My idea of glamour is the red velvet curtains and footlights of the theatre, with lots of gold stuck on everywhere. After I graduated, I was deluged with exciting offers, and one was to go to America. But I don’t think Hollywood glamour fitted with what I wanted to do, at all.
I don’t like it when people keep their awards in lavatories. A couple of my awards [Phillips has numerous awards, including two Baftas] are kept as bookends: one holds letters on the shelf, and another just sits looking vague. They’re part of the bric-a-brac.
I only tried monogamy once, and I tried very hard. My marriage to Peter O’Toole [between 1959-1979] was a perfect storm. Peter always drank too much and it was not an easy situation, but I couldn’t just give up on the marriage. I had to take it as far as I was able to.
People react very differently to alcohol problems now than they used to. In the days with Peter, everybody expected the family to enable the person to go on working, while they had a problem. Nobody expected you to blow the whistle and say, “Stop this, go to hospital.” People would have thought you were a very bad wife.
The wasted talent among women used to be unbelievable. My mother was a gifted teacher, but had to retire when she got married, which was a tragedy. My parents were part of the vast legion of quietly heroic people who put up with a lot of unfairness and injustice, but never complained.
It was a while before I spoke English. I heard English on the radio when I was growing up in West Glamorgan, but we spoke Welsh. In fact, I spoke French before I spoke English properly! I was sent to France when I was 13 and came back fluent. Eventually I had to speak English for money, as I started working for the BBC.
A plastic surgeon saved my face. At 19, I was driving through the fog with one of my university boyfriends, who slammed his foot on the accelerator instead of the brake. We crashed and I broke my nose and jaw. I’m very grateful to the person who took away as many of the scars as he could.
The theatre has kept its independent spirit. It’s one of the few places where there is freedom from prejudices against all sorts of things – homosexuality, colour, disability. Never in my life have I been in a situation where I’ve felt insulted or threatened by a man at work, or treated badly.
Smoking once seemed so delicious and glamorous. Cigarette cases, lighters, holders... it was wonderful. To quit, I had to go to a hypnotist as I had no willpower at all. I also asked him to put in a message that I would never feel superior or mean about other people smoking. And he did.
I don’t think you can control whether you’re happy or not. I’m much happier on my own; infinitely so. But it is just silly to try and be happy. I’m quite prepared to be gloomy if I have to be. Luckily, on the whole, I’m not.
Siân Phillips is in Lorraine Hansberry’s Les Blancs at the National Theatre, from 22 March
