“I am told that the first comprehensible word I uttered as a child was ‘home.’

So begins Home: A Memoir of My Early Years, the 2008 autobiography of Dame Julie Andrews, star of classics including Mary Poppins, The Sound of Music, Thoroughly Modern Millie, and Victor/Victoria. Along with 2019’s Home Work: A Memoir of My Hollywood Years, co-written with her daughter Emma Hamilton, it offers searing insight into the whirlwind life of a wishful homebody once described by Time Magazine as “Christmas carols in the snow, a companion by the fire, a laughing clown at charades, a girl to read poetry to on a cold winter night.” 

Far from her image as the prudish Miss P&P (prim and proper), Andrews is perhaps the most honest and thoughtful of stars, revealing long-held family secrets, admitting to a love of curse words, and reveling in amusing bodily functions—including her own. An accomplished children’s book author, Andrews writes in unusually clear, straightforward descriptive prose. 

But Andrews can be wryly whimsical—describing being flattened over and over by the draft from the helicopter shooting the iconic opening shot from The Sound of Music. She can also be bawdy, admitting to enjoying James Garner’s on-screen kisses a little too much, and barely resisting Richard Burton’s advances. Overall, Andrews reveals herself to be a true treasure—charming, wise, and above all—loverly.  

The English Rose 

Julia Elizabeth Wells was born on October 1, 1935, in the village of Walton-on-Thames on the banks of the River Thames. Her beloved father, Edward Charles Wells, a gentle and patient teacher, was clearly the young girl’s rock, and her tales of their rambles across the countryside are touching. “He treated me and my siblings as his beloved companions, never dismissing or talking down to us,” she writes. 

However, her frustrated mother, Barbara, was an entirely different character, who Andrews treats with honest compassion. A bawdy, talented concert pianist, she was gone for long stretches touring England with singer Ted Andrews, “the Canadian Troubadour.” Soon, the two were a scandalous item, and young Julia was left with her father, and begin suffering from nightmares. 

Her parents finally divorced in 1943 (after Barbara had already given birth to Julie’s brother, Donald) and her mother immediately married Ted Andrews. The nightmare continued when Julia went to live with them during the Blitz. Andrews paints a terrifying picture of “black,” grimy London during WWII, but there were silver linings—like how her stepfather would bring his guitar down to the subway to entertain terrified Londoners during air raids. He also began to teach the self-proclaimed shy, klutzy Julia to sing.

It was a revelation. Andrews had a “freakish” and powerful voice for so small a child. By the age of 10, she was performing with her mother and stepfather as part of their show. Soon she was the main attraction—billed as “Britain’s youngest singing star.” According to 2007’s Julie Andrews: An Intimate Biography by Richard Stirling, Andrews wanted Home to be a love letter to the last days of vaudeville, and indeed the eccentric, rather melancholy performers and teachers who populate her stories are sketched in loving detail. 

But Andrews was destined for bigger things. “Julie was down to earth—full of fun—and determined to be a star,” actor Norman Wisdom wrote, per Stirling. “People have called her both an English Rose and Iron Butterfly, and both descriptions fit.”

Revelations 

By the age of 13, Andrews was supporting her family, and heeding her kindly voice teacher’s motto: “The amateur works until he can get it right. The professional works until he cannot go wrong.”

“I began to rate myself in terms of how well I sang each night. I kept a little book, writing ‘X’ for excellent or ‘Fairly Good’ or ‘TERRIBLE,’” she writes. The anxious young teen traveled endlessly around the country with her mother and stepfather, with a chaperone, or alone, always longing to go home.

But home was not a happy place. Her mother and stepfather were turbulent alcoholics, and Andrews often found herself attempting to comfort her younger brothers and mother after a beating. Set designer Tony Walton, her first husband and childhood sweetheart, told Stirling that Andrews’ diaries were “filled with fanciful images of what a beautiful, happy life she had and what a glamourous existence she led, when in reality it was pretty seedy.”

Far from white-washing her troubled childhood, an older and highly-therapized Andrews writes of her abusive stepfather’s highly disturbing behavior towards her in straightforward but emotional detail. One night he came into her room and kissed her, explaining, “I really must teach you how to kiss properly.” The always resourceful Andrews told her aunt, and the next day her uncle installed a bolt on her bedroom door. 

Andrews found strength and respite when visiting her father and his new family. “Dad would tuck me into bed and read me a poem or a story, in his precise, beautifully modulated voice. I would lie there,” she writes, “knowing that my return home was imminent and that he was giving me every ounce of himself that he possibly could.”

But even this sacred relationship was not what it seemed. When Andrews was 14, her mother took her to a party at a private home and asked her to sing. After performing, Andrews was approached by a “fleshily handsome” man and felt a kind of electricity with him she could not define. By the end of the night, Barbara was too drunk to drive, so the unlicensed Andrews took over the wheel. Her mother then asked her if she wanted to know why she had taken her to the party. 

I had no idea what it was, but I had the distinct feeling that it was going to be unpleasant. “Would you like me to tell you?” Mum’s eyes were a little moist. “It doesn’t really matter, Mum, it’s fine.”  “Well, I’ll tell you why,” she said. “Because that man is your father.”

My Fair Lady 

No matter the hard knocks, Andrews had a talent that could not be dimmed. She made her Broadway debut in 1954 in The Boyfriend. In 1956, she was launched into the stratosphere when she debuted as the iconic Eliza Doolittle in My Fair Lady opposite the bombastic, deliciously difficult Rex Harrison. 

Initially dismissive and derisive towards his upstart co-star, Harrison eventually warmed up to the diligent Andrews, and seemed to delight in making her laugh on stage. Andrews recalls one performance, where Harrison was having stomach problems: 

As I finished my speech, Rex released a veritable machine-gun volley of pent-up wind… Rex had a devilish look on his face… I was a basket case of giggles…I could see the lyrics coming at me before I sang them: “No, my reverberating friend, you are not the beginning and the end!” I took so many pauses in that scene trying to contain myself that the show ran over by about ten minutes. 

After the show, Harrison apologized, saying “I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I was always a windy boy—even when I was young.” 

When the time came to cast Eliza Doolittle in the film version of My Fair Lady, Warner Brothers’s Jack Warner decided to cast superstar Audrey Hepburn in the role. Though Andrews is politely diplomatic about the decision, she makes sure to include that Hepburn, a good friend later in life, told her, “Julie, you should have done the role...but I didn’t have the guts to turn it down.” 

Andrews also revels in the fact that losing Doolittle opened up her schedule to shoot Disney’s 1964 smash Mary Poppins. She recounts with relish her speech after she won the Golden Globe for the iconic role, revealing the sly humor behind the ladylike façade: 

I wasn’t sure what I would say, even as I went up on stage to accept the award. After thanking Walt and the Foreign Press for the honor, I took an enormous gamble: “ Finally, my thanks to a man who made a wonderful movie and who made all this possible in the first place… Mr. Jack Warner.” 

Two of A Kind

During the Broadway run of Camelot, Andrews met an unlikely bosom buddy—comedian Carol Burnett. “We…seem to have an instinct, one for the other, as to how our brains work, our thoughts, feelings. It’s always been understood that we are chums: we probably were in a past life, as well.”

“Julie and I both try to control situations, because as children we were trying to cope with what was essentially an uncontrollable problem,” Burnett told Stirling. “Being a caretaker is a positive manifestation of that. We also understood the negative part- that we were sometimes too controlling, too perfectionist, too organized…We grew up trying to make everything perfect because we thought it might be our fault if it wasn’t.”

Andrews and Burnett would go on to perform a series of legendary specials together, and Andrews credits Burnett with helping her lose her inhibitions and loosen up. One night in at a D.C. hotel, they decided to surprise director Mike Nichols at the elevator by making out with each other. But every time they would embrace, there would be a car full of strangers.

Carol slid off my knee and crawled behind the sofa to hide. “What are you doing?” I asked. She couldn’t even reply, she was laughing so hard. With a touch of panic, I noticed that the lady who had just passed us had turned around and was now coming back. Leaning over the sofa, she inquired, “Excuse me, are you Carol Burnett?” In a strangled voice, Carol said, “Yes!” Then raising a hand above the sofa to point at me, she added, “And this is my friend, Mary Poppins!”

Finally, the target of their prank appeared. “We plunged into our embrace once again, and Mike stepped out of the elevator. Without pausing or even breaking a smile, he casually said, 'Oh, hi, girls,’ and continued down the corridor.”

Blake 

As Andrews soared to greater heights as Maria in 1965’s The Sound of Music, she admits she was overwhelmed and anxiety-ridden as her first marriage fell apart. She began going to an analyst, and both Home and Home Work are peppered with seemingly endless talk of therapy which helped her realize she was a people pleaser who needed to start living for herself.

Enter the mercurial, witty, and married Blake Edwards, writer and director of legendary films including Breakfast at Tiffany’s and The Pink Panther. 

On one of their first dates, Edwards told her that at a party weeks before they met, he had been part of a discussion where folks were asking whether Andrews had received her Oscar as a consolation prize for losing the role of Eliza in My Fair Lady. Andrews writes: 

Everyone had ventured an opinion, except Blake. He bided his time, and spoke last. “I know why she won,” he said. All eyes turned to him. “She has lilacs for pubic hair.” Apparently, the room erupted with laughter, and somebody said, “With your luck, you’ll probably meet the lady and end up marrying her!” As he finished his story, he looked at me sheepishly. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “That’s all right.” I smiled. “But—how did you know?”

From then on, lilacs would feature heavily in their romance. “There was something dangerous about him, which was irresistible to my play-it-safe nature. Why he chose to woo me was a total puzzlement—we couldn’t have been more different. I likened us to a lion and a squirrel.”

The two married in 1969. Their shared professional projects (S.O.B, 10, Victor/Victoria) and blended family (including children from previous marriages and two girls adopted from Vietnam) appear to have consumed Andrew’s life, repeating the chaotic patterns of her childhood. 

But in Home Work, Andrews seems liberated, honestly relating her co-dependent relationship with the troubled Edwards (who died in 2010), who struggled with depression, hypochondria, and pill abuse. But she also seems endlessly besotted by his charming ways, like the night she explained to Edwards that she felt singing was a way to expose the heart and soul: 

Blake nodded understandingly. We kissed, said good night, and turned out the light. About ten seconds passed, and in the darkness, I heard a slight clearing of the throat, and in a little voice like that of a child, Blake began to sing “Sweet Leilani.” I exploded with laughter and turned on the light. “Don’t laugh,” Blake said. “I’m showing you my soul.”

Mother Courage 

While Home unfolds like a lovely, darkly tinged storybook, Home Work at times feels rushed and frenetic, a litany of professional and personal worries. She presents herself as a serial homemaker constantly caring for widespread residences, elderly parents, wayward siblings, and wild children- who also happens to be a living legend.  “She’s always there to read a bedtime story or to go for a quiet walk,” her daughter Emma recalled, per Stirling. “She is the one to clean up after a family pet. She will look up and sigh, ‘I wonder if Elizabeth Taylor does this.’” 

Home Work ends with the filming of the 1986 movie That’s Life!, written and directed by Blake Edwards and starring Julie as… the long-suffering famous wife of a troubled man. One hopes there will be a third memoir since Andrews, now 87 years old, has had a career resurgence in the past 20 years in films like The Princess Diaries and as the narrator of the Netflix smash Bridgerton, despite the devastating loss of her singing voice after a botched operation in 1997. 

“Was I scared? You bet. Did I feel inadequate? All the time,” she writes in Home Work. “Did I want to overcome those feelings and succeed? Absolutely. Thankfully, I was willing to pay my dues, and to learn... When we were touring, my mum would drill into me: “Don’t you dare complain about anything …It won’t do a thing for you, and nobody cares. Don’t pull rank, or boast. There’s always someone who can do what you do better than you. Get on with it, and you’ll be respected so much more.”