Tucked away among a wealth of James Bond memorabilia at the Imperial War Museum’s nostalgic For Your Eyes Only exhibition are the lilywhite brogues worn by Auric Goldfinger, part-time golfer and full-time megalomaniac. Ian Fleming’s villains were a rum bunch at the best of times, but few were more rum than Goldfinger, a man whose plot to undermine the price of gold was so diabolical and complicated you needed a degree in economics to understand it.
Nowadays Goldfinger would have set up a hedge fund instead, but those were headier times and Fleming’s fantastical tales were hatched in the breathless climate of wartime London. Many of the plots have more than a touch of autobiography about them: as a commander in naval intelligence Fleming divided his time between a covert commando unit codenamed ‘the Red Indians’ and concocting the mind-boggling schemes documented here. One, requiring loopy occultist Aleister Crowley to lure equally bonkers Nazi, Rudolf Hess, to Britain, was worthy of Goldfinger himself.
So where did Fleming get the inspiration for 007? Well, if you’ve come to find the real-life James Bond you may leave disappointed; For Your Eyes Only tantalises without ever answering the question. The suspect list is lengthy. Could it have been the dashing Patrick Dalzel-Job, one of Fleming’s Red Indians? Maybe Fitzroy McLean, SAS operative and fellow Old Etonian? Or even Valentine, Fleming’s decorated father? Valentine Fleming was killed on the Somme in 1917 when Ian was only nine and his obituary, penned by Winston Churchill, is a moving reminder of childhood loss.
The one person Fleming consistently discounted was himself, protesting that the only thing he had in common with Bond was a love of scrambled eggs. And it was true, especially if you overlook the Eton schooling, naval career, spying, gambling, fast cars, faster women and that silver Rolex Oyster.
There are plenty of other Fleming curios on show too, including the mahogany desk from Goldeneye, the Jamaican idyll where he spent three months each year. Sitting at this desk Fleming turned out his 12 thrillers, taking time out to snorkel, paint and perfect those scrambled eggs. The crystal seas were an inspiration for him and his villains, many of whom furnished themselves with a extra layer of fiendishness by living underwater.
Fleming was a doting father and on display are skilful sketches of Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, the character he created for his son in the days when a flying car wasn’t the last word in environmental terrorism. These touching rarities and the collection of private letters are a real highlight, offering insights into Fleming and his army of fanatical fans. The author replied to much of his fanmail, but even he may have been stumped by a letter from one Bond devotee. “I followed the address provided in your book to SMERSH’s headquarters in Moscow,” wrote the crestfallen fan. “But was disappointed to find a grocers at the location.”
