Home by Julie Andrews; Hyperion; 339 pages; $26.95.

In this memoir of her early years, Julie Andrews tells a tale of an often insecure life disrupted by her parents' divorce, the start of World War II and the necessity of beginning a professional career at an age when most children enter high school.

She loved her father, who was her prop throughout his life. He exposed Julie and her siblings to the wonders of nature, good music and the love of learning. Among Andrews' first memories are the times when her aunt, who was teaching school and dancing, put on shows with her pupils at the Walton Playhouse. Andrews' father built the elaborate scenery, her mother supplied the music. It was at age 3 in one of these rather professionally designed and choreographed productions that little Andrews made her first stage appearance.

However, a few years later, her parents began drifting apart. Her mother often traveled without her husband and children to perform at open-air theaters, vaudeville shows and concert parties with a Canadian singer, Ted Andrews, whom she accompanied on the piano. The periods away became more frequent and longer.

Later, Andrews' mother signed on with ENSA, the British equivalent of the United Services Organization, and went away with Ted Andrews, to entertain the troops in France during World War II, leaving her two children who needed her at home. Julie Andrews writes: "Some years later, my mother mentioned that she and Ted had been entertaining the troops in France when Hitler invaded, and they had been lucky to catch one of the last ferries to England before the borders closed; otherwise they would have been interned."

Although her father had custody of both of the children, her mother sent for Andrews to come to London to live with her and Ted. Despite the escalating Blitz, her father let the child go; he felt that a little girl needed her mother.

Andrews remembers, "My Mum and Ted continued to go away at times, performing various gigs. They were probably just overnight trips – but life seemed empty and I felt very alone. I missed my brother and the countryside, and thinking about Dad made me unbearably sad."

She also describes the horrors of the bombings, the rush to the air raid shelters, the deaths of acquaintances. Ted and her mother had a baby before she was divorced from Andrews' father. Finally, he also remarried – to a war widow.

Later, living with her mother and stepfather in a large house was a happy interlude for Andrews. Through sheer hard work, it seemed that life was going to be OK. The divorce had been painful, her mother's guilt had been tremendous, but she and Ted were building a better life for themselves. Her mother started playing the piano again, practicing as she had done as a young classical pianist. Her father would bicycle over some weekends, and Andrews would accompany him back the long distance on her bike.

When Andrews was 12, she was invited to take part in a revue in London. Her mother accompanied her on the train to her first performance; after that it would be a chaperone or an aunt, and eventually she often made the trip back alone. Her singing voice, now her great asset, brought her to the attention of the producers of an annual show that draws on the best British talent and raises huge sums for charity. There was a command performance for the royal family, and Andrews sang the polonaise from the opera "Mignon" for the queen, the young Princess Elizabeth and her soon-to-be husband, Prince Philip.

Things soon started to go downhill for the family. Andrews' stepfather became an alcoholic, and it wasn't much later that her mother joined him. Theater booking agents stopped hiring them, and soon it was Andrews' income that kept the family afloat although she was only in her early teens.

The second half of the book is the story of Andrews' theatrical rise to the top of her profession, her lucky breaks and, above all, the people she worked with who became lifelong friends. Even now, after a career of performing for almost 70 years, she seems to still look forward to time in front of the footlights, and indulging in her other career – that of author.

Perusing the names in the book's index gives the reader a glimpse of the prodigious number of great performers who are part of Andrews' professional and personal life.

Julie Andrews lives with her husband of 38 years, writer and designer Blake Edwards. They have five children and seven grandchildren. She has written 20 books, sixteen of them co-authored with her daughter, Emma Walton Hamilton.

——————————

AN EXCERPT

——————————

Mr. Rodgers came up onto the stage afterward and introduced himself. "That was absolutely ... adequate," he said. Then he smiled. "I'm teasing. Thank you so much for coming and singing for us."

We chatted for a few minutes, then he said, "Have you been auditioning for anyone else?"

"Well, yes," I replied. "As a matter of fact I've been speaking to two gentlemen, Mr. Lerner and Mr. Loewe, who I believe are putting together a musical based on Shaw's 'Pygmalion.'"

Mr. Rodgers looked at me for a long moment, then he said, "You know, if they ask you to do it, I think you should accept. If they don't, I wish you would let us know because we would be happy to use you."

I will never forget that moment. What amazingly generous advice from one of the most eminent men in the world of musical theater.

I was more nervous singing for Mr. Rodgers than I was meeting Messrs. Lerner and Loewe. It was heady stuff and it may seem, as I tell it now, that I was a little blase about it all. I was aware how incredibly fortunate I was to be considered for these roles, but I was only just becoming familiar with the mores of Broadway and how high-powered it all was. I was young and green – an innocent abroad with blinkers on; a young girl from Walton-on-Thames who was, more often than not, preoccupied with matters of family. How could I recognize the enormity of the opportunities that were coming my way?

I could not know at that moment that I was about to undertake one of the most difficult, most glorious, most complex adventures of my life, or that I would be guided through the daunting forest of self-discovery by several of the kindest, most brilliant giants one could ever hope to meet. But I am running ahead of myself.

Amazingly, the offer to appear in "My Fair Lady" came through. Despite the fact that this time I would have to accept the two-year contract – and perhaps because Richard Rodgers had already bestowed a blessing on the project – I agreed to it. Besides, I think Charlie Tucker and Lou Wilson would have strangled me if I quibbled in any way. But the forthcoming production seemed to tower over me, and it was probably just as well that I was blind to the enormity of what lay ahead.