So many people came to visit both her and his lordship, they hardly had a spare moment, but they didn’t forget the crew of the Eros. Two days later his lordship gave a luncheon party at the Hotel Astor for them. Everyone was there. I sat between John, our steward, and the chef. They had the time of their lives. The chef took a bit of a shine to me I think because he asked me out the following evening. It seemed all right to accept while we were having lunch, but I got second thoughts the next day. My lady had got wind of it, and insisted that I went. I must say we had a good time, but when I found myself in a nightclub at midnight and was watching the chef sink rum and Coca Cola as if Lady Astor was likely to ban it the next day, I thought enough is enough and made my excuses and returned to sanity.
About a fortnight later we went to Florida, at the invitation of Mr Clarence Dillon, a banker friend of the Astors, to cruise on his yacht. I viewed the prospect with some qualms. I’ve never been one for small boats. Small boat! It was like the Queen Mary. We wallowed in luxury, travelling from Miami up the east coast then inland to Lake Okeechobee and across to the west coast, down to Key West and back up to Miami again. We were certainly making up for the austerity of Britain during the war. As if this wasn’t enough we left Florida for South Carolina, another millionaires’ paradise, staying at Mr Thomas Lamont’s house, with its own private golf course, set amid masses of camellia bushes, and for a change of diet a splendid Norwegian chef. Her ladyship’s grand-niece Elizabeth Winn came here to stay with us and we formed a friendship which has endured. We’d go into Charleston together, some eighteen miles away, and as a contrast to the rich food we were now accustomed to would always lunch simply at Woolworth’s, and enjoy it.
From South Carolina we went to Washington to the house of Mr William Bullitt, staffed with French servants whom he’d recruited when he was Ambassador in Paris. More rich cooking and plenty of wine for all including the staff. Knowing her ladyship’s antipathy to alcohol he was for ever having a dig at her. One evening he came to her room and seeing me said, ‘Oh Rose, you’ll be glad to know there’s the usual bottle of whisky on the table by your bed.’ I curtseyed and thanked him kindly, while my lady snorted.
From Washington back to New York and the Ritz Carlton, then home to England on the Queen Mary. }She hadn’t been fully converted from her role as a troopship, but was nevertheless quite comfortable. Before Arthur Bushell and I left the hotel the manager asked to see us. He thanked us profusely, and we asked him why. ‘There have been no complaints, not one single word of criticism. When you go on board you will find an expression of my gratitude in your cabins.’
We told him we’d only done our jobs and that it was he who deserved the credit. He’d have none of it. So in a haze of mutual congratulation we left to board the ship. The manager had been as good as his word: there were baskets of fruit and large food parcels waiting for us in our cabins. As Arthur said as we stood by the rails waving goodbye to New York, ‘It’s a wretched menial job being in service, eh, Rose?’
During 1947 we renewed our friendship with the Continent and listened to many tragic wartime tales of hardship and deprivation. At the end of the year his lordship rented a house in Tucson, Arizona from a Mr Thomas Hardy. There we really came up against the colour problem. Going with the house as it were was a coloured cook, Birdie. Now, while Birdie didn’t mind cooking meals for our two, she did for Arthur and myself, so it was arranged that we should eat at the Arizona Inn opposite the house. Nor was there any accommodation for Arthur. He was not permitted to use the coloured servants’ quarters so he had a room over at the inn. It was all very complicated. I remember remarking that the colour question was more difficult for servants than for masters. Anyway I soon saw that I wasn’t going to be able to tolerate this eating out business. It meant changing before each meal and changing back afterwards. Arthur felt the same. Nor could I see why we shouldn’t help Birdie in the kitchen, so gradually we came to take our lunch with her. At first it wasn’t exactly with her, she sat at one table and we sat at another. It was ridiculous, so after a couple of meals that way I laid the table up for three, and she joined us. We eventually ended up by eating off the fat of the land. Like us she hated segregation. Her ladyship didn’t appreciate what we were doing, and said so.
‘My lady,’ I replied, ‘you have been brought up differently. I have been taught to think that all men are equal in the sight of God, and what’s good enough for God is good enough for me. I shall continue to go on the way I’ve learnt.’
Mention of God always quietened my lady down. She respected my God as I respected hers. She said no more. It ended up with Birdie, who had a little car, driving Arthur and me around sightseeing. We became firm friends and corresponded for some time afterwards.
During her stay in Arizona we went to a rodeo in Tucson. It was boiling hot. I remember getting my behind scorched on the seats which had been frying in the sun before we sat on them. I was thrilled with the bucking broncos, but when they started lassoing the steers and nearly strangling them, it was time for me to leave. Her ladyship felt the same so we all went home. The sight of the broncos must have done something to my lady because the next day a man turned up at the house with a performing horse. He did all sorts of tricks on it and then she decided to ride it. She went through the same routine as he had, making it rear up on its back legs while she held on like grim death. My heart was in my mouth, and when I looked at his lordship his face was ashen with fear for her. She was now approaching seventy and was behaving like the wild Nancy of her youth. Guts and courage she had till the end.
Travelling in America blew, like her ladyship, hot and cold. We left the sunshine of Arizona for Des Moines in Iowa, where my lady was a guest at a farmers’ dinner, with General Marshall and her as the main speakers. Within forty-eight hours I was in danger of losing my ears in the intense cold. This was the thing that made packing so difficult, with clothes at the ready for all seasons. The dinner must have been an organizers’ nightmare because our train got stuck in the snowdrifts and had to be dug out, and General Marshall was caught in the floods at Tennessee. So neither of the main speakers got there on time. After this fiasco my lady and I set off on a whistle-stop tour and when finally we arrived back at New York and were ready to return home she had the news that her sister Mrs Flynn, who had been very ill, was at death’s door. The trunks were on board so had to be offloaded. This was the first and only time I collapsed from nervous exhaustion and had to take to my bed for a day. I was very thankful when two weeks later we were really on our way back to England.
The travel pattern continued much the same over the next year or two. His lordship’s death in September 1952, though not unexpected, was a very great shock to Lady Astor, and the readjustment of her life when Mr Billy came into the title and took over Cliveden, though made as easy as possible for her by the children, was difficult for her to accept. Travelling she found made a diversion so February of the following year found us in America once again. This was the occasion of her personal attack on Senator McCarthy, at a party given by Senator Taft. She and McCarthy were introduced. She must have been waiting for the moment. ‘What’s that you’re drinking?’ she asked.
‘Whisky,’ he answered.
‘I wish it was poison,’ she said loudly, so that all around could hear.
And they did. The next day I was busy sorting out the mail again. This time she was called a Communist! It seemed to me now she had been called everything in the political dictionary. Some of the papers demanded that she be flung out of the country. She loved every minute of it.
Once again we travelled everywhere. I marvelled where she got her energy from. I was a bit astonished where I found mine because I was no longer a chicken. It was in May just as we were leaving Washington station that a message came over the loudspeaker for her and her ladyship returned waving a cable and saying, ‘Get the things off quick, we’re going back to England.’
I remember I didn’t feel particularly shaken, I w
as resigned to this sort of thing, and while I was unloading she explained that she’d had an invitation from the Queen Mother to sit with her in Westminster Abbey for the Coronation. Previously she’d been told that she couldn’t go because dowager ladies were not being invited since there was insufficient room. Home we went, with not a lot of time to get ready for this big occasion.
I had thought to get a long rest after the Coronation for my lady had been invited to Southern Rhodesia for the Rhodes Centenary there and was going to take the opportunity to tour Africa. She decided she could manage without me and I was not in the least bit offended or disappointed. I made arrangements for a holiday with my family and to spend some time with my mother, who was very unwell.
I should have known better. A few days before her ladyship was to leave, which was the day after the Coronation, I had a phone call from Miss Wissie saying that there had been a family conference and the children had decided that I should accompany their mother and had bought my ticket. They didn’t actually force me to go, they said the decision must be mine, but they made it pretty nearly impossible for me to refuse. Whoever made that remark about flattery didn’t know me! I couldn’t go on the same flight as my lady to Rhodesia; there wasn’t room. I went the day before, on a Comet. At this time there had been a bit of fuss about the Comets being unsafe, and with the words of a few Job’s comforters ringing in my ears, I boarded the plane feeling like a sacrificial lamb. Whatever it cost I was determined to have a brandy the moment I got on board. It was free, so was the champagne I had later.
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 re
port 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.
Rose: My Life in Service to Lady Astor Page 23