were fanciful beyond belief.

 What did it matter if none of it was true. Except . . . 

Dotty Wyndham, had died some years before my arrival in the village but her presence lingered on in the use of her name as a comparison by those villagers who had known her. Someone was worse than, as bad as, or demonstrating some similarity. It was something that bonded the older inhabitants, as the incomers, of which I was one, didn’t know what they were talking about. It was their private joke. 

Dotty was presumed to be short for Dorothy, and it had entered the village lexicon as meaning eccentric in nature, which differed from its common meaning of being mentally unstable. Dotty may well have been that as well, but it was her theatrical fantasies that picked her out from the crowd and made her an eccentric. 

Typical was her story regarding Charlie Chaplin and how she had found him a walking cane in the props department of a London theatre when he had twisted a knee during a show in which Dotty was part of a dance troupe. She had often repeated that it was her act of generosity that inspired him to use the cane as a trademark for the rest of his career. Even if that had been true her belief that, but for her gesture, Chaplin would never have been the success that he became, is to presume so much as to add bonkers to her skill set. 

Her fantasies were drawn from film and stage, and the stars which she imagined she knew personally. She fantasised about being a child performer herself during the silent era but if her age was anywhere near what she claimed, she would have to have been doing it in nappies. Age is often blamed for a confusion of fantasy and reality, and Dotty was always the ‘go to’ example for those that needed one. 

Dotty would boast how she had been one of the few that made a successful transfer to the talkies, but with theatrical gestures she would proclaim that the stage was her first love. Her ‘adoring public’ as she called them, were never more appreciative than when she could be experienced in person, live on stage. At this point, so Paul recalls, it was not unusual for Dotty to launch into some Shakespearean soliloquy, or a music hall routine. Though this was entertaining it didn’t do much for his trade.

Dotty veered between her public persona, and her privacy, being gripped by her fear of the press. She’d hold up in her cottage pleading with Dennis, her next door neighbour, to do some shopping for her as ‘they’ were out there. 

Paul’s father who ran the shop before he did, was friends with Dennis who was witness to Dotty Wyndham’s arrival and became her friend. Her move to the village, she told him, was to elude the press, what we would now call the paparazzi, who had hounded her out of her home in Richmond, Surrey. Dennis was prevailed upon to do Dotty’s shopping for some months, for fear the press might have followed her. It was mainly through Dennis and his friendship with Paul’s father, that the village got to hear Dotty’s more fanciful stories. Even after Paul had taken over from his father, they still met up and Dennis would have another of Dotty’s illusions. Dennis had spent his life in haberdashery but had always fancied himself as a writer which meant he was also a keen listener. Dotty referred to him as her ‘biographer’ in the hopes that he would help her achieve the immortality which she felt Adolf Hitler had deprived her of. It was during 1940 when most London theatres closed, that her popularity declined and she blamed Hitler entirely. Besides his involvement in the holocaust and the loss of life that the Nazis inflicted upon the world, Dotty blamed him for robbing the public of her genius while she was still in her prime, the loss of a talent from which the world would never recover. 

She claimed that during the London blitz her agent, Earnie Cohen begged her to join him in Hollywood, where he said she would be assured of fame and fortune, but she declined wanting to stay in England and do her bit for king and country. She was all set to fly to north Africa to entertain the troops when at the last minute they sent Vera Lynn. Dotty implied it was for other reasons than for her singing but she wouldn’t elaborate as she said it would be unprofessional. Not only did she not get to entertain the troops, she missed the boat to Hollywood. 

There would always be an ulterior motive for why she didn’t get the job she wanted and she was always happily to claim the responsibility for someone else’s fortune. Gone with the Wind, was a case in point. People may have heard of the universal search for a Scarlett O’Hara to appear opposite Clark Gable. Selznick, the producer, interviewed hundreds before choosing Vivian Leigh, an English actor. Dotty claims she was one of those short listed and, so she says, it was her command of the southern drawl that convinced Selznick that an English actor could do the part just as well as an American. It was not long after Selznick met Dotty at the Ritz and told her that she was perfect, that he gave Vivian Leigh the part. This Dotty often repeated, was why she refused to work for Selznick or MGM. She told Dennis that there was plenty of offers from other production companies begging her to come to Hollywood but her fear of flying prevented her after her very close friend, Glen Miller disappeared, presumed to have been killed in an air crash.

Dotty became a caricature of an ageing actor trying to conceal the ravages of time, gin, and particularly smoking, she was never seen without a black Russian in a long cigarette holder. Her appearance could be bizarre, Paul told me, appearing with full stage makeup, he reckons, having found that the ‘run of the mill’ Max Factor was no longer doing the job. Though that didn’t explain the theatrical costume she might be wearing. Her failing eyesight was not improved by her use of dark glasses, always fearful of recognition. She was in every respect an entanglement of contradictions.

Dennis learned nothing about her personal life, she lived entirely in a child-like fantasy which could be alarming, or merely irritating. He said Dotty would regularly appear in her small garden in various states of dress, either partially or in costume and she would then perform. It could have been entertaining if it wasn’t often in the middle of the night.

It was during a particularly stormy night that Dennis saw her in her garden dressed as a witch performing the opening scene from Macbeth. Dotty was moving around playing each of the three hags circling a garden ornament simulating a cauldron and crying out the lines with no thought of the heavy rain, and that it was about three in the morning. The following day Dennis could get no reply from her cottage and entered through her open back door to find her still drenched from the night before and not at all well. After several weeks in hospital with pneumonia she was moved to a home where a month later she died.

In the end does it matter that someone's fantasies are all lies? It did no real harm and as an eccentric she added colour and exuberance to the village. Besides we all delude ourselves a bit, if we think it helps.

Except, Paul tells me it was just prior to her funeral in the village that someone from The Stage newspaper, arrived asking about Miriam Dotrice. When she mentioned the funeral, the penny dropped that she meant Dotty. Within hours more ‘press’ had arrived. Several TV ‘outside broadcast’ trucks parked up by the village hall, and interviewers started accosting passers-by asking if they knew Miriam, did they have any stories about Miriam? What was she like? Denis had much more than his fifteen minutes worth.

The funeral was a circus, Paul told me. Complete strangers who had never been to the village came to the funeral, but seemed more interested in the publicity they might get. Others came just to gawk. Photographs I’ve seen show our small church overwhelmed, the village’s shared vicar was replaced by someone with apparently a better TV presence. The press were everywhere thrusting mics under people’s noses and TV schedules were changed to include tributes and film clips of Miriam Dotrice, the Dotty the village never knew.

Those that remembered her say the village understood more on that day about Dotty’s paranoia than they ever did before. 

People still arrive asking where Miriam Dotrice lived, and we are pleased show them. We think Dotty would be thrilled to know she still has her ‘adoring public’, and that includes us.

Listen to Village Tales and other short stories from the HONKEYMOON CAFE

 on Spotify, Anchor FM, Apple Podcasts, RadioPublic, Pocket Casts, 

Google Podcasts, Breaker and other platforms. 

Written and read by Barkley Johnson.