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Latimer at her Flowers, Mirroring the Deep exhibition in 2011Richard Young\/Shutterstock<\/p>\nPhotography was a man\u2019s game in the 20th century \u2014 but that didn\u2019t stop Carole Latimer who, from the mid-Sixties until her death in November last year, aged 82, shot some of the biggest names in the cultural world.\u00a0Born in 1942 to two actors, Hugh and Sheila Latimer, she grew up in Hampstead, London, before working in film publicity. It was an encounter on the Austrian film set of John Huston\u2019s A Walk With Love and Death in the Sixties that led her to try a career in film photography. Eve Arnold \u2014 who in 1951 was the first woman to join Magnum Photos \u2014 saw her snapping and told her she could become a professional. Her first job was in 1967 at a party for a band called Grapefruit at the Hyde Park Hilton where she mingled with the pop stars of the day, including the Beatles, and took a photo of John Lennon.<\/p>\n
\u201cI kept praying that I had remembered my instructions correctly as I milled and clicked, pretending to be a dab hand as a party photographer,\u201d she writes in her memoir, published posthumously this month. \u201cI snapped on in such a state of euphoria that I hardly noticed the weight of the power pack on my shoulder.\u201d<\/p>\n
Latimer at her Flowers, Mirroring the Deep exhibition in 2011Richard Young\/Shutterstock<\/p>\n
\u201cShe could read someone\u2019s spirit as soon as they walked in the door,\u201d says her friend the author and actress Elizabeth Sharkey, who met her in 2001 when Latimer took her headshots. \u201cShe knew how to bring out what was inside of them.\u201d Latimer worked on sets and in her studio, taking pictures of Barry Manilow in the Seventies, Billy Connolly and Bob Geldof in the Eighties and Rachel Weisz and Kim Cattrall in the Nineties, but her subjects also often invited her into their homes. A passionate gardener, she developed a series on celebrities in their gardens, including John Gielgud and Katharine Hepburn in the late Nineties. \u201cShe trod where few people got to tread,\u201d Sharkey adds. She never married or had children. \u201cShe had a very courageous life, she lived very intensely \u2026 she was very passionate about her work.\u201d
Blanca Schofield <\/p>\n
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Rachel WeiszCarole Latimer<\/p>\n
John Huston, Vienna, 1968<\/p>\n
My first encounter with John Huston was on set for A Walk With Love and Death when he ambled up to me to ask if I had read Ulysses by James Joyce. I replied that I had not. \u201cCall yourself a writer?\u201d he countered. \u201cNo,\u201d I retorted, \u201cI call myself a publicist.\u201d He laughed and wandered off. The next day, John came up to me again. \u201cWell, have you read Ulysses?\u201d \u201cOf course,\u201d I joked, my heart thumping and my cheeks burning with shyness. It worked, and from then on there was no more baiting of the new girl. Every night I would sit next to \u201cthe King\u201d at dinner, listening to his hair-raising escapades, but he never bored us.<\/p>\n
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John Huston on the set of A Walk With Love and Death carole latimer<\/p>\n
Huston had no scruples about propositioning women and girls: they were all part of the entertainment for him. The day soon came when I became the focus of his attention, followed by an invitation to dine at his hotel, a converted castle called Schloss Laudon. I declined politely, as it went without saying that dinner was not all that was on offer. Huston took my reply in good heart. To him, seduction was a game. The following day he walked over to me on the set, grinning broadly, and said for all to hear, \u201cMan\u2019s got a right to try.\u201d There were other times when the offer was repeated, but I never saw it as sexual harassment. I took it as a compliment.<\/p>\n
Katharine Hepburn, New York, 1990s<\/p>\n
All my best opportunities have come about by chance. While visiting the director George Schaefer in Los Angeles, I mentioned my garden project and he asked if I would be interested in Katharine Hepburn, knowing she loved her gardens. So I wrote a long letter to Miss Hepburn, explaining my project and mentioning that I had worked with John Huston for four months. The answer came back, polite and not disinterested, but she said that she would be out of town and unavailable.<\/p>\n
Two years later I was in New York and decided to drop the shortest line to Miss Hepburn\u2019s East 49th Street address. A few days later I returned to the Fifth Avenue apartment where I was staying when Susan, my elderly, extremely deaf hostess, screamed, \u201cCarole, Miss Hepburn called.\u201d \u201cDid she leave a number?\u201d I shouted. \u201cI don\u2019t have time to take numbers,\u201d she snapped, \u201cI\u2019ve got far too much to do.\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n
My friend Milton Goldman, one of the best-known theatrical agents in New York, saved the day. \u201cCould I please speak to Miss Hepburn?\u201d I hazarded on the phone. \u201cThis is she.\u201d I tried to explain, in brief, my idea of photographing people in their gardens, to show the garden as an extension of their personalities. \u201cI don\u2019t know a great deal about gardening,\u201d came the brisk retort.\u00a0<\/p>\n
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Katharine Hepburn at home in New YorkCarole Latimer<\/p>\n
I pointed out that many of the people I had talked to did not know a great deal technically, but that I wanted their feelings and memories of gardens. \u201cWhat are you trying to do, make jackasses of us all?\u201d came another challenging response. My heart sank. I said that I wanted to know whether greenery was important to her wellbeing. \u201cWe\u2019ll all be under it soon enough\u2026\u201d I simply let the pause continue, let her take the lead. And lead on she did. \u201cCall me at nine tomorrow,\u201d and down went the receiver.<\/p>\n
As instructed, I phoned Miss Hepburn every morning at nine, and was ready to go: squeaky-clean hair, pristine clothes, cameras packed, lights charged up. Day after day, for three weeks, Miss Hepburn answered the phone on about the third ring and each day she said, \u201cCall me at nine tomorrow,\u201d with no explanation, no \u201cgoodbye,\u201d just down went the receiver.<\/p>\n
Two days after Thanksgiving, the summons finally came: \u201cI shall be back at three,\u201d and down went the phone.<\/p>\n
The day was grey, with that flat, colourless, wintry light which saps the energy. The cab driver was all too aware of who lived in the tall brownstone at 244 East 49th Street. Her chauffeur of many years opened the door. There behind him was a petite figure walking down the narrow hallway, unavoidably recognisable with the familiar twist of hair on the top of her slightly nodding head. The tremor generally thought to be Parkinson\u2019s disease was a rare hereditary condition. The clothes were familiar, a black turtle-neck sweater, khaki jacket and pants, so fashionable only because she had started the trend more than 50 years before. But oh dear, no make-up and the famous redhead\u2019s skin, shiny as a waxed apple with huge red patches caused by sun damage. I would simply have to do a big touch-up job.<\/p>\n
We headed straight for the garden, where the light was sinking fast; the surrounding skyscrapers would steal it by four. The outlook, as I had feared, was now bleak; damp brown leaves and unsightly black plastic bags spoke of autumnal work in progress as the plants drooped in harmony with the dreariness of the day. \u201cI hope this won\u2019t take long,\u201d Miss Hepburn muttered ominously. I told her to stay in the warm house while I prepared. \u201cHurry up!\u201d came the discouraging voice from the French windows as I frantically put up a couple of lights.\u00a0<\/p>\n
Too impatient to wait any longer she now joined me in the chill east wind and off we went, Miss Hepburn rushing around like a meerkat on speed searching the garden for ideas while I dragged my lights around. And then she volunteered, \u201cI can be carrying logs!\u201d As she lifted the logs her head stopped nodding for a split second on the upward movement. Click! I knew I had got the shot and that it had been worth the wait; two years to reach my goal and five minutes to shoot the picture.\u00a0<\/p>\n
I was taken totally by surprise when a choice of tea was offered; Earl Grey was mutually agreed upon and we withdrew to the back living room on the first floor. My first impression was of a real home, a room well lived in.\u00a0<\/p>\n
Miss Hepburn poured the tea and offered me a cookie. I declined. Another scolding for not taking a cookie and a diatribe about the foolishness of young people slimming. I hastily grabbed two cookies. The atmosphere thawed. \u201cI have always had a lifestyle of a great deal of exercise which has always included gardening\u2026 I work hard. So that\u2019s why I don\u2019t have to diet. I eat lots of everything, red meat, sugar\u2026 I know that eating as much chocolate as I do can\u2019t be good for me; I can eat a pound without noticing. I find people who diet madly exhausting.\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n
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Angela LansburyCarole Latimer<\/p>\n
One of six children, she grew up with a father who was mad about gardening. \u201cI plant all the bulbs here and I planted that mountain ash myself, and you can see it is now up to the second storey,\u201d she said, pointing out of the window into the dusk. \u201cI like lilies but not necessarily calla lilies. I like white so much that my entire house is painted white inside. Sadly, I can\u2019t have a favourite perfume as I have lost my sense of smell. I used to dip Q-tips in 4711 [perfume] to refresh my nose when I was working on dusty film sets. It almost totally destroyed my sense of smell and I never noticed at the time.\u201d<\/p>\n
Suddenly, Miss Hepburn looked at me intently, as though truly acknowledging my presence for the first time. \u201cYou\u2019re wearing exactly the same clothes as I am,\u201d she commented. \u201cWell, isn\u2019t that the funniest thing.\u201d I thanked her for starting the fashion for wearing trousers. \u201cI can\u2019t bear wearing stockings, that\u2019s what started me.\u201d I mentioned that I liked her hairstyle, so timeless and always the same. \u201cMy hair is a goof of feathers,\u201d she retorted, and added, \u201cjust like yours.\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n
Quite suddenly, out of the blue, Miss Hepburn asked me if I had slept with John Huston. Taken aback, I said, \u201cNo,\u201d and countered by asking her the same question. \u201cNo, certainly not, a very dangerous man.\u201d She laughed. Just two women discussing that same old subject.<\/p>\n
Dirk Bogarde, Grasse, 1980s<\/p>\n
One of the most pleasurable and memorable home shoots I have undertaken was an afternoon with Dirk Bogarde in Opio near Grasse in the South of France during the Cannes Film Festival. I had been warned that the drive through pine-covered hills was arduous, along unpaved roads that became no more than confusing tracks leading up to Dirk\u2019s house, Le Pigeonnier. <\/p>\n
As we pulled onto the perfectly raked gravel cul-de-sac in front of the house, Dirk appeared, reed slim as ever, and elegant in white slacks, an immaculate blue-checked shirt and flip-flops. He greeted me warmly. \u201cOh, how tired you look, that wretched festival, so draining. You must have a cup of tea at once.\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n
At that moment Tony Forwood, Dirk\u2019s dear friend with whom he shared the house, greeted me and disappeared to organise the refreshments. The tea was Earl Grey accompanied by the largest, richest brown sugar lumps I had ever seen. Dirk was keen to tell me they were from Harrods, the only place to get good brown sugar lumps.<\/p>\n
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<\/p>\n
He whisked me off on a private tour of his home. At 50, he now had plenty of time to build a wall, do his paintings and sketches, write, and read in the winter by the huge log fire.\u00a0He had created a fish pond and a vegetable garden in spite of every hiatus known to man, from flooding under his precious olive trees to a leak in the septic tank that created what he thought was a natural spring. In blissful ignorance he had taken a drink before he noticed a piece of lavatory paper floating past him.\u00a0<\/p>\n
Then to my surprise we were heading up to the bedrooms and Dirk revealed that the bedroom with the huge double bed was Tony\u2019s, while his was tiny, with a narrow bed. He explained that he felt desperately insecure in big beds and preferred to be wrapped tightly like a mummy.<\/p>\n
Before I realised it I was saying my farewells. \u201cLet me know when you are here again,\u201d wrote Dirk on a postcard. I never returned, as Dirk and Tony had to sell their beloved home soon after my visit and move back to England. Tony fell sick and had several grim years in and out of hospital. It was only when Tony sadly died too young that Dirk had to learn everything to do with running his life, even how to write a cheque.<\/p>\n
I later read that in the 1990s, when Dirk lived alone in London, he had written in his flat behind Sloane Square about the loneliness of weekends and how he would go out to buy a newspaper just so he could speak to someone. I wrote to Dirk later when I learnt he had been in hospital, and soon after I received a letter thanking me for my \u201cvery sweet and encouraging card \u2026 Much love, Dirk.\u201d<\/p>\n