Synonymous with Edward the Eighth’s abdication, times became bleaker. It also seemed that life at Willow Grove became more problematic. I couldn’t put my finger upon a precise incident... it was just a vague impression. There was tension and a feeling of unrest in the household. With the unsettled conditions in Europe, Papa became more involved with business on the Continent. There was concern that if Hitler didn’t curb his aggressive tendencies, catastrophe could be waiting in the wings. Besides patriotic concerns, there was concern for my father from a business perspective. Most clients for the goods produced in the Somerville Mills were on the Continent, particularly France, Spain, Belgium, Italy and Germany, as well as the more eastern European nations, such as Austria and Poland. Therefore, it was no wonder that he was traveling more. He even made a trip to America during that period. He did ask Mummy to accompany him on several journeys, but she always refused, saying that both rail and steamship travel made her ill. Instead, she complained bitterly and often about his prolonged absences.
Isabella was thriving in the country air, and enjoying a comfortable, good life. I knew that I should set about making plans for the move to London. I’d already postponed our resettlement way beyond the initial deadline. But our circumstances were such that I wasn’t terribly motivated to do so. So, instead of the move I’d planned for January, summer, my favorite season at Willow Grove arrived, and I was still there. I lay in my bedchamber in the mornings, with the windows cranked open, allowing me to sniff the newly mown grass, and the sweet, fragrant climbing roses whose tendrils reached to the second story. I played with Isabella, took long walks about the grounds, and read books under my favorite old knurled tree. I wasn’t quite ready to leave.
Of course, Mummy aggravated me at times with her selfishness, non-stop complaining and biting criticisms, yet I couldn’t help but feel sorry for her. She had so much and enjoyed it so little. I wished my mother could be joyful about her many blessings. Of course, her life was not perfect, but I didn’t know anyone whose was. There was certainly nothing I could say or do to alter her moods, but when fall came, my college classes saved me from the unhappiness at Willow Grove. I made the decision to return to school, and began by enrolling in three classes a week at The University of London. This required a somewhat lengthy commute back and forth to London by train. While that was a bit tiring, I considered it only a temporary inconvenience, because I did eventually plan a move to Sumner Street. Isabella was well looked after, and deeply loved by Martha, so I did not feel guilty leaving her for those hours. I adored Willow Grove, and the magnificent countryside surrounding it, but also felt very isolated. I longed for the companionship of persons closer to my own age and University provided that outlet.
I was mad about my course work, and the academic environment, taking a special fancy to research. As time progressed, I became a protégé to one of my favorite professors, Dr. Richard Hausfater, who was the Chair of the Department of Psychology. A staunchly serious intellectual, with an impeccable reputation in academic circles, he was universally revered among his students and colleagues. I felt honored and quite humbled when he took an interest in my educational endeavors. Time moved along swiftly, and I began to act as an Assistant in his office, correcting papers and performing mundane chores, which freed him to do important research. Sometimes he asked me to assist in his research, and those were my favorite assignments. I seemed to have a knack for finding just the proper citation needed, and spent untold happy hours sitting on the floor of the library, reading journal articles and dusty manuscripts.
The summer of 1937 turned to autumn, and Isabella was about to celebrate her first birthday. It was hard to believe that a year had gone by since I’d left for Paris and the impending birth of my child. Edwina was coming to England, and the Duke and Duchess of Winnsborough were driving down for the day. I hadn’t seen them in ever so long. Not since Isabella and I had visited Winnsborough Hall the previous winter. It was kind of them to make the effort to come for Isabella’s birthday, since they knew that she was not their true granddaughter. I genuinely enjoyed seeing them.
On Isabella’s birthday, Mummy wanted to have a small celebration, which was the cause for visits from the Duke and Duchess and Edwina. Both of my brothers would be there too, from London and Scotland, respectively, and Edwina was bringing a beau from Paris. It was Dieter Schoen. His command of the language had apparently improved enough that he had become intimately involved with her. She mentioned him ever more frequently in her letters. However, it was difficult for me to believe that it was more serious than any of her multitude of other ‘love affairs’. Thus, the news that she was bringing him to England was unexpected. Nevertheless, I had learned early on never to be too surprised at anything Edwina did. I was probably much more surprised that Dieter had any desire to visit England.
As soon as the decision was made to have a birthday celebration, I immediately set about making plans. Edwina informed me that she would not be staying with our family at Willow Grove, which disappointed me. However, I agreed to whatever arrangements Edwina felt were suitable. I assumed that Edwina and Dieter were having an intimate relationship, and was certain that she did not want to place me into a situation that might prove untenable. It was a certainty that Mummy would have been aghast at the idea of an unmarried couple sharing a bed in her home. I didn’t know if Dieter might have friends of his own in England, or if Edwina preferred a hotel. In all candor, I greatly wished that Dieter was not accompanying her to England. I selfishly feared that we weren’t going to have any private time. We saw one another so seldom. In the end, Edwina and Dieter booked accommodations at Easton Park, a country hotel outside of Bath. I never asked if they booked one or two rooms.
I was also a bit nervous about the fact that Dieter was German. Sentiments in England were running rather counter to anything Teutonic. Everyone knew Mummy’s views. In addition, I had invited Dr. Hausfater and his wife to the celebration. He’d not met any members of my family, with the exception of Isabella, for whom he had developed a special fondness. When I spent time helping in his office, I often brought Isabella along, and she charmed him. Because I’d decided to include Dr. and Mrs. Hausfater, the matter of Dieter’s presence assumed more significance. The Hausfater’s’ had fled Germany just prior to the Great War, and were Jewish. I was well-aware of Hitler’s anti-Semitism, and questioned whether I was making a mistake inviting Edwina and Dieter to Isabella’s party. Immediately upon having such a thought, I was stricken with guilt. Edwina had been so good to me, and if it hadn’t been for her, I might never have had Isabella. I knew that Edwina would never introduce someone into a social situation, if for one moment she thought that it might create tension. So, with a few lingering reservations, I pushed my fears of Dieter’s nationality aside, and looked forward to a happy occasion.
I selected a special frock for Isabella to wear to the party. It was white taffeta, with ruffles at the collar and cuffs, and a wide yellow sash that ended in a bow at her back. Her hair, which was plentiful, fell softly into loose curls, and she wore a matching yellow bow on the top of her head. She looked adorable. I wore the black and white Chanel suit which I’d purchased in Paris, and it was delightful to dress for a joyful event, if only a child’s birthday party. I planned an afternoon of fun for Isabella with little friends from surrounding estates. There were pony rides and games of all sorts, along with various ‘goodies’, including trifle and tiny iced cakes. Isabella had a wonderful time. She toddled among the guests, showing off her dress and creating a sensation when she dumped an entire bowl of ice cream on her puppy’s head. That called for a change from her elaborate party frock to a more subdued corduroy romper, and a bath for her terrier, Maggie.
After Isabella’s party ended, a second adult celebration began at eight o’clock. We all said goodnight to her, and gathered in the drawing room for cocktails and hors d’oevres. There were chicken livers in white wine, caviar on toast points, Roquefort cheese balls, Camembert biscuits, an
d exquisite pastry shells filed with Fondue au Gruyere. Edwina looked divine in black silk, and Dieter, whom I had remembered as rather pale and colorless, was actually very handsome. There was no question that his appearance was very Germanic. He had nearly white, blonde hair and glacial blue eyes, with finely chiseled features, along with a deep cleft in his chin. He and Edwina made a striking couple. One couldn’t help but imagine what perfectly lovely children they might produce. Edwina also had a somewhat Nordic appearance, what with her pink and white complexion, somewhat prominent nose, and curvaceous silhouette. Dieter was extremely polite and hospitable, presenting Mummy with a nosegay of violets and a fine bottle of German wine. He kissed Mummy and me on both cheeks. Yet, for a reason I still can’t precisely define, I didn’t care for him. I saw no warmth in his eyes, and couldn’t help but wonder how my fun-loving friend could find such a man remotely compatible.
I didn’t have time to contemplate such thoughts however, as I was absorbed with hostess duties. Everything progressed enormously well, and it was a treat for me to be enjoying myself at a social gathering again. It was the first time in so long that I’d felt festive. I was relieved to see that my mother was being so cordial to Dieter, as I was acutely aware of her anti-German feelings. The Great War had left many of the British with ill-will toward the Germans. Many in my parents’ generation had lost their lives in the trenches along the French border. Papa had served, and I had memories of his red Melton wool jacket, trimmed with navy blue velvet and gold braid at the cuffs and collar. Blake had played ‘soldier’ in it. Papa mustered out shortly before my birth in 1917. Many of his school chums lost their lives or limbs, and even their minds, due to that conflict. Therefore, it wasn’t surprising that there remained a residue of ill will toward Germans. Those of my generation had largely put those hostilities to rest. Thus, it came as an enormous shock to hear the comment that Dieter made as we sat at the dining table, enjoying a sumptuous entrée of Fillet en Croute with Cognac and Shallot Sauce. His remarks came in response to a question put to Dieter by Dr. Hausfater.
“It is my understanding from many friends, who are in academia in your country, that a large number of German citizens are beginning to view the philosophy of Herr Hitler with increasing alarm. What initially appeared to be a re-awakening of national pride seems to be taking on a new dimension. What do you know of this?” Doctor Hausfater inquired.
“Men like Herr Hitler have a special destiny. His means cannot be questioned,” Dieter responded, with a somewhat arrogant tone. Directing his icy gaze around the table, his eyes rested briefly on each guest. “Surely you, as Anglo Saxons, have an appreciation for Hitler’s views on the purification of the white, Aryan race.” His words hung in the air like icicles. There followed a stunned silence, after which my father was the first to speak.
“Dieter, I know of no Englishman who shares such a view. Indeed, I think I speak for my countrymen when I tell you that such beliefs are repugnant.”I held my breath, expecting that Papa’s retort had put Dieter firmly in his place, and that he would undoubtedly feel obliged to apologize for his offensive remark. That, however, was not to be.
“With all due respect, Somerville, Herr Hitler has a great vision for Germany, and for the world. Have you read “Mein Kampf”? It is a truly brilliant and inspired piece of literature.”
“A piece of inflammatory, distorted trash, Sir,” Dr. Hausfater replied, in a very strong voice.
Dieter turned his gaze upon Dr. Hausfater. “I would expect such a comment from you, Sir. I mean no offense, but you are not of white, Aryan descent, if I am not mistaken. May I ask Sir, what is your genetic heritage?”
Edwina gasped. “Dieter, that is an exceedingly rude question, and Dr. Hausfater should not dignify it with a reply,” she said, in glacial tones.
Dr. Hausfater sat upright in his chair. “I should be pleased and proud to answer such a question. I am German by birth, and am of Jewish descent. I am also a British citizen, because of views such as yours. Those same views have caused horrors beyond the imagination all round the world. I left Germany just before the Great War because opinions such as yours were looming on the horizon. I hope to God that such an attitude doesn’t bring about what I fear could be an even greater conflict than that which occurred then.”
“The end justifies the means,” Dieter replied.
I glanced in my mother’s direction, and saw that she was clenching her teeth, as well as her hands. It was perfectly clear that the conversation was out of control, and indeed, headed for disaster. As the hostess, I knew that I had an obligation to put a halt to the exchange before it worsened. Yet, I was incapable of knowing what to say or do. It would have been an impossibility not to overhear a whispered conversation between my parents. Papa said to Mummy, “Now Pamela... please... In response to something she murmured to him, but it was far too late. Mummy’s face distorted with rage as she stood to face Dieter. She was trembling, and her voice was an octave higher than usual. She threw her napkin on the table and began to shriek.
“How dare you? You absolute piece of filth! How dare you enter our home and make such remarks? You are typical of your kind, and your nationality. You and your bloody country! You are an arrogant horse’s arse!” Papa continued with his pleas, which had no effect. I sat in motionless shock, as did all of the other guests. Naturally, I had seen this side of my mother before, but never in a social gathering. I even shared Mummy’s outrage at Dieter’s remarks, and in fact, silently agreed with the feelings she articulated, but could never agree with her method or timing. Dieter had managed to show his true colors, and everyone present saw him clearly, for what he was... A bigot and a fool. However, Mummy had just managed to lose complete control, for which I could find no justifiable defense. My brothers were equally aghast, and every bit as impotent in terms of being able to stop her tirade. The outburst continued until it culminated with the hurling of a silver candelabra in Dieter’s direction. Had he not ducked very quickly, his white Aryan head might well have been badly or even permanently damaged.
That gesture galvanized the rest of those present into action. All stood, as Papa grabbed Mummy by the shoulders, and moved her toward the Great Hall and the staircase. She ceased the screaming and submitted to his urging that she retire to her bedchamber. Like the child she was emotionally, she allowed herself to be led away. I was not overly concerned about her, as I had witnessed far worse behavior in the past. I knew that Papa would end up coaxing her back to reality with a stunning piece of jewelry, a fur wrap, or a priceless object d’art. In the end, she would manage to convince herself, and Papa, that her actions had been perfectly justified, and even admirable. I was very close to tears. My primary intent was to remove Dieter’s offensive presence from Willow Grove Abbey. Edwina was openly weeping, and it seemed as though she did not know what to do. She was obviously desperate to be away from the sight of everyone who had witnessed the horrifying scene. Shortly after, Papa descended the staircase, having calmed Mummy, given her a sedative, and put her to bed. Then he turned his attention to Edwina. With great solicitude, he inquired as to whether she would like to be a guest for the night, and she immediately accepted. Dieter, who had been standing alone by the door holding Edwina’s white fur coat looked astonished. He threw the coat upon the floor, turned on his heel, and departed. I was surprised that he didn’t click his heels. Papa calmly walked over to where the coat lay in a crumpled heap, picked it up and hung it in the cupboard in the Great Hall.
Everyone was relieved to see Dieter depart. After a few moments, all seemed equally eager to leave themselves. Thus, there were multitudes of hasty departures, accompanied by half-hearted attempts at a show of good manners. Several guests even went so far as to murmur “Thank you for a lovely evening,” which was, obviously, daft. Taking a deep breath of relief, I watched as the last guest disappeared down the circular driveway. I walked out of doors, and followed the ancient, well-worn pathway to the burying ground. I found myself next to the lynch gate.
Leaning against it, I felt weak and quivery. Inside the house, I could hear the sounds of the cleaners, clearing away plates of half-eaten Fillet en Croute and unopened bottles of wine. I was certain that someone had discreetly removed the severely dented candelabra. Then I heard a sound, and glancing up, saw Edwina coming down the pathway toward me. Her head bent, she was weeping. It was so unlike Edwina. I knew the best thing I could do was to let her talk. Edwina had done that often enough for me. I needed to be loving, empathetic and supportive. Edwina knew the mistakes she’d made, and did not need to hear any more from me. When she reached the spot where I stood, I opened my arms and she walked straight into them. It was the first time I’d been the one to console her. Finally, when she seemed incapable of shedding another tear, I spoke.
“Edwina. This is not your fault. You couldn’t possibly have known that he held such beastly views.”
“No, I didn’t Sophia. We never spoke of such things. Now I realize that we should have,” she answered, still hiccoughing with sporadic sobs. “I’ve learned a great lesson tonight. One cannot simply go through life skimming the surface, ignoring things like values and political beliefs. All I have ever really thought about was whether a man was attractive, attentive, and able to show me a wonderful time. Dieter had all of those qualities, and I never probed more deeply. Everyone must think me such a fool.”
Willow Grove Abbey: A Historical World War II Romance Novel (The Somerville Trilogy) Page 19