Rose: My Life in Service to Lady Astor (29 page)

‘Well, my lady,’ I said, ‘I’ve got good reason for doing it. I’ve now got responsibilities.’

That set her back on her heels. ‘Responsibilities, what responsibilities?’ and she started to laugh.

‘It’s no laughing matter, I’m now a woman of property, the same as you,’ I said. And I explained to her that I had just bought a bungalow in Walton-on-Thames so that my mother could have a permanent home near my sisters, that it was on a mortgage and I wanted to make sure that the mortgage could be paid if anything happened to me. As I was saying this a change came over her. She couldn’t have been more pleased if I was buying the bungalow for her. She put her arm around me and promised that if ever anything happened to me my mother would be looked after. I never had to bother about insurance after that.

The war put an end to any thoughts of travel. If my lady missed it she didn’t mention it to me. If she was homesick for America it was compensated for by the presence of so many of her countrymen over here and the use that she could be to them. The moment peace came though she was anxious to be over there again. So anxious in fact that she settled for a banana-boat, and I mean just that.
Eros,
the ship was called, a Fyffe’s banana-boat, though what connection there was between love and bananas I didn’t know and I said so when I got on board.

We sailed from Tilbury and we expected to be in New York in seven days. It took us fourteen. The ship did everything but sink, yet I don’t think any of us ever had a happier voyage. It didn’t start too well. Her ladyship had insisted that we should bring along three dozen eggs, and I was sent down to the chef to deliver them. He wasn’t in the least grateful. ‘I’ve got three thousand in the fridge, we don’t need them so you can take them back to whoever it was who sent them.’

I explained it was her ladyship. At the mention of her name his face darkened but he didn’t comment. ‘Just take them back up to her,’ he said.

‘They’d better go back home then, Rose,’ said her ladyship when I rejoined her. ‘They need them there.’

Well, of all the absurd remarks to make in mid-channel.

‘What do you want me to do, throw them there?’ I asked.

‘Shut up, Rose,’ she responded, ‘and take them back to the chef. He must be able to make some use of them.’ Down I went again.

‘Oh, it’s you back. What is it this time?’ Ungraciously he took the eggs. ‘I’d like to throw these at your Lady Astor,’ he said, ‘She’s the one that tried to get our rum ration stopped during the war.’

‘Did she?’ I said.

‘Yes, she did.’

‘Well, it was none of my business,’ I replied. ‘I’ll get her to come down and answer for herself.’

‘If you do that I won’t hold myself responsible for my actions.’

I knew how he felt. Chefs are notoriously hard drinkers. I believe it’s the only way they can keep their sanity.

I told her ladyship about what he’d said. ‘I must go down and see him,’ she answered, and she did.

I don’t know how the conversation went but that evening when I was in the galley filling the hot water bottles the chef said, ‘Great lady, that Lady Astor of yours. One of the best.’ And he sang her praises for the rest of the voyage. So did the crew from the Captain downwards. I must say my two did behave well under the worst possible weather conditions. They were a contrast to some of the other passengers, always praising, never complaining.

When at last we docked in New York we were the first off the ship because Lord and Lady Astor had the courtesy of the port. As we reached the gangway I looked round and there were the crew lined up on the top deck in their mess jackets, and they began singing, ‘For she’s a jolly good fellow.’ When her ladyship reached shore and turned round to wave at them, she was crying her eyes out. It was a wonderful moment for her, particularly as she was stepping on to her home ground for the first time in six years.

We stayed at the Ritz Carlton, their hotel. We were all given the best of everything. Never have I had a room to equal the one I slept in. Her ladyship’s suite was like a florist’s shop. All her friends must have sent flowers, and fruit too. There was a wonderful hand of bananas; I hadn’t seen any for five years, for although the
Eros
was a banana-boat, it had came out to collect, not to deliver. My lady caught me eating one. ‘You can have the lot, Rose,’ she said as I was about to apologize. She was in the seventh heaven of happiness.

So many people came to visit both her and his lordship, they hardly had a spare moment, but they didn’t forget the crew of the
Eros.
Two days later his lordship gave a luncheon party at the Hotel Astor for them. Everyone was there. I sat between John, our steward, and the chef. They had the time of their lives. The chef took a bit of a shine to me I think because he asked me out the following evening. It seemed all right to accept while we were having lunch, but I got second thoughts the next day. My lady had got wind of it, and insisted that I went. I must say we had a good time, but when I found myself in a nightclub at midnight and was watching the chef sink rum and Coca Cola as if Lady Astor was likely to ban it the next day, I thought enough is enough and made my excuses and returned to sanity.

About a fortnight later we went to Florida, at the invitation of Mr Clarence Dillon, a banker friend of the Astors, to cruise on his yacht. I viewed the prospect with some qualms. I’ve never been one for small boats. Small boat! It was like the
Queen Mary.
We wallowed in luxury, travelling from Miami up the east coast then inland to Lake Okeechobee and across to the west coast, down to Key West and back up to Miami again. We were certainly making up for the austerity of Britain during the war. As if this wasn’t enough we left Florida for South Carolina, another millionaires’ paradise, staying at Mr Thomas Lamont’s house, with its own private golf course, set amid masses of camellia bushes, and for a change of diet a splendid Norwegian chef. Her ladyship’s grand-niece Elizabeth Winn came here to stay with us and we formed a friendship which has endured. We’d go into Charleston together, some eighteen miles away, and as a contrast to the rich food we were now accustomed to would always lunch simply at Woolworth’s, and enjoy it.

From South Carolina we went to Washington to the house of Mr William Bullitt, staffed with French servants whom he’d recruited when he was Ambassador in Paris. More rich cooking and plenty of wine for all including the staff. Knowing her ladyship’s antipathy to alcohol he was for ever having a dig at her. One evening he came to her room and seeing me said, ‘Oh Rose, you’ll be glad to know there’s the usual bottle of whisky on the table by your bed.’ I curtseyed and thanked him kindly, while my lady snorted.

From Washington back to New York and the Ritz Carlton, then home to England on the
Queen Mary. }
She hadn’t been fully converted from her role as a troopship, but was nevertheless quite comfortable. Before Arthur Bushell and I left the hotel the manager asked to see us. He thanked us profusely, and we asked him why. ‘There have been no complaints, not one single word of criticism. When you go on board you will find an expression of my gratitude in your cabins.’

We told him we’d only done our jobs and that it was he who deserved the credit. He’d have none of it. So in a haze of mutual congratulation we left to board the ship. The manager had been as good as his word: there were baskets of fruit and large food parcels waiting for us in our cabins. As Arthur said as we stood by the rails waving goodbye to New York, ‘It’s a wretched menial job being in service, eh, Rose?’

During 1947 we renewed our friendship with the Continent and listened to many tragic wartime tales of hardship and deprivation. At the end of the year his lordship rented a house in Tucson, Arizona from a Mr Thomas Hardy. There we really came up against the colour problem. Going with the house as it were was a coloured cook, Birdie. Now, while Birdie didn’t mind cooking meals for our two, she did for Arthur and myself, so it was arranged that we should eat at the Arizona Inn opposite the house. Nor was there any accommodation for Arthur. He was not permitted to use the coloured servants’ quarters so he had a room over at the inn. It was all very complicated. I remember remarking that the colour question was more difficult for servants than for masters. Anyway I soon saw that I wasn’t going to be able to tolerate this eating out business. It meant changing before each meal and changing back afterwards. Arthur felt the same. Nor could I see why we shouldn’t help Birdie in the kitchen, so gradually we came to take our lunch with her. At first it wasn’t exactly with her, she sat at one table and we sat at another. It was ridiculous, so after a couple of meals that way I laid the table up for three, and she joined us. We eventually ended up by eating off the fat of the land. Like us she hated segregation. Her ladyship didn’t appreciate what we were doing, and said so.

‘My lady,’ I replied, ‘you have been brought up differently. I have been taught to think that all men are equal in the sight of God, and what’s good enough for God is good enough for me. I shall continue to go on the way I’ve learnt.’

Mention of God always quietened my lady down. She respected my God as I respected hers. She said no more. It ended up with Birdie, who had a little car, driving Arthur and me around sightseeing. We became firm friends and corresponded for some time afterwards.

During her stay in Arizona we went to a rodeo in Tucson. It was boiling hot. I remember getting my behind scorched on the seats which had been frying in the sun before we sat on them. I was thrilled with the bucking broncos, but when they started lassoing the steers and nearly strangling them, it was time for me to leave. Her ladyship felt the same so we all went home. The sight of the broncos must have done something to my lady because the next day a man turned up at the house with a performing horse. He did all sorts of tricks on it and then she decided to ride it. She went through the same routine as he had, making it rear up on its back legs while she held on like grim death. My heart was in my mouth, and when I looked at his lordship his face was ashen with fear for her. She was now approaching seventy and was behaving like the wild Nancy of her youth. Guts and courage she had till the end.

Travelling in America blew, like her ladyship, hot and cold. We left the sunshine of Arizona for Des Moines in Iowa, where my lady was a guest at a farmers’ dinner, with General Marshall and her as the main speakers. Within forty-eight hours I was in danger of losing my ears in the intense cold. This was the thing that made packing so difficult, with clothes at the ready for all seasons. The dinner must have been an organizers’ nightmare because our train got stuck in the snowdrifts and had to be dug out, and General Marshall was caught in the floods at Tennessee. So neither of the main speakers got there on time. After this fiasco my lady and I set off on a whistle-stop tour and when finally we arrived back at New York and were ready to return home she had the news that her sister Mrs Flynn, who had been very ill, was at death’s door. The trunks were on board so had to be offloaded. This was the first and only time I collapsed from nervous exhaustion and had to take to my bed for a day. I was very thankful when two weeks later we were really on our way back to England.

The travel pattern continued much the same over the next year or two. His lordship’s death in September 1952, though not unexpected, was a very great shock to Lady Astor, and the readjustment of her life when Mr Billy came into the title and took over Cliveden, though made as easy as possible for her by the children, was difficult for her to accept. Travelling she found made a diversion so February of the following year found us in America once again. This was the occasion of her personal attack on Senator McCarthy, at a party given by Senator Taft. She and McCarthy were introduced. She must have been waiting for the moment. ‘What’s that you’re drinking?’ she asked.

‘Whisky,’ he answered.

‘I wish it was poison,’ she said loudly, so that all around could hear.

And they did. The next day I was busy sorting out the mail again. This time she was called a Communist! It seemed to me now she had been called everything in the political dictionary. Some of the papers demanded that she be flung out of the country. She loved every minute of it.

Once again we travelled everywhere. I marvelled where she got her energy from. I was a bit astonished where I found mine because I was no longer a chicken. It was in May just as we were leaving Washington station that a message came over the loudspeaker for her and her ladyship returned waving a cable and saying, ‘Get the things off quick, we’re going back to England.’

I remember I didn’t feel particularly shaken, I was resigned to this sort of thing, and while I was unloading she explained that she’d had an invitation from the Queen Mother to sit with her in Westminster Abbey for the Coronation. Previously she’d been told that she couldn’t go because dowager ladies were not being invited since there was insufficient room. Home we went, with not a lot of time to get ready for this big occasion.

I had thought to get a long rest after the Coronation for my lady had been invited to Southern Rhodesia for the Rhodes Centenary there and was going to take the opportunity to tour Africa. She decided she could manage without me and I was not in the least bit offended or disappointed. I made arrangements for a holiday with my family and to spend some time with my mother, who was very unwell.

I should have known better. A few days before her ladyship was to leave, which was the day after the Coronation, I had a phone call from Miss Wissie saying that there had been a family conference and the children had decided that I should accompany their mother and had bought my ticket. They didn’t actually force me to go, they said the decision must be mine, but they made it pretty nearly impossible for me to refuse. Whoever made that remark about flattery didn’t know me! I couldn’t go on the same flight as my lady to Rhodesia; there wasn’t room. I went the day before, on a Comet. At this time there had been a bit of fuss about the Comets being unsafe, and with the words of a few Job’s comforters ringing in my ears, I boarded the plane feeling like a sacrificial lamb. Whatever it cost I was determined to have a brandy the moment I got on board. It was free, so was the champagne I had later.