This Much Is True

I had to wait a long time before I rejoined the world of Harry Potter. Despite the fact that my character is in every book, I wasn’t asked to reprise my role until the very last film: part two of the Deathly Hallows. It was lovely coming back to Leavesden, finding the trio grown up and gorgeous. I palled up again with Gemma Jones, an actress I admire greatly. The superb design work on the destroyed Hogwarts took my breath away. This time, the writing had a sombre tone; I thought it was more distinguished.

My contract was only for twelve days, but they said I’d completed all that was required after nine, and sent me home. Two nights later, the Evening Standard Theatre Awards dinner was held. Maggie Smith was with Norma Heyman, the mother of the Harry Potter producer. She waved me over to their table. ‘Miriam, why aren’t you on set? I’m sitting there, talking to myself, and you’re supposed to be in the scene. Where were you?’ she enquired forcefully. I explained that I had been let go. Maggie was cross. She turned to Norma: ‘Norma, I can’t work like that, talking into the air. Please tell David he must bring Miriam back so I’ve got someone to talk to.’

The next morning, they asked me to return to the set. I said of course I will, but it means a new contract, as you sent me home. They argued backwards and forwards. But I was right; they’d let me go, so I got my new contract and more money. Bless you, Maggie. It was entirely thanks to you, and I am very grateful.

Speaking of contracts brings up another Harry Potter story which I heard directly from Alan Rickman. He played Snape, and his charismatic presence on screen made him the most powerful character in the series. The final, very long, book, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows was being filmed in two parts. Warner Bros decided that both parts would be filmed together — and therefore he was only due one fee. His gifted agent, Paul Lyon-Maris, pointed out that if the films were separately released, Warner Bros would receive two incomes. Therefore, Alan Rickman should also get two fees for appearing in both parts. Warner Bros refused and said they would have to recast. Recast Snape? Alan smiled. ‘Go ahead,’ he said. The day before shooting was due to start on part two, they agreed to pay Alan both fees. You do wonder sometimes about the mental acuity of Hollywood moguls.

When I went to the premieres, if I’m honest — which I must be — I fell asleep. I’ve never, therefore, watched any of the Harry Potter films right through; even when I have glimpsed moments on television, I’m never absolutely sure what’s happening — even in the ones I’m actually in! For that reason, I can honestly say that I’ve never seen a single Harry Potter film and I’ve still never read the books. J. K. Rowling is a terrific writer. I like her detective novels under the name Robert Galbraith, and I love the fact that she has become the richest woman in Britain through books. I’m sure that Harry Potter’s world is a good world. But it’s not my world. It’s like this: I have to step gingerly over the gap between the Harry Potter world and mine, and hope that you’ll understand that despite the fact that I’m head of Hufflepuff and you’re in Gryffindor, I don’t really want to talk about Harry Potter any more.

Down Under

Australia first came into my life as an eleven-year-old, when Katerina Clark started at my school. Her father, the historian Manning Clark, came to Oxford on a year’s sabbatical and brought his family. Through Manning, I met his friend Barry Humphries. The Clarks and Barry Humphries symbolised Australia to me for a long time.

The next manifestation of Australia was revealed at Cambridge when I met Clive James and Germaine Greer. They were dazzling. I had never heard such caustic, confident criticism, such insolent wit, such coruscating verbal dexterity in my life. It was clear English snooty attitudes towards the Antipodes had to change. Transportation had been reversed: Australia had arrived to take over the UK.

Apparently, when Sir Noël Coward went to Australia to direct his musical Sail Away in Sydney in 1963, he was caught in the lift with two gushing old ladies. One of them said to him, ‘Oh, Mr Coward, say something funny.’ He looked at her coldly and replied, ‘Australia.’ He wouldn’t get away with that now.