
Please note that some of the additional information provided here by the journalist named below may not be accurate, so it should be treated with caution.
14th December, 1957
The letters poured into the TV mirror post box. Who is he? When are we going to see him again? How old is he? Is he married? and so on. Inevitably the signature was Mrs or miss
A new idol had been found: actor Peter Wyngarde.
As I waited for Mr Wyngarde at his favourite coffee bar in London’s Park Lane, a woman fainted. I wondered if she knew he was coming and had passed out at the thought, but when he arrived no one looked at him twice
“It’s fantastic” he said in the slow, dreamy voice once described as “black magic” by Patricia Laffan. “In New York if you’ve had half a dozen starring roles on television, you’re a national figure. But me, I walk down the street here and few people show signs of recognition. I must look different on television.”
But what about all the fan mail? What does it feel like to suddenly become the object of so much admiration? “It’s absolutely wonderful,” he told me. “After my part as Sydney Carton in A Tale of Two Cities on BBC TV, I got 5,300 fan letters, all from the dear gentle sex. One of them said she used to have a Van Gogh painting over a fireplace. She’s now replaced it with a picture of me. I’m delighted to think I’ve replaced Tommy Steele and Van Gough in the hearts.”
The only time before that he received a lot of mail was when he wore a pair of blue jeans that were too tight.
Wyngarde fans have a double treat this week. On Friday is in ITV’s Love Her To Death, by Linden Brook, in which he plays Lionel Collins, a young and poor man married to a rich woman. The marriage is on the rocks, when his old flame turns up…

Then on Monday, BBC, he reads a short story entitled Truffles which is set in a French colony. “Short stories I find tremendously difficult,” he says. “You’ve got to create all the atmosphere yourself.”
Wyngarde is well built, of medium height, with wiry black hair (and when I met him bushy sideboards). He was wearing a light grey suit of slightly continental cut. He was born 29 years ago, his mother French, his father English. He’s looks, his manner, his clothes, all add up to two words: sex appeal.
“When I’m doing TV drama,” he explained, “I deliberately played down sex appeal, I suppose you must call it that, unless it’s needed for the plot. I believe actors should try and steer away from their natural trait. They’ll still show through in your final performance, but they’ll be much more realistic if you restrain them.”
That’s the actor. Now the man. He has a telephone at his bedside, gets up late – ten-ish, eats huge breakfast. Sample: “Grapefruit, cereal with a pint of hot milk – I like it gooey – two eggs and bacon, or kippers. I used to have chops, but I got too fat.”
He smokes American cigarettes, drinks whiskey. He is a Catholic, wears at his belt a medallion blessed by the Pope during Holy Year. He’s not married, but wedding bells are on the horizon. So is a trip to America. But Mr Wyngarde was reluctant to talk about any of this.
He plays tennis moderately, fences in the huge garage attached to his furnished Mews flat, has two cars – both pre-war. He loves painting (pictures), says he finds mixing the colours relaxing which fits in well with his philosophy: “All I want to do really is enjoy life.”
But he must be wondering if his new found fans will let him.


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