Marianne Faithful

I first met Marianne Faithful when I was 20. I was invited with two friends to a dinner party on a Chelsea Embankment houseboat where she was the honoured guest. I don’t remember much about it as we were all so out of it, except Marianne telling me off for brushing my hair at the table because it was common. I remember that I was surprised: I expected Marianne – a poster girl for decadence and disregard for convention – not to be a stickler for table manners. She liked to remind people that she was descended from the Austrian nobleman Baron von Sacher-Masoch, and was surprisingly disapproving about any lapsing of traditional behaviour that related to good breeding. Her own wildness didn’t envelope you into some cozy club. She kept you on your toes.
For anyone born in the 60’s Marianne Faithful was a deeply romantic figure. She made such an impression: her breathtaking beauty and charm were entrancing and many legendary figures fell completely under her spell.
Once when I was visiting my self-appointed Godmother Penny Guinness in Ireland where she lived with Desmond Guinness at Leixlip Castle, Marianne was staying nearby in the Shell Cottage, not far from the main house. She decided thrillingly to invite us all to dinner to thank Penny and Desmond for having her to stay. Throughout the day various calls came through to Penny, ‘Could you bring the plates; glasses; cutlery; wine’. Until she asked if Eileen the cook could also make and send over the food. It was completely outrageous yet we all went along with it because this is what you had to do if Marianne demanded it. Being in Marianne’s beam was incredibly exciting but the conditions were exacting. Another time Marianne asked to borrow some samples from my new collection to wear on tour. I was excited and prepared all the best pieces with the promise that I would have them back in a few weeks. Months later her long suffering manager François rang up and I went mad, screaming down the phone about the missing samples – wondering at the same time why I was making such a fuss. This was the deal with Marianne, this was how it went.

And I had many sweet moments with her too. I used to visit her in her flat in Fulham when she was living a drug-free life and recording an album of songs of romantic 19 th century poetry ‘She Walks in Beauty’ with the song writer and Bad Seeds member Warren Ellis. Marianne’s talent was part of what made you put up with her relentlessness. She had almost fallen off the edge of the world from the effects of her drug abuse when she snarled back into our consciousness with the release in 1979 of her extraordinarily brilliant album ‘Broken English.’ It was as though this new incarnation of her had been sealed by fire, her voice permanently altered by an extreme attack of laryngitis. Her softness was gone. Her voice and her songs got inextricably into your system - like she did. It was fun to visit her in the home for retired actresses where she spent the last few years of her life due to being semi immobilized by broken shoulders and emphysema. Typically it was a hard place to get to. Requests for dresses and caviar – but the good kind – were made to her callers. I made her a velvet jacket for the documentary she was featuring in. Absurd as it sounds, I never expected her to die. How typical of her to suddenly leave without saying goodbye.

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