7th June 1939
Kitty Rothschild says it’s not done to send flowers to Jewish funerals. Too late. They’re already sent.
10th June 1939
HRH says it doesn’t seem appropriate to splash out on diamonds when the world is so full of uncertainty. He’s bought Wally a pair of tourmaline earclips for her birthday. Very pretty, but a long, long way from a diamond.
Elsie Mendl wants to host Wally’s birthday.
19th June 1939
Wally is forty-three again. Gave her an antique crystal scent spray filled with Joy.
She wasn’t wearing her tourmaline earclips. She said, “Some messenger you turned out to be. Well, no matter. I’ll buy that pendant myself.”
Precisely. That’s always the best way with husbands and jewels.
Tonight, to Villa Trianon.
20th June 1939
Elsie had boys with flaming brands standing at the iron gates to her estate, and that was only the start of it. She’d had the whole garden lit, and a sprung dance floor, and two champagne fountains. There were tumbling dwarves, and fire-eaters, and a darling baby elephant pulling a cart with Wally’s birthday cake. Elsie’s people seem to be able to get their hands on absolutely anything.
Wore my coral mousseline and a single strand of black pearls.
I can’t say Wally was very grateful for Elsie’s efforts. She seems more and more to regard all these entertainments as no more than her due.
Of course, Elsie loves giving parties anyway, and Charlie Mendl just smiles and coughs up.
24th June 1939
Fruity Metcalfe is going to come down to Cannes in August, but without Baba. She doesn’t want to leave her family. He says London is all on edge about Germany and Italy and the Russians. He says the best thing would be if we make an alliance with the Russians while we can. He says that might cool Germany’s Polish ambitions.
Wednesday, to La Croe. The Crokers are worried about remaining in Europe, and the Cavetts have canceled. Hattie may come, but without Judson. He can’t get away. As for Adolf Hitler, I’ll bet he’s sitting up in the Berghof, eating cookies and laughing at all these nervous nellies. I’ll bet he’s taking a vacation.
1st July 1939, La Croe
So many villas seem to be empty. I think it’s going to be a very dull summer. Daisy Fellowes is undeterred, however. Her yacht should be off Cannes in time for our July 4th chicken fry. She has Ludo and Fancie Fannulloni and Clarice Sfogginomi on board. Lily Drax-Pfaffenhof is motoring over with the Milwaukee Gunters, so at least there’ll be a golf partner for HRH.
Kath Rogers is stockpiling canned goods.
6th July 1939
Maxi Finto has been back in France since April and never once called. We went to the casino after the chicken fry, and the first thing I saw was Mrs. Woolworth with Lucien Ecornifleur on one arm and Maxi on the other.
“May-belle!” he said. “It’s been too long.” Sweat on his top lip.
I said, “I’d expected a report on my investments by now.”
He said, “I’ve had it in mind, but I was waiting, hoping for an upturn. Business is very flat just now, because of uncertainties, you understand? Because of the situation? But this isn’t the time or the place. Lunch, tomorrow? No, tomorrow isn’t good. I’ll telephone.”
He never looked me in the eye for one moment.
Wally said, “What’s bitten you tonight? You look like you lost a dollar and found a dime.”
She wouldn’t understand even if I told her. It really isn’t about the money.
Alix and Henri Piston-LeRupin are just down the road. They’ve managed to rent La Garoupe for a knockdown price, the season is so dead here.
12th July 1939
Rory’s eighteenth birthday. Got a telephone connection with no trouble at all, but he wasn’t at home. He was attending a tennis party at the Boddie-Fultons. Poor boy. He hates ball games. Violet says he can’t wait to get started at Dartmouth. Of all the times to be joining the military!
Lightfoot is apparently still in a depression. Ulick is going to Drumcanna with him ahead of everyone else. They’re going to try and rig up some way of him managing in the butts. I’m sure there’s something safer than shooting he could do with only one arm. Netting butterflies, perhaps.
Boss and Ethel have braved it to La Croe. Ethel says if the world is going to end, let it happen while she’s sunning herself beneath a blue Mediterranean sky. Hear, hear!
Alix Piston-LeRupin says she thought there was some kind of prohibition against Maxi Finto going into business again, after the cocoa-bean scandal.
I said, “What cocoa-bean scandal?”
She said, “I don’t remember the details. I think it involved Costa Rica. But I do know there was an American woman who took quite a beating, and Maxi did a disappearing act for a while. Why? Have you sustained damage?”
I told her, it’s pocket change to me. I’m not having this trumpeted around. For one thing, if it got back to Baltimore, I’d never hear the end of it from Randolph Putnam.
18th July 1939
Dudley Forwood has been told to report to his regiment. Wally said, “You can’t leave until Fruity gets here to take over.”
Forwood said, “I don’t think you understand. I have to follow orders.” She said, “You certainly do. Our orders. You’re to stay here until His Royal Highness releases you.”
I said, “Wally, you’re putting Dudley in a very difficult position.”
She said, “Do you think so? Then let me reconsider. Yes, on second thoughts, Forwood, pack your bags and go. You were never much use anyway.”
I didn’t mean to make things worse. Forwood says I didn’t.
“Merely clarified things,” he said. “Thank you, Maybell.”
19th July 1939
Forwood was gone by the time we got up this morning. Faces like thunder, but neither HRH nor Wally has said a word.
25th July 1939
Fruity has arrived, and not a moment too soon, because now David’s valet has been called for military service. Fruity says it’s likely to get worse. He says von Ribbentrop is in Moscow, smooching with the Russians. Well, he is a very good dancer.
3rd August 1939
The Rogers’ gardeners have been called up. Kath says the same thing will happen to everyone, but Wally says we’re a special case.
Wally and Hattie had words. One of the terriers chewed Hattie’s tennis bat.
10th August 1939
Call-up papers for two of our footmen and three of our gardeners. Well, we’ll just have to get staff from somewhere that isn’t preparing for war. I always thought it most inconvenient anyhow, employing people who pretend not to speak English, and I’m sure there are plenty of American boys who’d jump at the chance to work for the Royal Windsors. Wally told HRH to make some telephone calls, but so far he doesn’t seem to have made any headway.
She said, Charlie Bedaux has a Hawaiian nut plantation they may buy.
I said, “Does this mean we’ll be moving to Hawaii?”
“Yes,” she said, “If that’s where we have to go for staff we can call our own.”
Hattie said, “What nonsense. Come back to London with me, Maybell. Wally seems to be losing her grip on reality.”
I don’t know. They say Hawaii has a very agreeable climate. Hattie says she wouldn’t buy a bicycle pump from Charlie Bedaux.
Herman says we should all keep locked canisters of gasoline in our garages, in case of shortages.
13th August 1939
Fruity says the Commons may be recalled early. If Germany moves against Poland, it’s war.
18th August 1939
A letter from Violet. Ena Spain hasn’t risked the trip to Drumcanna this year. Rory is crewing for his Uncle Salty off Dorsetshire. Lightfoot is crazed with pain and threw a bottle of scotch at Ulick. Well, there’s been many an occasion when I’ve felt like doing the same. Ulick quite invites it. As long as Lightfoot hasn’t turned on poor Doopie. They were such swe
etness and light the last time I saw them together. And Flora has entered womanhood. So now her troubles begin. I do hope Violet has told her about boys. The child is still so natural and spontaneous.
23rd August 1939
The wily Russians have made an accord with Germany. Herman says this means Poland is done for. HRH has sent a wire to Hitler, reminding him of the lovely tea they enjoyed together and their agreement that there was only one enemy to be vanquished: Communism.
Boss and Ethel are leaving tomorrow. Also Fruity. He says the writing is on the wall.
24th August 1939
Fruity is gone. He leaves behind a large void. When Wally and I came back from shopping, HRH was in the morning room, trying to pluck a tune on his ukulele.
26th August 1939
HRH received a telegram of reply from Hitler. It said Germany had never wished to quarrel with England, but if, as it appears, England now chooses to pick a war with Germany, he’ll have no choice but to respond. The housekeeper says there’s already a run on blackout material.
1st September 1939
This morning, while Wally and I were having our nails done and HRH was up on The Bridge, scanning for battleships, Germany invaded Poland. Also, an anti-aircraft battery arrived and proceeded to dig latrines upwind of our bathing pavilion without so much as a by-your-leave. When war approaches, courtesy flies out the window.
3rd September 1939
War. It has finally come to it. Freddie got a call through to us last evening to say things were coming to a head and the House of Commons would be meeting this morning; the first time in all its history it has sat on a Sunday. He said the only question still being debated was how long Germany should be given to withdraw from Poland. The French are suggesting a week, Neville Chamberlain thought a day or two, but his Cabinet wanted an end to it. So, Hitler was given until eleven o’clock this morning, twelve noon here. We went up to HRH’s Bridge to listen on his wireless.
Chamberlain said he’d asked Mr. Hitler to undertake to withdraw his forces from Polish territory, but no such assurances had been received, indeed German tanks had moved deeper into Poland, so, Great Britain was now at war with Germany.
HRH has been trying to get through to Bertie York all afternoon. He’s going to offer to return to England immediately, at the service of King and country.
Wally says we can’t leave until the best things have been wrapped and stored.
4th September 1939
We woke to the news that France has fallen into line with Britain, so, we’re at war here, too. HRH is suddenly full of pep. He thinks it’ll be a short war, but long enough for him to make his mark again. He spoke to King Bertie late last night and will be meeting with Walter Monckton in Paris, to discuss war jobs.
Tried to get through to Carlton Gardens, without success, but did speak with Flora at South Audley Street. She said, “We’re at war, Aunt Bayba! Isn’t it exciting! The sirens sounded yesterday, but we didn’t get bobbed yet.”
She said Lightfoot was having his Burgundy wines reorganized so as to make room for an air-raid shelter and that he’d gone to offer his services as a recruiting officer. Who knows, perhaps this new war will force him to buck up.
We got cut off before I could ask about Rory.
The silver and the smaller paintings have been taken down to a bank vault in town. Wally and I expect to be in Paris by Thursday at the latest.
5th September 1939
Kath and Herman came over to say good-bye. They may go back to the States, unless it’s all over before they’ve had time to get a passage.
6th September 1939, Meurice Hotel, Paris
Paris doesn’t look any different. The Pigalle is still open. The Communists are still picketing the factories up in Sentier. The front desk seems a little busier with people checking out, but that’s about all.
To Samaritaine. Wally says we must stock up on face powder.
7th September 1939
We’re all going to England. Monckton came to Boulevard Suchet this morning with the good news. There are several possible war jobs lined up for HRH, and they’re sending a boat for us early next week.
Wally said, “Good. There are things I need to buy in London.”
Monckton said, “Oh. I don’t think they visualize this as an opportunity for shopping, ma’am.”
She said, “They? Who are they?”
He said, “Well, the Navy, I suppose. And Their Majesties. If you were to accompany the Duke, I’m afraid you won’t be received.”
HRH said, “If that’s the case, darling, you must stay here with Maybell. You know my feelings on this.”
She said, “No, David, my place is at your side. This is war.”
I’m not sure whether she meant the Germans or the New Bunch.
8th September 1939
Not only will Wally not be received, no provision has been made for accommodations while we’re in England. We can’t even use Fort Belvedere. But Freddie and Pips have offered us rooms at Halkin Street, and the Metcalfes have offered us their place in the country. You find out who your friends are.
Dickie Mountbatten is picking us up from Cherbourg on Tuesday.
13th September 1939, Halkin Street
We docked just after eleven last night. Everything was blacked out, but HRH knew exactly where he was. He said, “This is where I said good-bye to England. This is the jetty I sailed from, on my way to Enzesfeld.”
There was a small guard of honor, and a band played “God Save the King,” but there was no welcome party. Just Baba Metcalfe with two cars. She’d made reservations at the best hotel Portsmouth can offer, but just before we disembarked, a signal had come through that Admiralty accommodation was being made available for HRH and Wally for one night. So, Baba and I were the beneficiaries. We took the pick of the rooms she’d booked, and poor Wally had to sleep in a Navy cot!
Baba grows on me. She’s never concealed that HRH has been a disappointment to her, and she finds Wally common, but she’s still doing everything she can to ease their homecoming, which is more than can be said for some. They didn’t even bother to send them a car. She drove me up to town this morning and was fuming about the war work being offered HRH. There’s something in civil defense, in Wales, or a desk job at GHQ in France. He’s leaning toward Wales.
Baba said, “But he must get back into uniform. He got a Military Cross in the last lot, for heaven’s sake.”
Pips is glad to have me stay. Freddie’s practically sleeping at the Commons. HRH is seeing the King today. Wally’s been advised to stay down in Sussex and rock no boats.
14th September 1939
Freddie says HRH should take the civil defense job. He said, “They’ll be able to live here, and Wally can be seen to take part in the war effort. By the time it’s over, she’ll have won the good opinion of even her greatest enemies.”
Baba’s been trying to rustle up people to go down to Sussex and keep Wally entertained. Hattie went down for lunch today, but a lot of people won’t go anywhere, worried about gasoline shortages. We’re supposed to carry gas masks, but they really don’t look right with anything except a uniform.
Everything seems calm at Carlton Gardens. Dear Rory was home on twenty-four-hour furlough from Dartmouth, very smart in his midshipman’s uniform. Melhuish is running an Air Raid Precaution post until such time as he’s called from the Guards’ Reserve, but he thinks the danger of raids by German bombers is greatly overrated. He says the Germans are far too busy with the Russians, dividing up Poland like a sponge cake, to bother flattening St. James’s. I agree. Sounding those sirens unnecessarily only makes the servants hysterical.
Ulick is training artillery recruits, whereabouts undisclosed, and Violet has offered herself to the Navy. Her age is against her, but she has top brass like Sybil Cholmondeley and Salty Laird rooting for her, so she thinks she’s bound to get something. I must say, it does have the best uniform. A good-quality doeskin skirt and a very stylish tricorn hat. I wonder if the
y’ll make her cut her hair?
We parted more affectionately than I ever remember. War does so improve people.
Rory said, “Transport alongside, ma’am!” when my car came to pick me up. He almost caught me with his trick cigarette pack.
Tea at Fuller’s the very moment this silly war is over!
15th September 1939
HRH is apparently not required to defend Wales, after all. He’s to be attached to the British Military Mission at Vincennes with the rank of Major General. Fruity will be equerry. So it’s back to France, as soon as a destroyer can be made available.
Lightfoot smelled of drink at eleven this morning. He said, “I’m a goddamned wreck. I wish they’d left me to rot on Hill 666.”
His arm hurts him more now he doesn’t have it than when he did. He said, “I’ve become the completest shit to live with, Maybell. What am I, Flora?”
“The completest shit,” she said. I’ve noticed a lot of people are starting to use language.
Doopie smiled, as always, but she had tears in her eyes.
She said, “Bedda gum home, Bayba. Bedda gum live here.”
I said, “Can’t they give Lightfoot something for the pain?”
“Wizgy,” she said. “Lodsa wizgy.”
Gone With the Windsors Page 44