Ivor Novello took to music as a duck takes to water.  Also, from his earliest days he loved the Theatre.  He sang and acted at entertainments in his little prep school in Cardiff and he aroused enthusiasm -- and drew tears.  He developed a beautiful singing voice, pure and clear as a silver bell.  He got a scholarship for Magdalen College School at Oxford, to his parents' delight.  He won prizes at Eisteddfods.  And in the choir at Magdalen he earned his first fame.  He was the 'star' -- people flocked to hear his voice go soaring up to the ancient roof.  He loved it all.  And then -- came tragedy.  That voice broke.  He was broken-hearted.  His singing voice never returned again.  To Ivor, it seemed the end.  But his gift of music came to his aid -- and he pursued that.  From his earliest days, he composed.  When only a boy he was writing ballads which great singers sang at concerts, at the Albert Hall and elsewhere.  And always he wanted to write a musical play, to work in the Theatre.  The urge for the playhouse grew and grew.  He never missed a chance of seeing the plays running in London, where he now lived.  He went in the gallery, he went in the pit.  He adored those wonderful Edwardian musical comedies and the equally wonderful Edwardian stars.  He just worshipped Lily Elsie.  Little did he think, when applauding her from the pit at Daly's -- or waiting to see her come out of the stage door -- that she would become a dear friend and one of his leading ladies.  Or perhaps he did dream it -- and Ivor's dreams had a habit of coming true.  Opportunities arose and he took them.  Ivor always heard the knocking on the door and always opened it.  He had, whilst still in his teens, completed the score of a musical play.  Nobody would produce it.  But songs which he composed for that despised little operetta made their appearance later in his greatest successes and were greeted as gems. . . .

   A visit to America inspired him.  He returned home and worked harder.  He had some successes.  He tried to go on the stage --  his mother was against it. He got a call for an audition at Daly's but she suppressed the postcard.  Ivor Novello never went into the chorus because of that.  In the long run, perhaps it was as well.

   When Ivor was 21 years old, his world -- and everybody's world -- came up in chaos, destroyed by the guns of the First World War in 1914.  War offers an alternative -- it means ruin and death or life and success.  To Ivor it meant the latter.  For out of that War came his great chance --  his first big popular success.  He composed a song which was sung at a National Sunday League Concert at the old Alhambra Music Hall one Sunday afternoon late in 1914.  It was one of a group of songs to be sung by Sybil Vane.  A shy young man sat at the piano to accompany her and the programme announced that one of the numbers, called 'Till the Boys Come Home', would be accompanied by the composer.  That song swept the audience into a frenzy of enthusiasm;  it spread like wildfire;  it went all over the world better known by the title adopted later, 'Keep the Home Fires Burning'.  It is immortal and is indeed a kind of unofficial national anthem.  To Ivor it was the golden key which unlocked the door of Fame and Fortune.  He made a fortune out of it and it was the sure foundation on which his fame was built.  The lady who wrote the words, Lena Guilbert Ford, was less lucky.  An air raid claimed her as a victim.

   Ivor joined the Royal Naval Air Service.  He was a sub-lieutenant.  But he was not a good airman.  He had a most complicated and amazing crash, which filled the station with horror, but from which he escaped scatheless.  He did no more flying but they found him special work to do.  He found himself jobs, too --  and one of them was the composition of a musical play, 'Theodore and Co.' for the Gaiety Theatre.  Success was in floodtide.

   The War was over, he worked on.  He turned to the films, where was a great success.  But he never really became film-minded -- it was the Theatre he wanted.  His instinct told him that was where his destiny lay.

   He made his stage debut as actor in 1921, at the Ambassadors Theatre, playing a small part in 'Deburau'.  He was twenty-eight years old -- very late to take such a step.  But that mattered little to Ivor, who always worked magic.  That first appearance did not arouse much excitement.  But he knew that he belonged to the Theatre.  He went on playing parts and gaining much needed experience, he went on making films, so as to make money to spend in the Theatre.  For he saw his destiny clearly before him.  He was always willing -- anxious to take responsibility -- he always wanted to be his own master.  He decided to take the plunge. 

   In collaboration with a dear friend of his, Constance Collier, the famous actress, he wrote a play.  It was "The Rat'.  He staged that play at Brighton.  It was an immense success.  It toured and played to enormous business.  It came to London, to the Prince of Wales's Theatre, in 1924.  It was acclaimed.  Ivor played the lead and succeeded as actor as well as dramatist.  Here he was -- in one swoop, a successful actor-manager-dramatist.  That was his role through life.  He went on. . . .

   The life story of Ivor Novello is a Success Story.  He had a failure or two as actor and as dramatist but there were so few that it is hardly worth the chronicling.  He wrote so many successes.  And between whiles, he composed.  His plays were 'Down Hill', "The Truth Game', "A Symphony in Two Flats', 'I Lived With You', 'Flies in the Sun', 'Proscenium', 'Murder in Mayfair', 'Party" -- and "Fresh Fields'.  He appeared in all those plays, with the exception of 'Fresh Fields', which was in many ways unique because, as a rule, Ivor's plays succeeded best when he was in them.  It was not an absolutely rigid rule, but mostly it turned out that way.

   He had become, by 1934 -- a mere thirteen years after he had entered the Theatre -- a force in it with whom to be reckoned.  He was the most successful actor-playwright of the day and a big box office attraction.  Also he was a composer of the front rank.  He had said goodbye to films.  He had played in the silent days -- the great D.W. Griffith himself had him under contract -- he had spent a long time in Hollywood, which did not advance him but made him many friends and a good deal of money, he had played in his own shows in New York with success.   And he had achieved already some of his ambitions.  He had wanted success as a dramatist, actor and actor-manager, and he had attained all that.  His beloved Lily Elsie had been his leading lady--in 'The Truth Game' -- and that gave him the utmost joy.  A portrait of her stood on his piano at his country home -- 'Redroofs' -- until his death, and does still.  But he still wanted to do certain things.  He wanted to write a big musical play, he wanted to 'play the Lane' -- the ambition of all actors -- and he wanted to conduct an opera of his own at Covent Garden.  Things happen queerly in real life.  Once again opportunity came from clear sky and knocked at the door of Ivor Novello.  he heard and answered.  Theatre Royal, Drury Lane, the most famous playhouse in the world, was having a bad time.  Success appeared to have deserted it.  It was closed -- and nothing was in sight suitable for it.  Its General Manager, H.M. Tennent, and Ivor Novello took lunch together one day.  That was when Ivor heard the knock of opportunity.  He said he would write a musical play for Drury Lane -- and then and there outlined the plot to the amazed Mr. Tennent.  A few moments before no such thing was in Ivor's mind.  But he always rose to an emergency.  He was asked to do a synopsis.  He did it, in a few hours.  The Board of Drury Lane accepted it.  He was given a free hand in casting and production.  And that show was to be 'Glamorous Night'. 

   'Glamorous Night' was produced at Drury Lane on 2nd May, 1935.  History was made, history repeated itself.  Often, in its centuries, Drury Lane had been in trouble.  Always the hour had brought forth the man -- Thomas Betterton, Colley Cibber, David Garrick, Edmund Kean, all had stepped into the breach.  And on that night in May Ivor Novello was to join that glittering company.  For 'Glamorous Night' was a huge success -- Drury Lane was itself again.  It was a tremendous personal triumph, apart from anything else. 

   There had been much doubt amongst the clever ones of Theatreland as to whether Ivor Novello could really succeed at Drury Lane.  He proved himself.  And, to make assurance doubly sure, he did it four times in succession.  He wrote and composed -- and played in -- not only 'Glamorous Night' but also 'Careless Rapture', 'Crest of the Wave', and 'The Dancing Years'.  Nobody before or since has such a record.  It may well stand for all time.  His leading lady in the two biggest successes was that superb artist Mary Ellis.  In the other two it was delightful Dorothy Dickson.  And in 'The Dancing Years' another star was born -- Roma Beaumont.
 

Ivor's leading ladies form a constellation of stars, apart from those in the musical plays.  They include Fay Compton, Lilian Braithwaite, Gladys Cooper, Isabel Jeans, Ellis Jeffreys, Edna Best, Zena Dare, Marie Lohr, Viola Tree, Lily Elsie, Vivien Leigh and many, many more.    Ivor's great gift was the supreme ability to write parts for people.  He knew exactly what they could do best, and that was what he gave them to do.  He fitted them with parts like a supreme costumier, there was never a crease or a wrinkle.  His deep understanding of women enabled his leading ladies to have splendid roles -- but he seldom, except towards the end, ever gave himself a part worthy of his very considerable acting powers.    Ivor had another ambition.  He always wanted to be a classical actor -- he yearned to play the great roles of Shakespeare.  He cherished an ambition to play "Romeo' and 'Petruchio'.  Those he never achieved.  But he did play 'Henry V' and played it well -- at Drury Lane, too.  That production was the first time he joined hands with Tom Arnold, with whom he was closely associated until the day of his death.  Indeed, except on one occasion, from the production of 'Henry V' all of Ivor's shows were presented by Tom Arnold.  And Tom Arnold was the only manager with whom Ivor Novello found happiness in working.

Ivor wrote other plays, too.  He had 'Comedienne' and 'Full House' produced at the Haymarket Theatre.  Both were successes.  And in 1936 he staged with great beauty and distinction a production of Clemence Dane's version of Max Beerbohm's lovely fable, 'The Happy Hypocrite'.  In that play Ivor showed his public for the first time that he was a genuine actor, not dependent on his handsome looks and immaculate profile -- for he played 'character' and played it well.  He always liked to give himself two parts in his plays -- one of them character and well away from the Novello type.  He was an excellent character actor.    The Second World War cut short 'The Dancing Years' success at Drury Lane.  But it went on tour and it returned to London, to the Adelphi Theatre, where it ran for 969 performances.  And during that run Ivor wrote and composed, but did not play in, 'Arc de Triomphe' for the Phoenix Theatre.  Once again Mary Ellis was the leading lady.    At this period Ivor was on top of the world.  His name was a household word.  Then disaster befell him -- a disaster which might have crushed and shattered a lesser man.  Ivor triumphed even over that.  There is no need to enter into details here.  It was a terrible thing -- but the Public proclaimed its own verdict and Ivor never lost his place in its heart for one moment.  But that event -- there is no doubt in the minds of those who knew him -- sowed the seeds which brought about his tragic and untimely end.

   Ivor went on. He and Tom Arnold did a stage version -- again by Clarence Dane -- of 'Alice in Wonderland'.  There have been many such versions, but never one of such perfection as this. 

   The Second World War dragged on towards its close.  Tom Arnold and Ivor Novello in April 1945 staged another great musical at the London Hippodrome.  It was 'Perchance to Dream' and in it Ivor gave the great song of the Second World War.  He had done so in 1914 with that song 'Keep the Home Fires Burning'.  In 1945 he gave us 'We'll Gather Lilacs'.  The message was the same in both -- Hope and safe return from battle.  Yet neither was what is commonly known as a patriotic song.  He could those too, as witness 'Rose of England' in 'Crest of the Wave', a song also destined for immortality.  'Perchance to Dream' ran for 1,020 performances, Ivor's longest uninterrupted run.

   He went to South Africa with 'Perchance to Dream' and 'The Dancing Years'.  He came, he was seen , he conquered. 

   And then, in 1949, he wrote and composed another musical play.  In many ways it was his best -- and it certainly provided his own best personal performance.  It was produced in Manchester with immense success.  His leading ladies were his old friend Zena Dare, Phyllis Dare and a girl whom he had discovered, Vanessa Lee.  London saw it and acclaimed it at the Palace Theatre on 15th September, 1949.  It ran there until 6th October, 1951.  It was the last play in which Ivor Novello appeared.

   But he wrote and composed another, specially designed for that great artiste, Cecily Courtneidge.  That play is 'Gay's the Word'.  It is an outstanding success and triumph for Miss Courtneidge.

   He caught a chill on the way home -- he arrived back to bitter winter weather, with a cough that wracked him.  Arrangements made for his return to 'King's Rhapsody' had to be postponed.  He was ill.  But nothing would stop him attending the first night of  'Gay's the Word' at the Saville Theatre on 16th February, 1951.  He had a temperature, he should not have gone -- but who was to say him nay?  It was his show, he had written and composed it, he had not been 'in front' at a first night of a play of his own since 'Fresh Fields' -- eighteen years before.  He went -- he sat in a box -- he saw his play succeed.  He heard the cheers -- and in response to calls for a speech he stood in his box, leaned towards the stage and paid tribute to the triumph of Cicely Courtneidge.  'Don't look at me,' he said, 'look at her -- she has done it'. . . . He went back to bed.

   But he returned to 'King's Rhapsody', the play he loved perhaps best of all -- equal to 'Glamorous Night', that inspired work of his which had put the crown on his head.  He reappeared on the evening of Monday 26th February.  He got a royal welcome -- and made one of those almost shy, very grateful little speeches of his, in which he sent waves of friendship over the footlights to the audience and received them back again.

   He was not himself.  He was thin and gaunt -- there was a searching look in his eyes.  He played in that show for a week.  He entered the Palace stage door for the last time on the evening of Monday, March 5th.  He had come up from 'Redroofs'.  He told Bill Wright, his valet, that he had had pains in his arm and his side.  They decided it was rheumatism.  He played as usual -- he heard and loved the applause and acknowledged it.  Then he went home to his flat at No. 11 Aldwych, over the Strand Theatre, where he had lived for so many years.  All theatrical London knew it simply as 'The Flat'.  There was no need to say more -- everyone knew what was meant.

   He had supper with his friend and partner, Tom Arnold.  He was taken ill but the attack passed off -- or so it seemed.  And then the pains came again -- violent wracking pains.  Olive Gilbert and Robert Andrews were with him, the doctor came speeding to his aid . . . but shortly after 2 a.m. on the morning of March 6th, 1951 Ivor Novello answered his last 'call' -- the 'call' to which there is no refusing. . . .

   He always said he wished he could die on the stage just after making a speech of thanks at curtain fall on a play of his which was a sweeping success.  It did so nearly happen -- only a few hours before, he had been playing in a great success which he had written and composed himself.  He had made a speech to a crowded, enthusiastic house, he had seen the curtain fall -- his won fell about four hours later. 

   Ivor Novello had gone . . . and left a gap which would be difficult to fill if, indeed, it can ever be filled.  For this man was unique.  He was the complete Man of the Theatre -- the man who could do it all.  His great genius lay in the fact that he could create a medium which supplied just what the Public wanted.  It was not only his music, his libretti, his plays and his acting -- good as they all were, especially the music;  they formed, in reality, just the parts of that whole which made him so outstanding.
This man created Theatre -- he could take the ingredients which go to make entertainment and mix them with such skill, such imagination, such artistry, that the result was Success. 

   What he did, he did himself.  Nobody helped him -- he climbed the ladder of Life by his own efforts and he reached the topmost rung.

   He was a Romantic -- and they are all too few.  As a Romantic, he believed in Life as it should be, not Life as it is -- and by his art and his genius (he is entitled to the credit of that often misused word) he gave countless thousands the inestimable benefit of seeing it through his eyes and, for a few all too brief hours, of living in the Country of Romance with him.  Yet there was always that touch of Realism -- his plays seldom had happy endings, nor does Real Life.  But -- and here the Romantic spoke -- he always ended on a note of hope.  The tale was done -- or so it seemed.  Then, the stage dimmed and a faint light of celestial blue glimmered over all, revealing dancing figures, silent-footed as they waltzed and swayed.  The light grew stronger and stronger, and then the two people who were the pivot of the story -- whose parting had drawn tears, who had met again and clasped each other in their arms -- waltzed through eternity in their memories whilst that blue light of Hope -- his invariable message -- shone and gleamed, no longer faintly but with strength and enduring radiance.  So he left life himself, bequeathing on the stage, a memory to treasure in their hearts, a gift of melody, sweet and graceful, a memory of happy hours spent in another world so different from this -- in that Theatre in which he was a King -- a memory of beauty of form and of colour and romance, a memory of gracious kindliness, of good will, of loyal and selfless service to the Public.  And his secret was that never, for all his heady success, did he ever lose touch with his audience.  He always remained the same, never aloof, never exclusive, never a thing apart -- but always their friend and, essentially, one of themselves. . . .

   Ivor Novello became a legend of the Theatre.  It matters not what details of his works live on -- the man himself and his name will always shine in the History of our Theatre, which was the first Theatre of Europe, in the world, and is and always has been the finest.  On its pages his name is enshrined in gold.  The details may not be remembered, but his name will go on.  He will stand amongst the other great legends of the Theatre -- Burbage, Betterton, Macklin, Quin, Garrick, Cibber, Nance Oldfield, Mrs. Siddons, John Philip Kemble, Edmund Kean, Macready, Gilbert, Sullivan, George Edwardes.  Many could not tell you much of the doings of those great men and women, but their names live on.  So it will be with Ivor Novello.  Let us salute him as a Legend and let us all help to make his home of his, 'Redroofs', a permanent memorial to him for as long as it exists -- a place where his fellow players may enjoy the beauty he gave it and where, perhaps, his gracious, kindly Shadow may find happiness with them, too.