Amanda lands in Forest Gate

Local resident and author, Robert Nurden, tells the story of how his Chestnut Avenue House will soon be seen by millions on BBC1. 

I never thought when I bought my unremarkable terraced house in Chestnut Avenue, Forest Gate, in 1989, that one day a production company would choose it as a prime film location. But, much to my surprise, its diminutive hallway and traditional 19^th century porch were just what Merman Productions needed for the new BBC1, six-part comedy series Amandaland, starring Lucy Punch as Amanda. It’s a spin-off of the cult drama Motherland, which starred Anna Maxwell Martin and Diane Morgan.

Philippa Dunne, left, during the filming of Amandaland at Robert Nurden's house, 67 Chestnut Avenue

Nothing grand about the start of my flirtation with the stars though: a flimsy flyer stuffed through the letterbox, asking home owners to let the cameras in for half a day. I contacted the location manager and he asked me to take some shots of my front door. I sent them off and he replied: “Just what we’re after. May I pop round tomorrow for a better gander?”

Martin approved. “We want to film a bedroom scene, too,” he said. “We’d double the fee, of course,” he added as an afterthought. I knew Dame Joanna Lumley (who plays Amanda’s insecure mother, Felicity) was in the cast for this series. But I quickly dismissed any disgraceful thoughts of her occupying my bed for a scene or two. 

Philippa Dunne, Lucy Punch and Joanna Lumley

My shameful and ridiculous notion turned into a mere academic red herring as Martin was on the hunt for a teenager’s bedroom, which mine clearly wasn’t. Still, the fee for two-and-a-half-hours’ filming in the porch turned out to be more than adequate.

There remained the issue of the overgrown privet hedge. I asked him if I should give it a clip before the cameras rolled. He made it abundantly clear that long and straggly was the look he was after. So, thankfully, I was able to leave it uncut.

I was told that in this eagerly awaited sequel to Motherland, Amanda, who is in the throes of a divorce, has downsized to Harlesden. But apparently producers thought that unsung Forest Gate looked more like Harlesden than Harlesden did. So, E7 it was. There’s no stopping our beloved Forest Gate these days.   

The first thing to happen on the day in question – 25 October – was the arrival of the art department (otherwise known as the props department), which consisted of two serious-looking chaps sporting neatly trimmed hipster beards. 

They deposited a brightly coloured football, a pair of football boots, red wellies, armfuls of coats, a frightening-looking plastic gun that made a lot of noise, a cricket bat and a tennis racquet both in the hall and on the front step of my humble abode. Clearly a sporty family. They also rigged up a pair of net curtains at the front window, something I’d always managed to do without until that point.

My gaff, for just one afternoon, was going to be lived in by one of the three stars of the show – Philippa Dunne (who plays the put-upon Anne), the kindest of the triumvirate of leading women. She is always lending a hand in one way or another. Apparently, in this series, she runs a voluntary maths class and a young lad was being dropped off by his dad for extra tuition. That was to be the scene.  

At 1.45pm two more men with a health and safety remit arrived to check the surroundings. The child actor had to be allotted two ‘safe’ locations for those times when he wasn’t filming and the men pinned notices on certain doors, warning adults not to enter. The boy’s father also attended as extra security.

The film crew were simultaneously using the interior of the big pink house in Avenue Road for another scene. This one featured Lucy Punch, who I caught a glimpse of munching a sandwich in between takes. 

I noticed that her long, blonde tresses were covered by a plastic bag in order to protect her from the rain. When the two locations were taken together, there must have been nigh on 60 people involved, inside and out.

About 2.30pm the crowds descended on number 67. Everyone was disarmingly polite. The director Holly Walsh apologised for taking over my house and asked if she could get me a cup of tea or a chair to sit on. I was content to watch from the pavement on the far side of Chestnut Avenue in order to get a panoramic view of proceedings. 

Orders were barked from inside the house, then down a chain of command through the porch and out into the street. It seemed to be running like clockwork. Except for the time when I mistakenly drifted into shot and was asked to move out of the way. And filming temporarily ceased when mothers and their kids from Godwin School drifted past on their way home, wondering what was going on.

The afternoon became cold and I asked if I could go back indoors. The cry went up: “stop filming – owner returning to house”. I have never seen my front room so full – cameras, monitors, black screens, reflectors, sound engineers, runners, security guards, people brandishing clapperboards, a producer, an assistant producer, a director and an assistant director. Holly Walsh – the Holly Walsh –was sitting directing in the armchair in which I usually sat watching Spurs tumble to yet another defeat on the box. And then there were the thrilling cries of “camera roll”, “action” and “cut”.

Meanwhile, my kitchen had turned into the make-up room. Actors were ranged in front of the table poring over their scripts as make-up artists tried to dab at their upturned faces with cotton pads. I offered Philippa a cup of tea. “Better not,” she replied. “Might spill it on my coat. By the way, you’ve got a lovely house. It has a special feel to it. Easily the nicest one we’ve been in.” Well, thank you, Philippa. I bet you say that to all the owners!

Then the front door bell started ringing – again and again. Shooting had started. On the doorstep Philippa said: “Welcome to the maths class.” The director told her she loved the way she’d said that. There was an animated conversation at the door between Philippa and the father of the student. 

After a brief contretemps, he turned and left, walking down the very short garden path. “For the love of God,” said Philippa under her breath. It was impossible to know if that was in the script or whether she was letting off some actorly steam. I look forward to seeing whether that sentence ends up on the cutting-room floor or whether it’ll be in the final version.

Once the director said: “I’d like you to look more annoyed.” That took a few more takes. And then there were the other re-takes. But the team was nearing the end. What I hadn’t known was that this was the very last afternoon of filming. The show was in the can. So, at the last cry of “cut”, director embraced actor and producer embraced deputy producer and everyone asserted that it had all been “wonderful”. It was a moment for the luvvies.

One by one, camera by camera, they walked out of the door. Holly thanked me and then there was a sudden and eerie silence. Martin turned up and apologised for my payment not having come through yet. A snarl-up in accounts, he said. He’d see to it. And, indeed, he did.

In addition, he promised to send a cleaner round on the Monday, despite me saying that the house was looking immaculate. “It’s something we always do,” he said. So, number 67 ended up looking cleaner than it had been before filming started.

There remained the outstanding issue of the hedge. There was no way out of it: it was time to get the shears out. Now that the creatives had packed up and gone, it was the only type of cutting I’d be experiencing for a while. 

 

Amandaland goes out on BBC1 at 9pm on 5 February.