Rose: My Life in Service to Lady Astor (30 page)

I had the most perfect flight. Whatever my lady said about the horrors of drink didn’t apply to me on that trip. We were staying at the Livingstone Hotel by the Victoria Falls before going to Bulawayo. I had a day in hand so I took the opportunity of visiting the Falls, a trip I repeated the next day with her ladyship with me acting as a know-all guide. When we arrived at Sir John and Lady Kennedy’s for the Celebrations I was given a little house in their grounds, a rondavel; all the visiting maids and valets had one. They were built specially for the occasion. We ate in the house, where they had a full staff, English fashion. The Queen Mother and Princess Margaret were the guests of honour and of course I had a grandstand view. Lady Kennedy was especially nice to me. I had known her when she was a young girl and a friend of Miss Wissie’s. She saw to it that I was invited to all the cocktail parties that were given. I remember her ladyship catching me with a glass of sherry in my hand. ‘You’re not going to drink that, Rose, are you?’ she said. ‘I don’t want to keep a maid who drinks.’ I suppose I must have been with her then some twenty-five years, and yet here she was playing the martinet and pretending to threaten me with dismissal. I loved her for it.

Later we moved on to Salisbury where we stayed with Sir Robert and Lady Tredgold: he was Chief Justice of Rhodesia. Here we ran into the same colour trouble as we’d had in Arizona, so I was put into a hotel. This didn’t suit me, but this time I had no option but to conform. It meant travelling backwards and forwards by taxi for my meals. My lady must have seen that I didn’t like it because on the second day when it came to lunch-time, she had a little table set on the veranda and personally came and served me with each course. She did the same with every meal while we were there. ‘Rose, my gal,’ I said to myself, ‘food tastes a lot better when it’s served by a viscountess.’

One afternoon I went shopping with the two ladies. Hats of course. They bought one each, which showed great restraint on my lady’s part. As we were going home she said to me, ‘What a pity, Rose, we haven’t a chiffon scarf to match her ladyship’s hat.’ As she said it I remembered that I’d brought a square with me that exactly suited it. That evening I roll-edged it and gave it to Lady Tredgold. If I’d given her the moon she couldn’t have been more grateful. It did something to her. From then on we were friends and corresponded regularly until she died, and although Sir Robert is ninety he still continues to send me a card every Christmas. We travelled around Rhodesia in what I call a butterfly plane, a flimsy-looking thing with room for only four passengers. I noticed it carried guns, ammunition and food in case we had to make a forced landing. Not a very reassuring sight. One house we visited which I particularly remember was in the middle of nowhere and belonged to Sir Stewart Gore-Browne. He’d had it built in stone on the lines of a Hollywood villa. It was a splendid place. While I was there he gave me into the charge of a chieftain’s young son, who did everything for me and followed me wherever I went. I suppose he was instructed to see that no harm befell me. He did his job well and we became friends, even though we had difficulty in communicating.

Sir Stewart had a house in England, in Weybridge, which adjoins Walton-on-Thames where my family now lived, so we had something in common. He visited Lady Astor and stayed the night in Hill Street shortly after we’d been with him. When he left I gave him a colourful Fair Isle jersey to take back for my young chieftain’s son. I got a lovely letter back written in English, and I’ve kept it to this day.

It seemed that for the next few years we were continually on the move. Backwards and forwards to and from America and the Continent. One visit I particularly looked forward to was to the King and Queen of Sweden in Halsingborg. We took a plane to Copenhagen in Denmark, were met at the airport by the royal car flying the standard and driven to the ferry. We were given precedence everywhere. I enjoyed imagining myself royalty, and so I’m sure did my lady. I didn’t feel so sunny when we were on the ferry and one of my shoes caught in the deck and practically broke my ankle. I was out of action for the entire stay. I remembered the old saying, ‘Pride goes before a fall’.

In 1956 we visited Lady Astor’s elder sister, Mrs Dana Gibson, in Virginia, after receiving an urgent message about her health. It was a sad reunion for this once beautiful, witty woman was now senile and her mind was going. After a month, during which there was little my lady could do for her, we flew to Nassau. Mrs Hobson, the schoolfriend of her ladyship’s, joined us there. When the time came for her to leave it was suggested that I should fly with Mrs Hobson to Miami, spend the night there seeing the sights and return the next day. I looked forward to this, but had my usual worry of what to do with my lady’s jewellery. We were travelling with quite a small fortune. ‘What about the sparklers?’ I asked her.

‘I’m not looking after them,’ she replied, ‘you’ll have to take them with you.’

We got to Miami and to Mrs Hobson’s surprise when we arrived at the customs, they asked her to open her cases. ‘I’m an American citizen,’ she said, ‘you’ve never before examined my luggage.’

‘Special check, lady, we’re looking for drugs and jewellery.’

I felt my stomach hit the floor. I just opened my case and waited to be arrested. The customs man fumbled around quite a bit, but only on the side where the jewellery wasn’t. He closed the case, made the little chalk sign and I was through. If he’d only looked at my face instead of the case I’d have been in real trouble!

That trip was fated. We must have spent three hours and a lot of money touring around in a taxi to find a hotel room for me. Everywhere was full. Eventually I arrived back at the airport. There was nothing for it but to return to Nassau. Fortunately nobody seemed to worry if I took drugs and jewellery there with me. I arrived back shaken and tired to face the merriment of my lady and her friends at my plight.

The following year, 1957, we went again to Nassau. We sailed on the
Coronia.
Sir Humphrey and Lady de Trafford were travelling with us and so was the Marquesa de Casa Maury, who was at one time Mrs Dudley Ward. It was worse than our voyage on the
Eros,
the banana-boat. King Neptune threw the book at us. One morning as Lady de Trafford’s maid and I were sitting on the sun deck, pretending to ignore the elements, a wave hit us and smashed the windows as if they were paper. Wringing wet we went below to find that Mrs Dudley Ward’s (as I shall always think of her) portholes had blown in and her cabin was awash. It wasn’t exactly all hands to the pump but pretty nearly.

When I went to report to my lady, there she was lying in bed as if nothing had happened. She looked like Cleopatra reclining in her barge on the Nile. When I told her about Mrs Ward’s troubles she phoned the Purser and used her influence to get her a cabin near to us. Later that day those of us who could walk there assembled in the ship’s cinema to be told by the Captain that we were riding one of the worst storms in his experience, which didn’t strike me at the time as particularly reassuring. Still there’s something about the confident calm of sailors that makes even the worst situation bearable.

The following year it was Nassau again. By now I’d forgotten what an English winter was like. This time we stayed at Mrs Winn’s house, my lady’s niece. She had bought it that year from Lady Kemsley, wife of the newspaper millionaire. It was a lovely place with a splendid patio. We were not alone in thinking that. Every dog in the neighbourhood assembled there our first night and serenaded us. Her ladyship nearly went mental. Those dogs got more ‘shut up’s in a few hours than I did in a lifetime.

I got up, put on a dressing-gown and went down to try and disperse them. Now there’s a saying that dogs by their nature know who likes them and who doesn’t: it’s nonsense. I was hating those animals that night, yet as I tried to shoo them away they came running up to me wagging their tails and jumping to lick my hands and my face. ‘Come back in, Rose,’ my lady screamed at me. ‘You’re encouraging them.’ Eventually Mr Winn phoned the police and they were taken away in vans. They didn’t come again. I wish they had, I had nightmares thinking about what the police might have done to them.

After we’d visited Nassau the following year, we sailed back to France and had a few days at the Ritz. Miss Wissie joined us there and we flew to Casablanca en route to Marrakesh. Her ladyship had the habit of taking my hand from time to time. She did this on the plane and as she was doing so I twisted one of her rings straight. When I looked up I saw Miss Wissie had gone quite white. She put her fingers to her lips when she saw that I was concerned for her. We made an early opportunity of speaking together. ‘Rose, I’ve left all my jewellery in my room at the Ritz. Whatever happens, Mother mustn’t know.’ I knew how she must be feeling. The Ancaster gems may not have been quite as valuable as my lady’s at that time, but she had a beautiful collection.

At Casablanca I held my ladyship’s attention while Miss Wissie phoned Paris. They were safe. The chambermaid had handed them in to the office. We collected them on our return. Yet another example of the honesty of servants, I thought.

After a long car drive we got to Marrakesh. Now I’m sure a lot of people would have found Marrakesh a very nice place – not me. It gave me the creeps and the smells turned my stomach over. Rug- and carpet-making is interesting to watch for ten minutes, but when you’ve seen one person doing it, you’ve seen the lot. I was amazed to see a donkey and a camel drawing a plough together, but once I got over the shock, my interest went. Then one morning as I was putting on my shoes, a large brown creature jumped out of one of them. I went demented and rushed to Miss Wissie. All right, she said it was a locust and harmless, but I thought I was going to die from the bite of some poisonous creepy crawlie.

I was glad when the time came for us to leave. It seemed as if the country didn’t want to lose us. On our journey to the airport I saw a wheel hub fly off our cab as one of the tyres blew out. Then Miss Wissie had a parcel to collect at the airport which nobody seemed to know anything about, and finally I heard her ladyship going hammer and tongs at the passport examiner who either didn’t like the look of her passport or her ladyship, for which at the moment I couldn’t have blamed him, and was purposely holding her up. Eventually we got in the plane in a heap, and with just seconds to spare. Whenever I see Marrakesh in a holiday brochure today I quickly turn over the page.

It was in June of that year, 1959, that I had one of the most amusing trips ever, with her ladyship. She had asked her niece, Mrs Nancy Lancaster, to join her on a visit to the Swedish royals and to meet Queen Ingrid of Denmark and her three daughters. Before we flew over Mrs Lancaster came to Eaton Square to spend two days with us. When I saw her luggage I thought she’d come for two months. It transpired that the impending visit had gone to her head. She expected to be wearing four or five dresses a day and had brought hats, jewels, coats and furs to match. Well, I did my best to disillusion her, but was only partially successful. Her complaint I found was catching. Her ladyship, who should have known better and have explained to her niece that the Scandinavian monarchs behaved simply, merely tried to go one better and despite my protests I found myself in charge of a mountain of luggage. It cost a fortune in overweight at the airport.

We had a perfect flight and the now customary royal drive in a beflagged Cadillac to the palace. That drive was the only formal part of the visit. King Gustav met us in an open-necked shirt and a pair of flannel trousers, the two queens were in plain summer frocks and the Danish princesses were running around like urchins. I felt embarrassed as I unpacked the two ladies’ clothes. I had a cup of tea in the Pugs’ Parlour where I made discreet inquiries into what my two should wear for dinner. Dinner! It was served at seven o’clock, about the time we have high tea in Yorkshire. I must have looked astonished when I was told because the housekeeper explained that there was some rule in Sweden now that servants had to get away by a certain time, that most people dined at six and the palace was only able to have the extra hour by paying the servants more.

My ladies were not impressed by the circumstances in which they found themselves. Mrs Lancaster was particularly disappointed, and waxed vocal in showing her feelings. Then they started giggling together like two schoolgirls. By the following morning they were hysterical. They decided they couldn’t see their stay out. We had a conference as to how they would get away and where they were to go. Paris was decided on. I had to do the dirty work, which was to go into Hälsingborg, cable Miss Jones, her ladyship’s secretary, who in turn was to cable us to demand our return on the following day. I also had to book our flights to Paris and the hotel accommodation there.

I returned to find my two stretched out in deckchairs with the others, looking utterly bored. Everything I’m glad to say worked to plan. I’m not sure the royals weren’t glad to see the back of us because the night before we left, though truthfully it was more the early hours of the morning, Mrs Lancaster woke up wanting a glass of water. She got the taps mixed up and started flooding the room, called for my lady, the two of them panicked and rang every bell in sight. Down came the King and his aide-decamp and the four of them ended up on their knees mopping up the floor with towels.

It all seems unlikely I know, but I have the letter still which I wrote to Mrs Hawkins, the housekeeper at Eaton Square, and I’ve copied the events that I’ve described here from that. I called the visit ‘All dressed up and nowhere to go’.

Although I didn’t know it, neither did my lady, we’d now made our last journey to the States. Continental visits were frequent, but were comparatively uneventful. They continued to be enjoyable with her ladyship relying more and more on me. I don’t say this boastfully, after all these years together it was inevitable. In a way I enjoyed it. Many servants I knew had outlived their usefulness and had to retire. I was able to be of service to the end.