Lady Almina and the Real Downton Abbey: The Lost Legacy of Highclere Castle

by The Countess of Carnarvon

  But for now, Almina had no reason to worry about anything. She had been welcomed into the family with open arms, for the breezy energy she brought to the Earl’s life, and of course for the immense amount of good that her wealth could do for the estate. A house such as Highclere, not to mention the other properties, was a responsibility as well as a privilege. The sense of custodianship that came with the inheritance meant that – to a large extent – the Castle owned the family, rather than the other way around. Almina was key to securing its future, and she knew it.

  Quite apart from relieving everyone’s anxiety about bills and maintenance, Almina’s fortune allowed improvements on a scale that hadn’t been seen since the 3rd Earl pulled down the old house. She didn’t hesitate in calling again upon Sir Alfred’s generosity to make Highclere one of the best-equipped and most comfortable private houses in the country.

  It took the best part of six months, much of which Lord and Lady Carnarvon spent in London so as to be out of the way of the works, and cost Alfred de Rothschild many thousands of pounds, but in 1896, electric light arrived at the Castle. Almina took the opportunity to have more bathrooms installed as well. There were numerous water closets by the mid-1890s, not only adjoining the family’s and guests’ bedrooms, but also in the servants’ working and sleeping quarters.

  Highclere was transformed into a beacon of modernity: the shadows were banished and a huge amount of labour was saved. The whole house was wired, including the kitchens, sculleries, cellars and servants’ hall and sitting rooms. Between the electric light and the running water in the bathrooms, there was a significant easing in the household’s centuries-old work schedule. The lamp-men were saved the nightly ritual of lighting over a hundred oil lamps, and the housemaids no longer had to struggle upstairs with enough hot water for everyone to bathe in freestanding tubs.

  Elsie, the Dowager Countess of Carnarvon, found the introduction of the lights and the water systems a huge practical improvement to the house she had once run. Elsie was a supremely good-natured and capable person, never in her life inclined to complain about anything. She had proved herself an ally back during Almina’s engagement and continued to advise and help out on her occasional visits. On 10 June 1896, at Buckingham Palace, she presented her successor to the Princess of Wales, who was standing in for Queen Victoria. This occasion marked Almina’s formal introduction to the Court in her new role as Countess of Carnarvon. It was three years since the last time Almina had curtseyed in front of a representative of her monarch and her life had been transformed in the interim.

  By 23 June 1897, almost two years since their wedding day, Almina was feeling confident enough at event planning to invite 3,000 local schoolchildren and 300 of their teachers to spend the afternoon in the grounds of Highclere Castle. The occasion was Queen Victoria’s Diamond Jubilee. The Queen had been on the throne for an unprecedented sixty years, and there were celebrations across the land. In the depths of her almost total seclusion from public life she had been unpopular, becoming a symbol of a stubborn refusal to move with the times. Britain’s republican movement had its only moment of real public support. But her Golden and then her Diamond Jubilee increased the Queen’s popularity again; and, in any case, popular or not, there was protocol to observe: the Earl and Countess would not be shown up through inadequate festivities. More specially-commissioned trains to Highclere were laid on to transport people, and a mile-long procession wound through the woods and park, accompanied by the marching bands from Newbury. Fortunately it was a beautiful day and Almina had organised swingboats and other entertainments, as well as a sumptuous tea, all laid out on trestle tables beneath the cedar trees on the lawns around the Castle.

  Two weeks later on 2 July, the Earl and Countess attended a fabulously lavish celebration, the Duchess of Devonshire’s Jubilee Costume Ball, given at Devonshire House on Piccadilly. The invitation stipulated that costumes should be allegorical or historical from a period pre-1820 and, judging by some of the surviving photos of guests, no opportunity to dazzle was passed up. Lady Wolverton, for example, was dressed as Britannia, complete with a breastplate over her flowing white dress, plumed helmet, trident and shield emblazoned with the Union flag. Mrs Arthur Paget made a very fetching Cleopatra and Prince Victor Duleep Singh was much admired as the Moghul Emperor Akbar.

  Lord and Lady Carnarvon spent Christmas at Alfred de Rothschild’s house, as had become their custom, and then, in January 1898, they attended the wedding of Prince Victor Duleep Singh, who married Lady Anne, the daughter of the Earl of Coventry, in St Peter’s Church, Eaton Square. The wedding caused something of a stir since it was the first time an Indian Prince had married an English noblewoman. The whole thing was typical of the contradictions of late-Victorian attitudes: at a time when patronising attitudes to England’s colonial empire were endemic, wealthy Indians were nonetheless accepted into London Society and consorted with the best people. Marrying one of them proved to be just a step too far for some, though. The Prince of Wales was instrumental in calming chatter about the alliance’s suitability and was also a guest at the ceremony. Prince Victor’s brother was best man and Lord Carnarvon’s youngest sister, Vera, was one of the bridesmaids.

  Straight after the wedding, Lord and Lady Carnarvon left the country on what was to become the first of many voyages to escape the English winter. The destination was Egypt, which would prove so fateful for the couple. They arrived in Alexandria and were immediately immersed in a very different world from anything that Almina had ever known. Her travels until then had been confined to Europe, so the whitewashed walls and daily life of Alexandria provoked something of a culture shock. There were camels noisily kneeling to be loaded before swaying off, dragged along by small boys with sticks. The noises and smells were overwhelming; the streets full of donkeys and Arab horses pulling carts at barely controlled speeds. The bazaar was tremendously colourful, full of spices and leathers and antiquities of dubious provenance. However, although it felt exotic, the Carnarvons were in good company. Alexandria, Luxor and Cairo were all full of foreign tourists, and it wasn’t unusual to see runners clearing the way before distinguished people. It was easy to spot the English on their thoroughbreds, riding between sporting engagements.

  They enjoyed themselves in the luxurious surroundings of the Winter Palace Hotel in Luxor, and the Earl was keen to show Almina the mysterious temples and the glorious treasures that had captured his imagination back when he had visited as a solo traveller in 1889.

  While they were on holiday in Egypt, Almina fell pregnant. It was what everyone had been waiting for, and Carnarvon in particular was naturally delighted. They returned to Highclere well rested and in high spirits and spent a quiet few months at home. For Almina the summer season that year was less rigorous than previous ones since, as a pregnant woman, there were a great many activities that were not considered appropriate for her. Almina spent more time in town, resting with her mother, and less time at Highclere organising weekend house parties.

  In September she moved in with Elsie, the Dowager Countess of Carnarvon, so that she could give birth in London where the best doctors were available. Lord Carnarvon was touring the Continent in his beloved Panhard motor car at the time, which was probably another factor in Almina’s decision to leave Highclere and head for London, where she would have congenial company and guidance as she prepared for motherhood.

  The 5th Earl was known by the moniker Motor Carnarvon and had bought several of the first cars imported into Britain. In 1898 the choice of British cars was still very limited indeed, and the best marque for experienced drivers was considered to be the French Panhard-Levassor. Lord Carnarvon travelled with George Fearnside, his valet, and his French chauffeur, Georges Eilersgaard. The car was left-hand drive, had four gears and could travel at the corresponding speeds of 4.5, 7, 10 and 13 miles per hour. Back in England later that month, he was summoned to appear in court in Newbury for driving at more than 12 miles per hour (the legal limit at the time
). It was to be the first of numerous speeding fines for Lord Carnarvon.

  Lord Carnarvon was at 13 Berkeley Square, though naturally not in the room with his wife, when on 7 November 1898, she fulfilled her primary task as the Countess of Carnarvon by giving birth to an heir. The safe arrival of a healthy baby boy meant an uncomplicated line of succession, and there was rejoicing both upstairs and down. Almina was still only twenty-two years old and, as usual, her life seemed charmed. She had a beautiful healthy baby boy – she was unassailable. Nothing ever looked too difficult for Almina. She had accomplished everything she’d ever put her mind to, had the good fortune to be pretty as well as rich, met a man whom she loved and who loved her, lived exactly as she pleased. She was a Countess, a wife and now a mother.

  The baby was christened a little over a month later, after the traditional laying-in period. His sponsors were Alfred de Rothschild, Marie Wombwell, Prince Victor Duleep Singh and Francis, Lord Ashburton, another friend of Carnarvon’s from Eton days. He was accordingly given a very long list of names: Henry George (for his father – both were good Carnarvon names) Alfred Marius Victor Francis. In practice he was most usually called Porchy, as his father had been before him and his son would be in due course.

  The Carnarvons didn’t stay long in town after the christening. Porchy was to be brought up at Highclere, in the nursery on the second floor that Almina had prepared for the purpose. When Lord and Lady Carnarvon arrived at the Castle with their son they were met by the entire staff, who had lined up on the gravel drive outside the front door to welcome them. Almina stepped from the car with the baby in her arms, followed by the nurse she had engaged in London.

  Later that afternoon all the staff assembled again, this time outside the Earl’s study, and were summoned one by one to see him. The kitchen maids were twittery with nerves since they had never been upstairs; the grooms were just as bad but trying not to show it; everyone was dressed impeccably in clean aprons and caps. When a name was called, the person entered the study, curtseyed or bowed to His Lordship and received a gold sovereign in honour of his son and heir.

  The photo taken at the Castle to mark Porchy’s birth is heart-melting. The baby’s crib is enormous and draped in muslin. Almina stands behind wearing a long loose gown and stares, rapt, into the face of her first child. The shot captures all the tenderness and amazement of a woman who has just become a mother.

  Aristocratic childcare in 1898 was radically different from anything we would recognise today. Children lived not with their parents but in a separate realm, looked after first by a nanny and later by a governess, assisted by a couple of nursery maids. Almina arrived back at Highclere accompanied by a nurse who was on hand during the first weeks to give her support and reassurance. The advice in those days was that the mother should feed the baby initially and then gradually introduce a mixture of diluted cows’ milk. When Almina gave birth to her daughter, Evelyn Leonora Almina, who was always known as Eve, in August 1901, the baby joined Porchy in the nursery, under the care of Nanny Moss.

  It is impossible to know what Almina felt about being a mother. It would be anachronistic to assume from the fact that she was often away from her children (as she was) that she did not love and care for them. Their day-to-day welfare was attended to by other people, but that was entirely normal in Almina’s day.

  Her son, Porchy, later the 6th Earl of Carnarvon, recalled in his memoirs that his parents’ visits to the nursery, usually at tea-time on Sundays, could be excruciating occasions. There is a rather heart-breaking description of a family too awkward with each other to know what to say, the Earl blustering out questions about how the schooling was coming along just as his father had with him. Porchy heaved a sigh of relief when the adults turned on their heels and returned to their world. Almina doesn’t appear to have been able to bridge the gulf between father and son, or to form a close bond with Henry herself.

  Part of the problem must surely have been far bigger than any of the individuals concerned: Almina’s children were born at a time when the maxim ‘children should be seen and not heard’ was not a laughably old-fashioned cliché but a statement of fact. Their status was quite simply lower than that of their parents, as was demonstrated by the fact that Porchy and Eve, for as long as they lived in the nursery, used the back stairs, with the servants.

  There does seem to have been something else at work, though. In the same memoir, Porchy recounts the story of a childhood mishap. He was attending a garden party at Buckingham Palace, aged about nine, with his mother, and, in his over-excitement, not looking where he was going, he barged into King Edward VII’s very ample stomach. His Highness hadn’t lost any weight since the days of his visit to Highclere as Prince of Wales; grunting from the blow, he staggered to the ground. He was unhurt, and reassured the little boy that no harm had been done, but Porchy was mortified. Princess Mary saw that he was upset and took him off to feed him ice cream. Disaster struck again when Porchy fumbled his plate and spilled some of the pink raspberry confection all over the princess’s white satin gown. As Mary was bustled away by her furious governess to change her dress, Almina arrived on the scene like some wrathful fury, grabbed his arm and hustled him home, where he was sent to bed with nothing but bread and milk. The words she used to express her anger were revealing. ‘You disgraceful boy,’ she told him, ‘you shamed me today.’ Perhaps, even after years of living at the heart of the Establishment, Almina still had flashes of anxiety. Exposure to disapproval or ridicule was anathema to her and there was no room for slip-ups, even schoolboy ones.

  Maybe Almina just found it easier to get on with adults than children. Certainly, things seemed to get easier as her son got older. After he became the 6th Earl, he continued to rely on his mother for advice on the suitability of his second marriage, to ask her to stay at Highclere and to attend family occasions such as an engagement party for her beloved grandson. And Almina was extremely close to her daughter Eve all her life.

  The year 1901 was of huge significance, not just on a personal level for the Carnarvons, but nationally. In January, when Almina was just pregnant with her second child, Queen Victoria finally passed away at Osborne House, her holiday home on the Isle of Wight. She was surrounded by her children and grandchildren. Her son, Bertie, Prince of Wales and soon-to-be Edward VII, was already sixty years old. Her eldest grandson, Kaiser Wilhelm II of Germany, who thirteen years later would lead Germany into war against his beloved grandmother’s country, was also at her bedside. Queen Victoria had been on the throne for almost sixty-four years and presided over Britain’s consolidation as the leading figure on the world stage. Her name is still synonymous with the era. For her subjects, all 440 million of them across the Empire, her death was an epochal event.

  The Queen’s body lay in state at Windsor Castle for two days. The whole country was in deep mourning: every adult wore black, and shops were festooned with black and purple banners. Even black iron railings were repainted to make them more appropriately gloomy.

  The Carnarvons were present at the State Funeral at St George’s Chapel in Windsor Castle on 2 February, which was attended by the crowned heads of all Europe and representatives of every British dominion. There was an outpouring of public affection for the dead queen and the new king, but also some anxiety. What would happen next? The British were still embroiled in the Boer War in South Africa. It was not popular, and the Army had learnt some sharp lessons about structure, tactics and the impact of disease on the ability of their men to fight. Lord Kitchener’s ‘scorched earth’ policy and the Army’s use of concentration camps were causing deep uneasiness. The campaign had also revealed the extent of the public health crisis amongst the nation’s poor. Forty per cent of Army recruits were found to be unfit for military service.

  Queen Victoria’s reign coincided with a bustling period of progress, industrialisation, and the creation of extraordinary wealth in Britain. Her long lifespan led to a reassuring sense of continuity, and any unpopularity still
lingering from when she was a reclusive widow was transformed at her death into a reverence for a time now lost.

  The Prince of Wales, who was about to be crowned Edward VII, had very little experience of government matters, despite his age. He was without doubt genial, fond of processions and the trappings of kingship. His mother and courtiers, however, had always worried about his lack of reading and application, as well as his indiscretions with various mistresses. Those liaisons were facilitated by friends such as Alfred de Rothschild.

  Nevertheless Edward VII was to prove a dignified, charming king and Emperor, and the Edwardian era, famous for its high glamour and easy elegance, was becoming the reality. The new King declared that the period of mourning for his mother, the late Queen and Empress, was to extend for only the following three months. Preparations could then begin for his coronation, at which no pomp was to be spared.

  In the event, because of the King’s appendicitis, the ceremony took place over a year later, on 9 August 1902, in Westminster Abbey. Alfred de Rothschild was invited to attend, as, of course, were Lord and Lady Carnarvon, the Dowager Countess of Carnarvon, and other members of the family.

  The new century was under way and the modern world was fast approaching: not just Carnarvon’s beloved motor cars, but also powered flight, the rise of the Labour movement and, on a distant horizon, socialism, revolution and war. But as the Carnarvons, dressed in their ermine robes, watched Edward being crowned King of the United Kingdom and the British Dominions, Emperor of India, they must have considered that their world looked as glitteringly splendid as ever.