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Career: Attenborough's film debut was 1942's In Which We Serve, playing a cowardly sailor; in real life, he served with the RAF's Film Unit, sustaining permanent ear damage in the process.

Lord [Richard Attenborough]'s father, Frederick, was a strict disciplinarian, known to Dickie and his brothers, David and John, as 'the Governor'. 'He was a remarkable man, whose mantra, long before Tony Blair came on the scene, was \"education, education, education\". He was a baker's son who rose to become a fellow And then Principal of University Soon after the release of Cry Freedom, Attenborough's attack on South African apartheid, the actor/ director bumped into a special guest at a function. '\"Richard!\" he said. \"You don't know me, but I know you.\" And then it hit me: it was Nelson Mandela. He said, \"I want to thank you. Your film had more impact on the white population than any speech I ever made in my life.\" I was completely overwhelmed by his generosity.' 'When I was 12, I decided to put on a variety show in the church hall. Part of the show was a comedy skit about two female cleaners, entitled Lydies Wot Come To Oblige. Naturally, I was to star as one of the \"lydies\", but needed to find the other. Dave said he'd rather die than put on a dress. I resorted to low cunning and said every penny of the show's profits would go to the RSPCA. He gave in - and looked very pretty.'

I can see [Dave, Johnny] now, aged about nine, sternly dismissed but having the last word in the doorway. 'That wasn't rude,' he's insisting. Then he puffs out his cheeks and blows the most enormous raspberry. 'That's rude!' And the Governor sits at the head of the table, trying desperately to keep a straight face. 'I don't want to do that, do I, Dick?' he asked. 'You?' I replied. 'Sit on your a**e, chairing meetings and making endless policy decisions until you collect a gold watch and a pension? Of course you don't.' His relief was instant and palpable. A gloomy post-mortem was held in our hotel lobby. [Agatha Christie] sat there, absorbing our pessimism but saying nothing. Then she got up to go to bed. Halfway up the stairs, she leaned over the banisters and delivered one of the greatest understatements in theatrical history. 'Don't worry, my dears. I'm sure we shall get a nice little run out of it.' I began to think so too, and [Sheila Sim] and I decided to take a 10 per cent stake in the production. It was the wisest business decision I've ever made. Indeed, as it went on to become the world's longestrunning play, it should have made us comfortable for the rest of our lives. Foolishly, I sold some of my share to open a short-lived Mayfair restaurant called The Little Elephant. Later still, I disposed of the remainder in order to keep afloat [Gandhi], a film I was ready to sacrifice almost anything to make -- and which, as I'll describe tomorrow, became one of the greatest adventures of my life. ABRIDGED extract from Entirely Up To You, Darling by [Richard Attenborough] and Diana Hawkins, published by Hutchinson tomorrow at [pounds]20. (c) 2008, Richard Attenborough and Diana Hawkins. To order a copy for [pounds]18 (p&p free), call 0845 155 0720.

Finally, those piercing blue eyes hidden behind dark glasses, he came to a halt beside me and sat there, twisting the throttle provocatively. 'Wanna ride?' I hesitated. It was 30 years since I'd ridden pillion and, having ended up in hospital as a result, had sworn I'd never do it again. But national honour was at stake and I knew I couldn't refuse the challenge. 'You bet,' I said heartily. There's a belief that screenwriters disliked [Steve McQueen] because he was always angling to make his parts bigger. That, in my experience, was untrue. He was forever fighting to cut lines because he knew, better than anyone, that one telling look is worth any amount of dialogue. Because I'd been delayed, it seemed strange not to see him when I arrived. About to sit down, I caught sight of a ravaged old man beckoning from one of the bar stools. A shiver ran through me: the old man was Steve.

The white anchorman gave a rundown of my film credentials over a shot of me and [Winnie] entering her house. A little of my uninformative interview followed. Then he asked rhetorically: what was Mr [Richard Attenborough] really doing in South Africa? He proceeded to answer this with a whole series of preposterous and inflammatory accusations. I'd come as a communist agitator, he said, financed by Moscow to bring about armed insurrection. I'd even informed Mrs [Nelson Mandela], the banned wife of a terrorist, now serving life imprisonment, when the revolution was due to begin. My voice could be heard saying: 'If all goes according to plan, shooting will start in October.' They then showed me and Winnie leaving her hut, hand in hand. The anchorman ranted on, demanding that the authorities take immediate action against me. I must be thrown out of the country and never allowed to return. He opened his window; I opened mine. 'Richard!' he exclaimed. 'You do not know me, but I know you. We shall talk at the party.' And then it hit me: it was [Oliver Tambo]'s guest of honour, Nelson Mandela. This was the man who had strode out of prison just 15 months ago after 27 years of incarceration. This was the man who turned his prison into a university and his jailer into a friend. This was the man who ended apartheid. Our cars arrived at the Tambos' house. On the pavement, I hugged Nelson; he hugged me. 'I want to thank you, Richard,' he said. 'Your film had more impact on the white population than any speech I ever made in my life.' I was completely overwhelmed by his generosity. Was it true? Of course not. But I like to think Cry Freedom did help the struggle.

Michael, Jane and Charlotte -- when they were small. It's something I wish I could go back and change. I bitterly regret I didn't see my kids as much as I should have done, that I didn't make more of an effort. I was so sure they'd always be there and, whatever I missed, could be made up later on. Stupidly, I always thought there'd be plenty of time... [Diana Hawkins], Attenborough's co-author continues: IT WAS December 2004. Dick had just completed the annual task of signing every one of the 1,000 Christmas cards he and [Sheila] send out to friends and family around the world. Then, on Sunday, December 19, his diary notes innocently: 'Pre-Christmas lunch with Jane, Beau and family.' Jane, his elder daughter, and her shipbroker husband Michael, known as Beau, were off to spend the festive season in sunnier climes with their teenage children, Sam, Alice and [Lucy Holland]. Dick and Sheila went over to their house in Putney for a turkey dinner before they set off. Christmas lunch is an important ritual for the Attenbor- Diana wasn't thick -- she was wise beyond her years but, after an hour, he refused to go any further. ough family. The sand all around was littered with hunks of twisted metal, splintered trees and corpses. Almost immediately, he came across his drowned 15-year-old daughter, Lucy. He then saw his other daughter, Alice, still alive but very badly injured, being loaded into a truck. Abandoning the desperate search for his wife and mother, whose bodies would not be identified for many months to come, Beau followed Alice to the local hospital. It was from there, some time later, that he was finally able to phone his brother-in-law, Michael Attenborough, in London. The last entry in Dick's 2004 diary is for December 26. Planning to attend his beloved Chelsea's Boxing Day match at Stamford Bridge, he'd noted the name of the visiting team, Aston Villa. This had now been savagely inked out until it was barely legible. Beneath it he had written, heartbreakingly: 'Tsunami disaster. Lost Jane, Lucy and Jane Holland.' Lord Attenborough continues: SHEILA and I were having breakfast on Boxing Day morning when I heard the back doorbell ring. I saw my son through the glass, looking very odd. I opened the door, knowing something awful had happened. And Michael said very gently: 'Dad, will you go and sit down, please?' He followed me into the dining room where Sheila was and continued: 'I'm afraid I have something dreadful to tell you both. Jane and Lucy have died in the tsunami.' I'm not sure we knew what a tsunami was. And we weren't even aware that they were in Thailand, only that they had gone somewhere far away and sunny. Then Michael went on to tell us what he'd learned from Beau. And that is all I remember of that terrible morning, except that it was the worst day of my life. My memory of it is so completely blank -- I've obviously buried it very deeply. It was our diamond wedding later that month and it turned out that Jane had been organising a huge surprise party. As time has gone on, we've found that we're able to talk about Jane and Lucy, recall them, rather than saying they're gone and mustn't be mentioned. We can't do that with other people around, but if we're alone we can talk as much as we like and let our emotions well up, spend the whole day with tears pouring down our faces, if need be. This is how we've managed to cope. The last time I saw Jane, she was bustling around her kitchen, cooking us that early Christmas dinner. You ask yourself, over and over, where have they gone? They were here, their being was here. They can't just be wiped out. And yet they are. It would have been easier if I'd had a religious faith. But you can't suddenly switch faith on. You can say, yes,

I first voted Labour 60 years ago - in the khaki election, as it was known. I joined the party because I was convinced there had to be fundamental changes in the administration of our country, and I believed passionately in the principle of mutual responsibility for the common good. This was a view I inherited from my parents, who were among the first members of the then young Labour party. These views have remained the same, as has my support. I would ask those who might be thinking of staying at home or voting for another party to remember why we have supported Labour and to reflect on who would suffer if the party fails to win its third term. We joined because we wanted to improve people's lives, and this is certainly what the Labour government has done. Whatever we do, we must not take the return of our government for granted. Labour has achieved so much, so many are so much better off. We must make certain Labour is able to continue the work of caring for the lives of so many people, particularly those who need our concern and understanding.

Richard Attenborough asks: will Britain be able to give an example of man and nature surviving, side by side, in harmony?