Early in David Hare’s relationship with his first wife, the playwright’s farming father-in-law asked him a favour: to go outside and kill 11 chickens. “Determined not to be fazed”, he wrung their necks immediately. It’s an act seemingly incompatible with Hare’s later admission that “sticking my head down the lavatory to rack the terror out of my guts yet again” is his main recollection of his first 10 years at the National Theatre.
Ending in 1979, Hare’s exhilarating memoir reveals a complicated man navigating complicated times. It is a repository of lost worlds, from the prim repression of his Bexhill childhood to the wonders of postwar British theatre, where his new touring theatre company could ask Volkswagen for a van – and receive it – and naked actors reciting The Communist Manifesto were part of the scenery. Hare, who holds the world to such serious account in his work, can be endearingly gossipy, including peppery sketches of Laurence Olivier, terrifying in a pink neck brace, or Helen Mirren, freaking out unwary directors by opening her dressing room door naked. Very worthy, never dull.
• The Blue Touch Paper is published by Faber. To order a copy for £8.18 (RRP £9.99) go to bookshop.theguardian.com or call 0330 333 6846. Free UK p&p over £10, online orders only. Phone orders min p&p of £1.99.
