I am obviously going through a sentimental patch because I got quite soppy over the Daphne Du Maurier play on BBC2 in spite of all the heaving oceanscapes and the overuse of Wagner and Tchaikovsky's greatest hits. In case anyone does not know this, the author of Rebecca
and a lot of other books was brought up by a fiercely homophobic father - this was not especially touched on in the play - and so did not do anything about/squashed her lesbianism until she was almost 40. At which point she fell hopelessly in love with a straight woman who wanted her around but on her terms, not Du Mauriers, and had a rebound relationship with Gertrude Lawrence which was intensely liberatory, but was cut short by Lawrence's sudden death. (It also didn't help that years earlier Lawrence had been the mistress of Daphne's horrid father.)Du Maurier retreated into her by this time loveless marriage to a feckless war hero and gradually became a mad old bat.
I've known about all of this since the Margaret Forster biography, but the play was quite good, and directed by Clare Beavan, someone I met at parties years ago and had completely forgotten about. It was all fifty years ago and seems like an aeon - these poor people and their messy lives and the decent enough art that came out of it.