Contact me at Encyclopedia Sabrina
The curious incident ofCinderella Nightingale |
In 1958, Robert Muller's novel Cinderella Nightingale was released. Sabrina sued the author and publisher for libel and all copies of the book were withdrawn from sale (except for Australia where I found a hardback first edition!) A 'revised' edition was released by Pan in 1962. |
Written by Robert Muller, and published in 1958 by Arthur Barker, Cinderella Nightingale is "a tale of an ambitious shop-girl". A Cinderella Bibliography reports about Cinderella Nightingale:
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29 July 1958 London, England, United Kingdom - NORMA ANN SYKES escorted on her arrival at the Law Courts for her hearing on suing London publisher Arthur Baker Ltd. for alleged libel. Read more of other times when Sabrina was in court . Read more of what Sabrina was doing in 1958 .
Below, you can see how Sabrina was distressed by having to face more publicity and appear in court yet again ... |
It was a " sizzling, up-to-the-minute close-up of the amoral machine that turns a beautiful body into big business'. Its story of Iris Littlewood, an ambitious shop-girl who becomes 'the darling of the photographers, the prey of the columnists ".
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There is ITN news footage of Sabrina arriving at court - sadly neither the 9 seconds of footage nor the date is available, but the summary is: SABRINA AT LAW COURTS: She arrives at Court for hearing of libel case against a Publishing company. SCU Sabrina arrives at Court escort: Sal by a man - walks towards and holds on end. She is dressed completely in black and covered up:: "
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And another account, in case you were hungry for more details... 29 July 1959 - Evening Times
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The Offending Passage Cinderella Nightingale , by Robert Muller "She's had it rough, you can't deny that."
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29 June 1958 - BATTLE OF THE BLONDES.
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14 August 1958 - The Stage , p.3 - Thursday
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8 October 1959 - Daily Express
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8 October 1959 - The Times , p.17 (added 2021-12-26) Law Report, Oct. 7HIGH COURT OF JUSTICEQUEEN'S BENCH DIVISION LIBEL ON "SABRINA" Before Mr. Justice Paull The settlement was announced of this libel action by Miss Norma Sykes, television and variety star known as Sabrina, of Hyde Park Square, W.2, and her father, Mr. Walter Sykes, of Bloomfield Road, Blackpool, against Mr. Robert Muller, of Museum Street, W.C.l, author of a novel entitled Cinderella Nightingale . Mr. Anthony Lincoln appeared for the plaintiffs; Mr. Colin Duncan for the defendant. Mr. Lincoln said that Cinderella Nightingale portrayed the life and character of a television and variety star. The book contained a number of incidents and circumstances which could have been taken from Sabrina's life. Unfortunately there were certain other incidents in the novel which threw an unpleasant light on the career of the principal character and her father. In 1958, as a result of proceedings brought by the plaintiffs, the publishers ceased to publish the book, withdrew it from circulation so far as it was in their power to do so, and apologized in open court to the plaintiffs. When the author's attention was drawn by Sabrina's advisers to the fact that Sabrina and her father had been erroneously identified with the characters in the novel and therefore with the unpleasant incidents it contained, he dissociated himself from any such identification. He did, however, recognize that such identification would constitute a grave and wholly unjustified reflection upon the characters and conduct of Sabrina and her father. The plaintiffs accepted the author's assurance that he never had any intention that any passage in the book should be read as referring to either of them and that the characters of the book were entirely fictitious, and they had no objection to the publication of any new edition of the book which included agreed adjustments to the passages complained of. Notwithstanding, the author expressed his sincere regrets for any embarrassment which statements in the Press, linking the book with the plaintiffs, might have caused them, and had agreed to pay any costs which the plaintiffs might have incurred in bringing this matter to his attention. Mr. Duncan, on behalf of the defendant, associated himself with Mr.Lincoln's remarks. His Lordship gave leave for the record to be withdrawn. Solicitors.— Messrs. M. A. Jacobs & Sons; Messrs. Oswald Hickson, Collier& Co. |
8 October 1959 - Daily Mirror
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8 October 1959 - The Guardian Sabrina and a novelAction Withdrawn
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Sabrina discusses the incident in a 1961 magazine article...
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EDITOR'S NOTE 2011
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30 July 1958
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8 October 1959 High Court Of Justice Law Report, Oct. 7,HIGH COURT OF JUSTICE, QUEEN'S BENCH DIVISION, LIBEL ON "SABRINA",SYKES AND ANOTHER v. MULLER [The author of Cinderella Nightingale], Before MR. JUSTICE PAULL The settlement was announced of this libel action by
against Mr. Robert Muller, of Museum Street. W.C.I. author of a novel entitled Cinderella Nightingale.
MR. LINCOLN said that Cinderella Nightingale portrayed the life and character of a television and variety star. The book contained a number of incidents and circumstances which could have been taken from. Sabrina's life. Unfortunately thcre were certain other incidents in the novel which threw an unpleasant light on the career of the principal character and her father. In 1958, as a result of proceedings brought by the plaintiffs, the publishers ceased to publish the book, withdrew it from circulation so far as it was in their power to do so, and apologized in open court to the plaintiffs. When the author's attention was drawn by Sabrina's advisers to the fact that Sabrina and her father had been erroneously identified with the characters in the novel and therefore with the unpleasant incidents it contained, he dissociated himself from any such identification. He did, however, recognize that such identification would constitute a grave and wholly unjustified reflection upon the characters and conduct of Sabrina and her father. The plaintiffs accepted the author's assurance that he never had any intention that any passage in the book should be lead as referring to either of them and that the characters of the book were entirely fictitious, and they had no objection to the publication of any new edition of the book which included agreed adjustments to the passages complained of. Notwithstanding, the author expressed his sincere regrets for any embarrassment which statements in the Press, linking the book with the plaintiffs, might have caused them, and had agreed to pay any costs which the plaintiffs might have incurred in bringing this matter to his attention. MR. DUNCAN, on behalf of the defendant, associated himself with Mr. Lincoln's remarks. His LORDSHiP gave leave for the record to be withdrawn. Solicitors - Messrs. M. A. Jacobs & Sons; Messrs. Oswald Hickson, Collier & Co. |
A Taste of the naughty novel Cinderella Nightingale , by Robert Muller Chapter 10 AT four o'clock in the morning, after the All-Star midnight Matinee at the Palladium, Iris let herself into her flat and turned on all the lights. There was no message, as she had hoped, from her mother; only a typed note from her secretary listing telephone callers and informing her that she had given [pet] Jerry his supper. Iris crunched the paper into a tight ball, and fell back on her bed. For a few moments she lay quite still, listening to her own breathing. Then she switched on the electric fire and closed her eyes. She felt too weary to undress, or wash her face, or boil some water for tea. All she longed for was sleep, or, at least, a good releasing cry. If only she hadn't had that row with Mum. Fancy her sulking for days, because she hadn't introduced Geoffrey to her. Just because he was Lord Ragsdale. If they asked her, she'd turn him and his lot in for a nice tin of Heinz's tomato soup, right now, cooked with a bit of Marmite, the way Mum did it. Not that Geoffrey was worse than the rest of those duty dates. But it was no joke going out with people what treated you like a prize cow. Even if you got to like one of them, it could never amount to anything. If you let him have a bit of a cuddle, there was always the danger they found out about the padding, and it would be all over the West End by next evening ; in the papers, too, no doubt. And so much for your career, Miss Nightingale. So hands off it had to be, and she was getting sick and tired of saying no to people who thought she was kidding. What a cheek, trying to get round her when all they went out with her for was getting their names and pictures in the papers. Come to think of it, they probably didn't like her any more than she liked them. . . . Like that other evening, when Geoffrey had taken her to a show. Hadn't bothered to warn her that it was the Old Vic. She'd almost dozed off in the last act, with all those kings and people shouting about nothing. But then, there you was again, if you was Tess Nightingale you couldn't just slink out, else all the papers would be full of it next morning. And that night club afterwards. Shuffling about and talking in that funny way. As if she cared about Old Toby and his ruddy Mater. And everybody staring at her cleavage all night, like they'd want to order it for dessert or something. . . . Too tired now to get up and undress, not sleepy enough to find sleep, she put her thumb in her mouth and tried to turn on the tear switch. For once the mechanism refused to work. She stretched out her arm, lifted the receiver off the hook and let it dangle, purring, from the table. Then she grabbed a cushion and held it over her head. It was awful sleeping alone. Tonight it would come on again, she was sure of it, with her head feeling like a mine, and a million little men with pickaxes digging for coal. If only there was someone she liked. . . . Brian could help, he didn't worry about her being 37½ or 37 or what. Trust him not to care whether she was alive or dead. They was all so soft, the others, always asking , like a lot of silly kids. That wasn't the way a man did it. They didn't have much sense, did they? A familiar horror swept over her. Didn't they know you wasn't supposed to like it? Didn't they know you died from it if you liked it too much? Tomorrow, singing lessons again. The way [her agent] Miles liked to boss her around. Do this, do that. He didn't have to do any of it himself. That bloody professor with his scales and more scales. She could murder him—and that dancing academy. Good job that chap was giving her private lessons now, she couldn't go through that again, all those ballet dancers tittering every time she jumped. It had said practice clothes, hadn't it? Well, let 'em laugh. How much money did they make a week? She sighed. . . . What a way to make a living. Those stories they wrote about her. Like the one she read the other day about her Mum having taught her to sing and dance when she was four, and about her preferring a cultured type of man who read the New Nation or something, and took her out to concerts. And those wicked things they'd written about her, just because they'd picked her for the Midnight Matinee. About her talents measuring 37½ inches and that. Dirty sods, they shouldn't be allowed to write things like that. They was only jealous. Not a word about doing "Only a Dream " (with Frankie this time instead of Danny) for Charity. Not a penny she'd got for it. And all those clothes and bras and things they sent her, which she usually gave straight to Mum to wear. Funny the way people sent you things for nothing only after you could afford to pay for them. And all those questions . . . like that man the other day who'd wanted to know what records she'd take on a desert island*. The best of that sort of thing was the endorsing. At least you got money for that, and your picture in the papers as well, just for saying you liked cornflakes or cough drops or whatever it was. One thing, there wasn't all those pictures of herself to send out, now that Beryl and Greta did all that donkey-work. Funny types to run a fan-club really, a bit soft in the head the way they followed her around. Waiting outside theatres and studios till she had finished, like dogs really. And all they ever wanted was for her to say Hello to them and give them a smile. . . . She put her hand behind her to unhook her driess. Doctor Waley had told her not to take them every night, but how else did he think she could go to sleep and look "radiant" next morning? She threw herself, stomach down, on the bed. If only Mum were here to undress her . . . there was nobody else. They all had their eye on the main chance. They must think her dumb if they supposed she didn't see through them. That little man with his furs, and those two Irishmen who did her commercials—they was all jumping on her band wagon, like Miles said, hoping for a bit of That on the side. Tudor Mathiesson, for all his fine airs, he wasn't any different. Always talking about her neckline, and paddling about and kissing her cheek and fussing around her. Anyway, whatever else they said, they couldn't deny that she'd put that Wrong Answers lark in the Big Time. Top Ten every week. No wonder Tudor was sending her flowers every Monday. Twerp. And even then nobody was treating her like a real star—all that fatherly advice and chucking under the chin and Little Girling. Some of them was younger than she was ! It made you sick. Sometimes you was nothing more than a walking bloody advert. Asking her to their publicity parties so they could write that Tess Nightingale was washing her smalls in WHITO (and somebody had to make a crack about smalls of course), getting her to pose for all that cheesecake so that they could flog their magazines, asking her to premieres so that people should know their picture was showing. . . . Everybody on TV wanted her now. Miles said that one of them give-away shows wanted her to distribute the prizes. What had they called it? Oh, yes, they wanted her to "complete the dream image." Like that reporter, writing up the story that she'd insured her bosom for fifty thousand quid, calling her a "universal obsession." Well, universal obsession or not, she hadn't done so bad. All that publicity and five hundred smackers in a good week, and more where that came from. . . . Only what happened next? Was you supposed to go on being the girl with the sensational statistics till you was ninety? Miles kept saying she was doing all right; then why was it they never offered her a proper part in a decent picture? Plenty of those second feature chappies was asking for her, but only 'cause they wanted to stick Tess Nightingale on all the posters. Nobody'd asked her to do no proper acting. Still, like Miles said, once you got your break, all those critics would fall over themselves to "discover" you all over again. The girl can act, Tess Nightingale is an actress, they would write in their papers. That's what Miles said. . . . But why think about Miles? She'd never get to sleep that way. Mum always said the only way to fall asleep was to think about something nice you'd like to do. . . . Now what was it she wanted to do? . . . Go to sleep. ... Or if there was some fellow in the dark who didn't ask or anything. . . . The image she thought eluded her. Instead she found herself thinking about Sally Garland again. Meeting her like that in the Ladies at that party. Her face all smeared, and her language ! And only a couple of years ago she'd been all the rage, Sally Garland, Miss Great Britain, and everybody wanting to use her. "Don't give yourself any airs, Tess Nightingale," she'd said. Just like that. "They'll get tired of you like they got tired of me. One day they'll find themselves a girl with a bigger pair of charlies and you might as well go back to your grocer's. Only you can't go back, can you, Tess Nightingale? " she'd said. "You make hay while the sun shines, my girl," she'd said. "Now you can't do wrong, only you wait till your turn is over and you've said O.K. to too many of them wolves in sheep's clothing what promised you the earth and came up with s.f.a." And then she'd been sick all over the floor of the Ladies, and the woman had told her off. Well, more fool her for popping into bed with every Tom, Dick, and Harry what asked for it, and not putting her cash in the bank. . . . You ought to take your clothes off. You'll ruin your dress if you don't. You ought to be like Marilyn Monroe, just wearing Chanel No. 5 in bed, lying between soft sheets, all naked and smelling lovely to yourself. . . . That image, hot and tiring, like a Turkish Bath, finally did the trick. The purring had stopped and she was breathing evenly.
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*I've checked and the real Sabrina never appeared on Desert Island Disks |
Page Created: 29 November 2011
This page was last modified: Wednesday 2024-07-17 12:00