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point of not knowing which was reality. He often went to ancient Rome.’ The attempts to learn Swahili came from doing the rounds of junk shops as a youngster, where Vivian bought books on exploration and African culture.

      When she realized the date of Vivian’s twenty-first birthday was not far off, Monica discovered that he had nobody to share a celebration with and the two went to a college dance. ‘I always say my fate was sealed on 21 March 1964. From then on we were inseparable. The three of us, Larry, Vivian and myself, were all great friends.’ Vivian proved a much warmer, more gentle person than appearances implied. Monica was charmed to discover that a kinder nature, almost parental, lurked beneath the beard and the comedy accessories.

      ‘He used to tell me stories, which were lovely. I’m sure I wasn’t the only person that he did that to, but it was delightful when he told them to me and with such a rich vocabulary and wonderful command of the language.’ She lost patience, though, with his more obscure flights of fancy, saying, ‘Don’t be so silly – using words that nobody understands. What is the point of using language that nobody can understand?’

      ‘Well, they should understand!’ he’d roar. Monica remembers, ‘He could switch on the very big voice, which was terrifying.’ She was introduced to the rest of Vivian’s family, including his father. They all met up in the City and she discovered he was a real City gent – bowler, pinstripe suit, black jacket and carnation. Monica had heard of such people but didn’t realize they actually existed. In a way, she says, he was also ‘acting’ for most of his life. He was not as high up in his company as he made out, and forever being the upright citizen; these were some of the reasons she feels he was hard on his son, who was unconcerned by what others thought: ‘His father hated him because he was exactly himself. He could brush opinion aside,’ says Monica.

      Vivian was also unconcerned about making himself the centre of attention in public. He would bellow in restaurants, on underground trains and even in the cinema. On one occasion she accompanied the Bonzos to Cardiff, where they decided to go to the cinema in the afternoon. The whole band went to see a screening of Alfred Hitchcock’s The Birds. More disturbing than the sounds of screeching birds diving to attack was Vivian making extremely frightening noises, roaring in the back row. By the end of the film, the other patrons were cowering under the seats.

      When the young couple were alone together, Vivian was gentle. ‘He did model his voice on Noël Coward, including the inflections and rather old-fashioned choice of words and even his dress,’ says Monica. ‘I never heard him swear or use obscenities in the home. That was something for out there. Never with me.’ But then that was very much the way he had been brought up in Southend. The alcohol was a different matter. The culture of the band was very much one of drinking and Vivian took to it with his customary energy and passion. As a pop star, drinking was to be expected and few people around him saw it as a problem. Rod Slater was one of the few who spotted the danger signs relatively early.

      ‘One of the things you could never do was enjoy the pleasure of having a drink with Viv,’ he says. ‘You could never do that. I remember the last time I had a drink with him, we got kicked out of the pub.’ Rod had simply popped around to Vivian’s place in north London and off they went to the pub. ‘He had two pints of beer and he was away. He was causing chaos. Suddenly the penny dropped at last. I realized that I must never drink with Viv again because this was what happened. And I never did. I never had a drink with him again.’ The idea of a couple of pints and the resumption of normal activity was not quite Vivian’s way. His active mind and eager desire for stimulation – whether mental or physical – meant that he became over-excited by alcohol quite quickly. If he did over-indulge it wasn’t long before the next phase would set in, when he became silent, tongue-tied and morose. But for much of his time with the Bonzos, he was far more concerned with being creative, with reading, painting, drawing, playing music and widening his circle of friends. In the early days of their romance, Monica was one of the few band girlfriends who dared to travel with the Bonzos to their various pub gigs. At the Deuragon Arms and the Tiger’s Head she collected the money for the gig. ‘It was great fun and I adored the music. I found the whole thing exciting and exhilarating.’ The couple became inseparable. When at last the band was a success and its lead singer a star, they could afford to live together and raise a family. Vivian and Monica were married on 1 January 1968 at Colindale Register Office.

      ‘It was an awful place and it was snowing. The registrar came in eating her sandwiches out of a paper bag. She sat down at the wedding desk to finish her sandwiches. It was par for the course,’ she laughs. There was not even time for a honeymoon. The next morning the bridegroom had to rush off with the Bonzos to record a TV show. ‘The band were extremely busy. So in fact we never had a honeymoon. I think he was frightened of not being home. He later developed agoraphobia and I think that was the start of it. Unless he was with the band, which was his safety net, he wouldn’t go anywhere.

      He would go out, but he wouldn’t go on holiday. He had to have a structure to the evening, or he couldn’t relax.’ The Stanshalls settled at 221 East End Road in East Finchley. Monica remembers their time together was largely characterized by hilarity: ‘We giggled like children endlessly,’ she says. Vivian was always hatching some mischief, laughing at some absurdity in the newspaper or just chortling. Wherever they were, whatever they were doing, there was some kind of merriment near the surface.

      The couple’s son, Rupert, was born 27 June 1968, when Vivian was twenty-five. His manner was coloured by many of Vivian’s traits, including a dark sense of humour and a distinctive speaking voice. With his red hair and fiery temperament bubbling beneath the surface, there was soon a startling physical resemblance to his father. To Rupert’s chagrin, the kids at school did not fail to connect his name and red hair to Rupert the Bear. The character had been a favourite of Vivian’s.

      Intelligent, precocious, and exposed to many and varied intellectual pursuits and eccentricities, Rupert was surrounded by books and instruments as a child. He was encouraged to take an interest in natural history and was sent to Christ’s College, a respected school in Finchley. He had problems as a student and his relationship with his mother suffered.

      ‘Monica couldn’t control me,’ he explains. ‘She wanted me to be the academic super-boy, because Vic was uncontrollable.’ The boy was more interested in selling, from the time he was in school. If anything, his father was more inclined to study. Vivian devoured books and took a keen interest in zoology and tropical fish. He also attempted home-improvement projects, in his own fashion. Monica remembers: ‘He liked digging holes. He dug up our garden, making a huge hole which was going to be a pond, but never was completed. It was just left – as a big hole. He liked anything creative and making a pond was a creative act. When I finally left the house in East End Road I was told that I had to take down all the shelving. This not only held heavy rows of books but six-foot fish tanks full of turtles. I found the shelving had been fixed to the walls with six-inch nails. No screws or Rawlplugs. Just nails, whacked into the walls. The whole lot could have come down at any time.’ The mania for physical creation was often an excuse to put off writing or working with the band. It also gave Vivian a reason to get busy with his power tools.

      ‘Now, power tools and alcohol do not mix,’ explains Rupert. ‘He bought himself a bench saw, which he installed at 221 East End Road and which was kept in the lean-to garage, full of props from the Bonzos. I always remember it was full of Mickey Mouses and speech bubbles which I used to play with. He was always sawing things up and making sculptures. The machines he used were a bit daunting and he’d say to me, “Grrr – this has got big teeth on it.” The screaming coming from the shed on a regular basis, when he’d caught himself, was louder than the saw itself. He had this big thing about how all tools and chisels must be kept clean and sharp. Then he would forget them. He wouldn’t put the caps back on or remember to clean the chisels. He’d pull them out and you’d hear this angry roaring: “Rah, rah, rah!’”

      Vivian was very much the absent-minded artist. He became absorbed in whatever it was he was doing and daily chores went straight out of the window, unless they involved his work. ‘He was really hot on his musical instruments,’ says Rupert. ‘As a result I was always very careful with stuff. I didn’t break anything, so he’d let me tune

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