Rose: My Life in Service to Lady Astor (28 page)

With the ladies occupied listening and talking at their convention I had most of the days to myself. I spent one of these at the Sultan’s Palace where I saw treasures that reminded me of my childhood image of Aladdin’s cave. I went up to the Golden Horn and looked over to Constantinople, drank Turkish coffee and visited the mosques, exchanging my shoes for the little mule things they give you. I think my description of my travels must have excited Dame Edith, for the night before she was to return she went missing. We discovered her absence at half past ten.

‘She’s never gone out on her own in the dark, Rose,’ said her ladyship. But when we checked with the porter, she most certainly had. ‘We’ll have to go and find her.’

I didn’t like the idea one bit, but I had no option so off we trudged. I must say the streets didn’t look the same at night and men’s faces took on a villainous expression.

‘Perhaps she’s been kidnapped for a harem,’ I ventured, voicing my own fears.

That made her ladyship’s night; she didn’t stop laughing for the rest of our search. It was miraculous, but we found Dame Edith wandering down one of the side streets, and gazing up at the houses. She didn’t seem the slightest bit put out at the trouble she’d caused us. ‘Wretched conditions they live under here, Nancy. It’s quite encouraging; it makes our slums in Britain so much better than we think them to be.’

My lady and I bustled her back to the hotel and both breathed a sigh of relief the following day when we saw her on to the train. We stayed an extra two days. The excuse my lady gave was that she wanted to go sightseeing, but as she said to me as the train steamed out, ‘I couldn’t have stood the journey back with her. Enough is enough.’

In 1936, shortly after Lady Astor and I had returned from America, she and his lordship were invited to Yugoslavia by Queen Marie. Arthur Bushell and I helped to get them there. On the boat out we travelled with the Duke and Duchess of Kent and made friends with her maid and the detective who was going with them. They too were bound for Yugoslavia, but were travelling by a different route. Ours was another long train journey. For me, familiarity by now was beginning to breed contempt.

We were met at Belgrade by diplomats, a fleet of cars and an army of soldiers. Arthur and I had a limousine to ourselves, with an officer in front travelling with a chauffeur as our escort. Arthur began playing it up, acting like the royals.

‘Well, Rose, my queen, this is better than the bloody milkfloat.’ I of course screamed with laughter, which must have alarmed our officer because he looked at Arthur as though he thought he was trying to do me in. We were driven to the palace outside Belgrade. Arthur and I were given rooms in a cottage. The gardens around were some of the most beautiful I had ever seen, though we found it a little strange that the gardeners were working under military supervision. Directly it became dark we were confined to barracks. We were told that anyone seen in the grounds after dark was shot. That was enough for me, I didn’t even go near the windows. We used an underground passage to get to the palace, all very eerie with a soldier with fixed bayonet on each corner.

The men and women servants were segregated for meals and I expect in most other respects. On both the nights we were there there was a film show in English. The servants sat downstairs. We all had to wear black dresses and white gloves, and the royals and the notables sat in the gallery. While we were there there was quite a party of them: Queen Marie of Rumania, the Queen of Yugoslavia, a German princess, the Duke and Duchess of Kent, Prince Paul and Princess Olga, Prince Nicholas of Greece and of course our two. When they came in we were ordered to our feet, did an about turn and bowed low. On my way up I looked at her ladyship and without moving a muscle she threw a big wink at me. The film was Harold Lloyd in
The Milky Way.
I remember thinking how incongruous it was in the setting in which we were watching it. The next day Arthur and I were taken on a tour of Belgrade by the palace housekeeper, and a military guard of course. Then the same routine at night, and another film. Theirs was a lush life, but it must have become very boring.

From Belgrade we went to Budapest and stayed beside the Danube opposite Marie Theresa’s palace. It was a beautiful hotel, I would have liked to have stayed there for weeks, but we’d more royals to visit, Princess Ileana and Count Anton of Hapsburg at Schloss Sonberg near Vienna. It was a comfy enough place, again with beautiful grounds and gardens, but both Arthur and I were a bit put out by having to clean his lordship’s and my lady’s rooms. The strange thing was that ours were cleaned for us. Some sort of protocol I suppose. The Count’s hobby was aeroplanes and he and his valet, who was probably chosen for his engineering qualities, seemed to spend most of the day tinkering about with them on the airfield which was part of the grounds. I don’t think the Prince and her ladyship had a lot to say to each other. We finished this trip with a few pleasant days at the Hotel Bristol in Vienna.

It seemed her ladyship had itchy feet this year because almost immediately after our return we were off to Biarritz. In July we went to Paris, the George V Hotel. My lady was the guest of the Canadian Government at the unveiling of the war memorial on Vimy Ridge by Edward VIII. Although we were only to be there for a few days, from my point of view it was the full treatment. Clothes galore for every type of party and of course a lot of the valuable jewellery. I didn’t expect to leave the hotel so I didn’t worry about my things.

The big morning came and when I’d finished getting her ladyship ready she said, ‘Now you go and get dressed, Rose.’

‘What for, my lady?’ I asked.

‘You’re coming with me of course.’

I hadn’t expected there would be any of course about it and I told her so. ‘Anyway I’ve nothing to wear.’

‘Put your hat and coat on, that’s all of you that will be seen,’ she said, and away we went.

Now my lady had a strange mistrust of hotel safes and would never allow me to deposit her jewellery in them. ‘It’s safer in your hands, Rose,’ she always said, and that’s where it was on this outing. ‘Don’t ask me where your sparklers are, my lady, because they’re in my handbag,’ I said, as we sat in the train to Arras. I’d visions of it being snatched in the crowd, but I needn’t have worried, she took me on the dais with her. I had a wonderful view of it all and in the greatest possible comfort. When I got back to the hotel I related the scene to Lady Byng’s maid. She was furious. She hadn’t even been in the crowd. According to her Lord Byng had commanded one of the armies there and this gave her precedence over me. I suppose it did, but as I said to her it wasn’t my fault her lady hadn’t asked her.

In a way I suppose her ladyship’s generosity and thoughtfulness were rewarded, because during her later years we were able to recall the many interesting, happy and amusing occasions that we’d had together. Of course this could never have been in her mind at the time. No one, least of all my lady, ever really thinks about growing old.

In September off we went again to America. It was the one and only time I stayed in the Waldorf Astoria, which might seem a bit strange as the Astors had once owned it so everything there was for free, but with really rich people money ceases to mean anything in certain terms, particularly when it concerns themselves, their own happiness and comfort, or if they’re generous as my lady was if it concerned those in her immediate thoughts. In any week of our travels, I was probably costing her twice my yearly wages, yet if I’d asked for a rise in salary of only a few pounds, she would have become suspicious and avaricious. It’s hard to understand. I gave up trying early on. As I’ve said her ladyship carried very little money with her; she didn’t need to.

I must say Arthur Bushell and I enjoyed ourselves hugely at the Waldorf. We were given the same V.I.P. treatment as our master and mistress. We weren’t sorry to leave though, because we were both looking forward to our first trip to the West Indies, to Bermuda. We sailed on the
Queen of Bermuda,
which seemed a comfortable and solid enough vessel, and were particularly looking forward to the Thanksgiving Day party on board. Arthur promised as a special treat that on that day he would bring me my tray of early tea. The morning dawned, but no Arthur. It didn’t take me long to realize why. As I tried to get up I was thrown all over the cabin. Eventually I found my way to Arthur, whose appearance was rougher than the seas. He was busy over the washbowl.

I staggered to my lady and tried to get both her and his lordship their coffee, but it was impossible. Like the early American pilgrims, our day was spent praying for a safe landing. All of us, that is, except Arthur, who told me later that he was praying for a quick and easy death! The storm blew itself out that night and we had our turkey the following day. It didn’t seem the same though.

Bermuda in 1936 was a heavenly place. It hadn’t been so developed then. We stayed at Mr Vincent Astor’s home, and had what I can only describe as a glorious country holiday. Arthur and I found bicycles and toured around on those when we weren’t working, and we were allowed the use of the swimming pool and tennis courts. Formality was forgotten. No, that is not quite true: Arthur was there to act as butler/valet. On our first evening he changed into a tail coat, stiff shirt and winged collar. He came down to show me the result. ‘Whatever shall I do, Rose?’ he said. He was the most pathetic figure; it looked as though he’d fallen into the swimming pool. His shirt-front had disintegrated and his collar was like a bit of soggy paper. He was drowning in a bath of sweat.

I suppose I shouldn’t have laughed. ‘Talk about mad dogs and Englishmen,’ I cried. Her ladyship heard me and came rushing in. She collapsed too. Poor Arthur! He could have dealt with me on my own, but with her ladyship there he could only get redder and redder with pent-up rage. It was shirt-sleeve order for him that night and a light tuxedo and a soft shirt from then on. Like a number of our trips this one ended abruptly. Mrs Brand’s son Winkie, my lady’s nephew, was killed through falling from a window of a New York hotel.

We were again in the States later that year at the time when Edward VIII abdicated. My lady had of course known about the scandal, as it was thought of at that time, from the beginning, and had tried to dissuade Edward from marrying Mrs Simpson. Her attitude in a way I found difficult to understand. She had divorced Mr Shaw and remarried and had become a member of the British aristocracy. Yet she was vehement that Mrs Simpson, an American divorcée like herself, should not become Queen. She was very upset when I broke the news to her: I’d heard the paper-boy shouting it in the streets. She cried bitterly. It must later have been some consolation to her that her greatest friends amongst the royals, the Duke and Duchess of York, acceded to the throne.

The next two and a half years, the years before the war, followed a similar pattern, though I think 1936 was probably our most hectic travel time. We continued to go to St Moritz, the South of France and Biarritz regularly, and to the States fitfully. We visited Palm Beach, staying at the Breakers Hotel, the millionaires’ paradise, but only for one night though because my lady was chastised by the management for walking through the hotel in her bathing costume and wrap on the first morning. Up we had to get, pack and move to the Delray Beach Hotel, where the rooms had doors like horse-boxes, opening both top and bottom. Arthur was very disdainful about Palm Beach. I didn’t care for it either. I was bitten by sand-flies and spent much of my time with my feet in a bath of hot water and Epsom salts to get the stings out. Then I had toothache and the dentist caused me so much pain I nearly floored him. I think everyone was happy when we moved away from there.

On another trip – by this time we were taking internal flights in America – our plane was diverted and we stopped off at Savannah. Since we were in for a longish wait my lady hired a car and we took a trip round the town. Somehow she got hold of a reporter; she was disgusted by the litter she had seen on the streets and she described Savannah to him as ‘a beautiful lady with a dirty face’. Apparently it made the headlines the next day and within twenty-four hours the place had been cleaned up. Which showed that sometimes Lady Astor’s outspokenness was accepted in the spirit in which it was given.

It was shortly after we returned from this trip that I went with my lady to stay with Lord Mildmay of Flete. Other guests were Queen Mary, Lady Cynthia Colville, Lady Lansdowne, Lady Fortescue, Admiral and Lady Plunkett-Ernle-Erle-Drax, Sir Reginald Seymour, Sir Raymond Green, Lord Mount Edgecumbe, to name a few. I remember one of the valets saying, ‘Not a bad field, quite a few thoroughbreds amongst them.’ It was on this visit that I realized the quality of Queen Mary. It was as she came down the staircase for dinner. She seemed to become aware that the staff had assembled, though not by general design, to watch her entrance. She stood perfectly still, then moved slightly from side to side as if embracing us all into her sphere. You could almost feel the warmth of her personality and you remembered the smile on her lips for a long time afterwards, and yet – it seemed unconscious – there was no feeling of performance about it. She’s the only lady I ever came near who gave this overwhelming sense of presence and this aura of majesty.

I’ve spoken about my lady’s unpredictability. On one occasion his lordship rivalled her. She was going to Copenhagen for another of these women’s conventions. She decided to fly there. On the morning of her departure and when I’d finished her packing, Arthur Bushell came into my room and said, ‘His lordship’s compliments, Rose, but you’re to travel with her ladyship to Copenhagen.’

Well, I just thought it was another of his pranks and told him so in a few well-chosen words, but then he handed me the tickets. I’d just half an hour to get ready. I think it was the shortest notice I’d ever had and all the time there was something in the back of my mind that I was determined to do. When we got to Croydon airport I found time to do it. We had an enjoyable trip and as you will have gathered nothing untoward happened. A day or two after our return her ladyship was going through some papers and she suddenly said, ‘What’s all this, Rose, you’ve cost me twenty-four shillings for insurance. What’s the meaning of it?’