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“Julie-gee,” he said, “be sure to give the baby time every day to kick and be free, without clothes. It is important that she feel the air on her skin—to learn who she is.” So every evening, Emma would lie naked on a big bath towel on our living room couch by the warm fire. She obviously enjoyed the experience—kicking, punching, gurgling, and happily doing her calisthenics. We made sure that Shy still felt an important part of the family.

Tony and I became hopelessly weary, awake every night with our hungry baby. We suffered through this for what seemed like an age, and one day, in desperation, I called my mother.

“Mum,” I wailed, “we feed her as late as we can, hoping that she’ll sleep all night, but still it doesn’t work.”

My mother, who had raised four children, lovingly explained that I was going about it the wrong way. “By delaying her evening feed, she’s getting her longest sleep before you even go to bed,” she said. “Wake her up every four hours, no matter what, and give her something to eat, and she will soon adjust to your schedule.”

That’s exactly what happened.

On February 24, 1963, we held a christening for Emma at St. Mary’s, Oatlands, the church where we were married. The Reverend Keeping did the honors, Emma behaved beautifully, and all the Waltons, Wellses, and Andrewses gathered at The Meuse afterward for a small celebration. Three days later we left for Hollywood.

TONY, WENDY, EMMA
, and I flew first-class, sitting in the bulkhead at the front of the plane. The airline had installed a bassinet against the wall, and Emma traveled comfortably.

Disney Studios had rented and furnished a house for us in Toluca Lake, but I had not seen it. As before, when I first headed to Broadway, I was once again venturing into a totally new world. I could not know that life would turn me inside out and upside down several times in the years ahead. I only knew that at this moment, all was serene and happy, and I felt supremely blessed. Tony and I were going to work together, we had a beautiful baby daughter who was the love of our lives, and Walt Disney beckoned with kind, creative hands.

As it turned out…I was going home.

W
HEN I FIRST
began this memoir, I had no idea how many people would come forward to help and share in my journey of rediscovery. My gratitude and thanks go to them all.

Without my daughter Emma, there would be no memoir. I had established an extensive timeline and, working from that, she interviewed and recorded me, researched, and ultimately correlated all the information so that I could begin writing. She then used her good editorial skills to advise and reinforce my instincts. Her encouragement, enthusiasm, and interest in the history of my early years were ever present. A mother with her own family and career, she embraced this project unreservedly, and was patient, understanding, and generous of heart throughout it all. I could not have been given a greater gift.

My deep gratitude goes to Bob Miller and Ellen Archer of Hyperion. Ten years ago, Bob approached me about writing a memoir and, to my amazement, never lost faith. With a “day job” that took up so much of my time, I missed every deadline and even offered to return my advance payment—but he always politely refused.

Leslie Wells, my trusted editor at Hyperion, in New York, and Ion Trewin, of Weidenfeld & Nicolson, in England, contributed so much to the final shape of the book, and I am indebted to them.

Francine Taylor, my longtime friend and assistant, tirelessly took my notes, transcribed my recordings and those of my family, and put up with my pleas for “just one more insert” at all hours of the day and night.

My deepest thanks go to her and to our dear friend, Jim Brennan, who
did so much research in England for me concerning vaudeville and my own stage appearances.

Similarly, my thanks go to my Los Angeles assistant and friend, Christine Jardine; her counterpart in our California household, Carmen Garcia; and Eliza Rand, our editorial associate in the Julie Andrews Collection, for their constant help.

Tony Walton and his wife, Gen (who fondly refer to me as “our Ex”) were generous in their support, comments, and contribution of letters and photographs. Jen Gosney, Tony’s sister, could not have been more contributive, providing memorabilia she had saved of our early lives together, and I have her to thank for introducing me to Peter De Rougemont, whose expertise in archival research turned up valuable and sometimes surprising information.

I extend a thank you to Giles Brearley, whom I have never met, but whose work on the life of my maternal grandfather arrived on my desk, incredibly, the day I began this memoir.

I was able to record my father, Ted Wells, and interview his wife, Win, and my mother’s friend, Gladys Barker, while they were alive, and their recollections turned out to be invaluable.

Similarly, my late Aunt Joan wrote many biographical pages, and I have unashamedly borrowed from them.

My brothers, John, Donald, and Christopher, and sister, Celia (Shad), shared many hours with me while we discussed family recollections. For all of us it was a time of stirred feelings and, ultimately, deeper understandings—special moments that I shall always treasure.

I am grateful to dear friends Carol Burnett, Sybil Christopher, Zoë Dominic, and Catherine Ashmore for their love and help.

Special thanks must go to my personal manager, Steve Sauer, for his belief in this project, and for his efforts to facilitate a smooth path, especially during the last hectic months when it was finally coming together.

I extend my gratitude to Ted Chapin for providing research concerning my work with Rodgers and Hammerstein.

To David Lott, production editor, and Linda Lehr, production manager, my thanks for helping to correct and improve the book. Thanks to Beth Gebhard, Jane Comins, Jessica Wiener, and Betsy Spigelman
for marketing and publicity; and to Jill Sansone for her work in subsidiary rights. For the many hours spent in photo researching, I would like to acknowledge Ruth Mandel. Fritz Metsch delighted me with his design of the book, and to all the good people behind the scenes at Hyperion, my warm appreciation.

I am deeply touched that our four other children, Jennifer, Geoffrey, Amy, and Joanna, and all the grandchildren, put up with this mum who, though present in love, must have seemed absent when writing occupied her thoughts.

My gratitude also goes to Steve Hamilton, who was ever patient during this period, both with his wife, Emma, and his mother-in-law.

Finally, to my dearest Blackie, husband for the past thirty-eight years and the real writer in our household: bless you for understanding so completely the obligations and needs of a work that consumed so much of my time. Thank you for always being there and for holding the fort.

JA
Sag Harbor, 2007