In stature Nanny Gibbons had a figure similar to her ladyship’s, short and slimly built. In the morning she wore a white blouse and grey skirt and changed into a darker grey dress for afternoon and evening wear. She was devoted to her children, she studied all their interests and looked after their diet, their clothes and their money. She was very painstaking with the repairs of the boys’ clothes, which were handed down as they would have been in any poor family, often I think to the annoyance of the recipients. She didn’t like waste of any kind.
One of the rituals for the younger children was a drive in the pony cart every afternoon regularly at two-thirty. That way I think the children must have got to know every blade of grass for miles around. I understand that one way the boys relieved the monotony of these daily drives was to wait for the pony to make a rude noise, and then stare at Nanny Gibbons until her stern set features dissolved into a smile. She was perhaps a little prim. It was the mould of nannies of that time.
Arthur Bushell told me about an evening when some of the staff were giving an entertainment in the servants’ hall. Nanny and the children had been invited. Arthur as usual was dressed up as a woman and, as was his custom, sailing near to the wind with his jokes and behaviour. The broader these got the more the children laughed, and the more set became Nanny’s expression. The next day Arthur asked her how she’d enjoyed it. ‘The children seemed to be amused; I found your dress left much to be desired.’
‘Oh, Miss Gibbons,’ he said, ‘what did it leave you desiring?’
‘She swept off: and for a week when she saw me she only sniffed.’
When Nanny died and she left £7,500 everyone thought she had saved it from her salary. It got them all wondering how she could possibly have done it. She couldn’t. In fact £3,500 had been left to her by her sister, and I know that the children gave her £2,000, though they won’t thank me for saying so.
Assisting her was a nurserymaid, whose job it was to clean the nursery, do the washing and ironing, lay the tables and serve the food, wheel the babies in the pram or, when they were older, take them for walks round the gardens and play games with them. Nurserymaids wore print dresses with starched cuffs and collars, and when they were out had grey felt hats and coats. Then there always seemed to be a French or sometimes a German governess around the place so the children learnt languages from a very early age. Finally there was the nursery boy, more commonly known as the hall boy, who carried the food trays from the kitchen and did any of the harder, rougher jobs that were necessary.
The day nursery was a large, comfortable, light room. In the centre was a table and there were cupboards and bookcases all around the walls where the toys and books were stored. These were plentiful and watched over religiously by Nanny Gibbons, and the toys were kept under lock and key unless they were in use. From time to time my lady would have a blitz, take what toys she thought the children no longer wanted and see that they were given to less privileged children. There was a large comfy couch and easy chairs; a sideboard decorated with flowers and never without fruit on it, so the nursery was the essence of comfort, and of course of cleanliness.
Nanny slept in the night nursery with the children in cots or beds until they were old enough to move into their own rooms. I have spoken of the nursery as if it belonged to the Astor family, but it was often shared with visitors’ children. It was in this way that nannies became well known among the aristocracy; our Nanny Gibbons had a great reputation. There was another such at Hatfield House. Although Nanny Gibbons’s affection was visited mostly upon the children, she was devoted to the Astors and particularly to his lordship. It was he who as it were ruled over the nursery, and it was to him that she went for help or advice if ever she needed it, though this was rare as they seemed to think and behave as one.
His lordship, while wanting his children brought up in the pattern of the time for his rank and position, was determined that they should not be spoilt. For example, he limited their pocket money. Indeed Mr Lee has told me that at times he and other of his men have slipped them a few pence on some special occasion, such as the annual fair on nearby Woburn Green. I suppose too Lord Astor wanted his children brought up in his own image. If this is a fault it’s one that is in most of us. We want our children to do at least as well as, if not better than, we have done. We think we can show them the way and we get offended or hurt if they rebel against us. It is something in human nature that is hard for parents to deny or escape from if they think about their children at all. In my day ‘the sins of the fathers were visited on the children’. Today it seems that the sins of the children are visited on the fathers. In looking for an excuse for misbehaviour children are encouraged to blame their parents by doctors, lawyers, schoolteachers and their likes.
Having got that off my chest let me hasten to say that this feeling about their mother or father is not one shared by any of the Astor children, though it may have been in the minds of others when considering the occasional misdemeanours that they consider have been committed – ‘poor little rich children’ is an easy gibe and one which cannot be applied to them. I’m sure they are today as proud of their parents as I am and would never attempt to use them as whipping-boys for anything wrong that they may have done. There are problems about growing up rich. Perhaps rich people are encouraged to think they’re different from others, but in the Astor home they were taught that this difference brought with it responsibilities to others that poorer children don’t have. Example and leadership are two such things. Unfortunately the slightest lapse from either in this day and age brings down the wrath of people who have few if any qualities themselves. But I’m getting ahead of myself.
The big moment of any day for the children when they were little was when they went down from the nursery to join their parents after tea, whether there were guests with them or not. Her ladyship was at her gayest at this time and this gaiety pervaded the room. She would turn anything into a laugh. It was as though she was an actress; she turned her charm on, it flowed like water from a tap and she gave a different performance every night. These were the people with whom she was most at home, the young and innocent, and as I found out during the war years it was not reserved just for people of her own kind. She was as easy with a child from a slum and so he was with her. I used to envy the boys these times with my lady. It was only occasionally I had glimpses of them. Even more I loved the other evenings when she would tell her stories from the Deep South, with their mixture of the comic with the melancholy, acting the various parts and reverting continually to her Southern drawl. Of course the children didn’t always find it beer and skittles, there were times when her gay mood could change to gall and she’d be her other self, sarcastic and mocking.
Of the boys’ schooldays I knew little. They all went away at about the age of eight to their preparatory school. I’ve later gathered that it was selected because the headmaster admitted pupils who were Christian Scientists. Not I think that they could have had much idea at their age of what this was all about. Apparently they didn’t suffer from going there. They retained the charm they’d cultivated early. There was no religious compromise over their public school, they had to go to Eton. Again to the best of my knowledge they enjoyed it and it seemed Eton enjoyed them, judging by the attitude and number of friends who came to visit Cliveden. Mr Lee paid several visits to the school, taking fruit and serving picnic luncheons on the Fourth of June.
The only person who didn’t care for the school was Gordon Grimmett. ‘I had good reason not to, Miss Harrison,’ he told me. ‘It was during Mr Billy’s first term. Mr Lee came to me one day after he’d been there about eight weeks and said that according to Nanny Gibbons someone, and that on this occasion that someone was me, had to go to Eton to examine his suits and shoes to see if any repairs were needed. Any shoes which wanted heeling – and I was informed that there was some sort of competition as to who could first wear them down to the soles – were to be taken without argument to Ganes, the old-establis
hed cobbler in the High Street, and any clothes that required mending were to be returned to Nanny Gibbons.
‘I was driven by Bert Jeffries, then his lordship’s second chauffeur, in the Daimler to Mr Conybeare’s house. It was a rambling old place. Outside there was a group of boys, top-hatted and all carrying badly rolled umbrellas. “Could they,” I asked, “inform me which room the Honourable William Astor occupied?”
‘“Try the top floor and knock on every door until you come to his,” was suggested.
‘This I did. Grinning faces appeared and I received comments like, “Go away, you annoy me,” “Your looks revolt me” and “Never heard of him, my good man.”
‘Finally by threats and perseverance I found the room and achieved the purpose of my visit, leaving with a pair of trousers and two pairs of shoes. On my return, halfway down the passage, doors suddenly opened and I was ambushed by a dozen boys who chased me downstairs with a rain of blows from hockey sticks, cricket bats and umbrellas. When at last I reached the car I explained to Bert Jeffries what had happened. Unsympathetically he roared with laughter. “You were lucky,” he said, “they usually de-bag outsiders like you who come on a clothes and boots check.”
‘When I returned I reported the incident to Mr Lee and told him that never again would I venture near the place. He too was unfeeling: “You’ll be all right next time, you won’t have to make inquiries, thereby finding it unnecessary to knock on the boys’ doors and advertising your presence.”
‘I stuck to my guns though and when the next visit came round another footman took my place. Like Bert Jeffries, I saw no reason to inform him what to expect. He gave a better account of himself than I did, however, and gave as good as if not better than he got and returned to Cliveden with nothing more than a badly battered top hat.’
It was after her children had reached the age of puberty that Lady Astor seemed to lose her understanding and, with it, her affection for them. Although, as I’ve said, she disliked ‘yes’ men among her friends and servants, she seemed to expect complete agreement and obedience from her children in thought, word and deed, and when she didn’t get it was indignant and angry. She made no attempt to see their point of view. It’s a difficult time for children of either sex, but she only saw it as difficult for her. Nor did she attempt to use love to keep close to them. She couldn’t. She tried to hold them through religion, but adolescence is an age when most children are more interested in Mammon than God. The temptations of the flesh seem very attractive, the more so if you know you can afford them, and this my lady didn’t seem to realize. The strange thing is she only hurt herself; the good thing was that she eventually got back their affection and respect and nobody was permanently hurt.
To a lesser degree his lordship was the same. He expected them to grow up like him and to take the road he planned for them, but the boys had different ideas and this puzzled and disappointed him. By nature he was philosophical, he’d had to learn to be, so it didn’t come quite so hard to him.
As for the children, well they, like most, learnt to adapt themselves. Theirs was a fascinating, changing world and there were plenty of other things for them to think about. Anyway they each had a small fortune to look forward to at twenty-one which meant freedom for them. I’m glad to say that by the time they got it they had learnt not to abuse it, and weren’t so keen on breaking adrift as they might at one time have been. Perhaps they were like that boy of sixteen who thought his parents were dull, stupid and old-fashioned and who, when he was twenty, was amazed how much they’d learnt in the last four years.
I suppose really that the Astor children – parent relationship was little different from that of the majority of families. It was just that with me being so close to her ladyship and liking the boys so much, I was critical of her behaviour towards them and wanted so often to tell her where I thought she was going wrong. I couldn’t, of course, it wasn’t my place, but I did give some very strong hints at times! In any case it’s always easy to criticize when you are watching from the wings and without any real personal involvement; just as it’s also easy to be wise after the event.
The children’s holidays were times to look forward to, times when Cliveden became a home. Then there were also visits to Tarbert Lodge on the island of Jura and to Rest Harrow at Sandwich. These holidays meant a deal of packing for me because we went for weeks at a time and had to cater for all weathers. I must say I didn’t care for Jura, though it was ideal for children, with fishing, swimming, climbing, walking, shooting and deer-stalking, but none of these things interested me. I went fishing once or twice and caught quite a few, but it seems to me that once you’ve done it and got over the excitement, it becomes a nasty, monotonous, slimy business conducted in the cold and the wet, and can be downright dangerous. Then again while I like fresh mackerel I don’t want them for breakfast every day of the week and apparently it’s a crime not to eat what you catch. I also found I’d grown out of the taste of venison since my childhood.
The lodge was in the middle of nowhere and I missed the excitement of London and the companionship of Cliveden. There wasn’t anyone I could really talk to. The housekeeper and her husband were nice enough people if I could have understood a word of what they were saying, so was the kitchen-maid, but it was difficult to carry on a conversation with someone who’d never been off the island until we visited there and took her on an outing, and who had never even seen a railway train. Neither did I have enough to do. My lady insisted on my packing all her oldest things which when she discarded them would be thrown or given away, and this included her undergarments, so there was no pressing, washing or mending and of course she rarely changed during the day. Once I even found myself scrubbing my bedroom floor out of sheer boredom!
I don’t think her ladyship enjoyed it either although she used to pretend she did for the sake of the children. She too was bored and therefore short-tempered which didn’t help matters. She used to give vent to her feelings by knocking golf balls about the place. I remember once, she must have been particularly frustrated, she was putting on the grass in front of the lodge and she suddenly turned and fired four balls at the house; two of them went through the glass of the windows. I think I know how she felt.
The first time I went to Jura (and I saw to it that I only had to go once more), I was treated to one of my lady’s bouts of petulant unpunctuality. The day of our departure came and the two boys, Mr Michael and Mr Jakie, were to return to school the following day. I was down at the quayside near the ferry with the boys and their luggage, waiting for the Astors. His lordship had sent me ahead while he hurried my lady up. Apparently she didn’t care for the way he did it, went into a tantrum and refused to budge. I guessed what had happened and did my best to persuade the ship’s captain to wait for them, but either the Astors’ name meant nothing up there, or he was one of those sailors who’d heard of her temperance drive; anyway he sailed bang on time. When the flustered couple arrived some minutes later there was a deal of sorting out to be done. Eventually a small boat was hired and I and the boys and their two trunks were dispatched to the mainland, where I was to do my best to get them to Glasgow, put them on a train and wait at the station hotel until the others arrived. I was unable to hire a car so we had to go by bus, and a comic journey that was with two large trunks and a couple of boys who didn’t mind in the least if we missed the train, and they missed school. Anyway we made it and with time to spare, though I must say I was relieved to see my employers the next day as the hotel management were giving me a few sidelong glances as if they knew I hadn’t enough money to pay for my room.
Although as I say we took a lot of luggage on these visits to Jura or to Sandwich, there was always a special piece that came with us; a cow, which was in a truck attached to the end of the train. His lordship was very particular about the kind of milk the children drank and so this cow and a cowman from the Home Farm were detailed to travel with us. I remember her being milked on the station and thinking it all a bit
extraordinary, but you get used to anything and I grew to accept her as the right and proper thing to accompany us on our journeys.
I really enjoyed our holidays at Sandwich. Rest Harrow was a civilized house and her ladyship found plenty to amuse her while we were there. I could also catch up on my sewing and sleeping. We still entertained there of course, but it was more family and al fresco. Although we only used the house for about two months a year at the most, Lady Astor was very generous with it and would often lend it to her friends. There was one romantic occasion before I joined her that caused particular excitement. Gordon Grimmett recalled it to me in detail, and with some relish. ‘One morning Mr Lee sent for me and told me that her ladyship had loaned Rest Harrow to Lady Louise Mountbatten, Princess of Battenberg. She was to spend her honeymoon there with Gustavus Adolphus, Crown Prince of Sweden. “Naturally,” Mr Lee said, “as always on these occasions their whereabouts are a secret, so you will use your discretion and not mention it to any others of the staff. You will be going there to prepare for their arrival. I shall join you later and together we shall attend on them during the two weeks they will be in residence.”
‘Well, Miss Harrison, I thought at the least it would be a change from polishing silver, and I looked forward to it. I did a bit of research before I left and discovered that Lady Louise was thirty-four, and the Crown Prince forty-nine. “Left it a bit late,” I thought, and comforted myself with, “Perhaps they’ll be making up for lost time so there won’t be too much for us to do.”
‘The marriage took place on 3 November and the happy couple arrived, in what I learnt later was a specially built Daimler with a high body that had been selected because the Prince was six foot six tall. I blenched a little when he jack-knifed out of the car. I hadn’t seen the bridal bed, but it seemed to me that he was likely to have some uncomfortable nights. Mr Lee showed no similar reaction. He quickly took over, escorted the couple into the house and returned to attend to the luggage. As you know, Miss Harrison, he had little time for chauffeurs, and since this one had made no attempt to unload, he waded into him. “What’s your name?”
Rose: My Life in Service to Lady Astor Page 16