Rose: My Life in Service to Lady Astor

by Rosina Harrison

  After we’d visited Nassau the following year, we sailed back to France and had a few days at the Ritz. Miss Wissie joined us there and we flew to Casablanca en route to Marrakesh. Her ladyship had the habit of taking my hand from time to time. She did this on the plane and as she was doing so I twisted one of her rings straight. When I looked up I saw Miss Wissie had gone quite white. She put her fingers to her lips when she saw that I was concerned for her. We made an early opportunity of speaking together. ‘Rose, I’ve left all my jewellery in my room at the Ritz. Whatever happens, Mother mustn’t know.’ I knew how she must be feeling. The Ancaster gems may not have been quite as valuable as my lady’s at that time, but she had a beautiful collection.

  At Casablanca I held my ladyship’s attention while Miss Wissie phoned Paris. They were safe. The chambermaid had handed them in to the office. We collected them on our return. Yet another example of the honesty of servants, I thought.

  After a long car drive we got to Marrakesh. Now I’m sure a lot of people would have found Marrakesh a very nice place – not me. It gave me the creeps and the smells turned my stomach over. Rug- and carpet-making is interesting to watch for ten minutes, but when you’ve seen one person doing it, you’ve seen the lot. I was amazed to see a donkey and a camel drawing a plough together, but once I got over the shock, my interest went. Then one morning as I was putting on my shoes, a large brown creature jumped out of one of them. I went demented and rushed to Miss Wissie. All right, she said it was a locust and harmless, but I thought I was going to die from the bite of some poisonous creepy crawlie.

  I was glad when the time came for us to leave. It seemed as if the country didn’t want to lose us. On our journey to the airport I saw a wheel hub fly off our cab as one of the tyres blew out. Then Miss Wissie had a parcel to collect at the airport which nobody seemed to know anything about, and finally I heard her ladyship going hammer and tongs at the passport examiner who either didn’t like the look of her passport or her ladyship, for which at the moment I couldn’t have blamed him, and was purposely holding her up. Eventually we got in the plane in a heap, and with just seconds to spare. Whenever I see Marrakesh in a holiday brochure today I quickly turn over the page.

  It was in June of that year, 1959, that I had one of the most amusing trips ever, with her ladyship. She had asked her niece, Mrs Nancy Lancaster, to join her on a visit to the Swedish royals and to meet Queen Ingrid of Denmark and her three daughters. Before we flew over Mrs Lancaster came to Eaton Square to spend two days with us. When I saw her luggage I thought she’d come for two months. It transpired that the impending visit had gone to her head. She expected to be wearing four or five dresses a day and had brought hats, jewels, coats and furs to match. Well, I did my best to disillusion her, but was only partially successful. Her complaint I found was catching. Her ladyship, who should have known better and have explained to her niece that the Scandinavian monarchs behaved simply, merely tried to go one better and despite my protests I found myself in charge of a mountain of luggage. It cost a fortune in overweight at the airport.

  We had a perfect flight and the now customary royal drive in a beflagged Cadillac to the palace. That drive was the only formal part of the visit. King Gustav met us in an open-necked shirt and a pair of flannel trousers, the two queens were in plain summer frocks and the Danish princesses were running around like urchins. I felt embarrassed as I unpacked the two ladies’ clothes. I had a cup of tea in the Pugs’ Parlour where I made discreet inquiries into what my two should wear for dinner. Dinner! It was served at seven o’clock, about the time we have high tea in Yorkshire. I must have looked astonished when I was told because the housekeeper explained that there was some rule in Sweden now that servants had to get away by a certain time, that most people dined at six and the palace was only able to have the extra hour by paying the servants more.

  My ladies were not impressed by the circumstances in which they found themselves. Mrs Lancaster was particularly disappointed, and waxed vocal in showing her feelings. Then they started giggling together like two schoolgirls. By the following morning they were hysterical. They decided they couldn’t see their stay out. We had a conference as to how they would get away and where they were to go. Paris was decided on. I had to do the dirty work, which was to go into Hälsingborg, cable Miss Jones, her ladyship’s secretary, who in turn was to cable us to demand our return on the following day. I also had to book our flights to Paris and the hotel accommodation there.

  I returned to find my two stretched out in deckchairs with the others, looking utterly bored. Everything I’m glad to say worked to plan. I’m not sure the royals weren’t glad to see the back of us because the night before we left, though truthfully it was more the early hours of the morning, Mrs Lancaster woke up wanting a glass of water. She got the taps mixed up and started flooding the room, called for my lady, the two of them panicked and rang every bell in sight. Down came the King and his aide-decamp and the four of them ended up on their knees mopping up the floor with towels.

  It all seems unlikely I know, but I have the letter still which I wrote to Mrs Hawkins, the housekeeper at Eaton Square, and I’ve copied the events that I’ve described here from that. I called the visit ‘All dressed up and nowhere to go’.

  Although I didn’t know it, neither did my lady, we’d now made our last journey to the States. Continental visits were frequent, but were comparatively uneventful. They continued to be enjoyable with her ladyship relying more and more on me. I don’t say this boastfully, after all these years together it was inevitable. In a way I enjoyed it. Many servants I knew had outlived their usefulness and had to retire. I was able to be of service to the end.

  So this chapter has described the fulfilment of my ambition. Much I have had to leave out, but I think everyone will agree that the dreams of a poor callow Yorkshire girl were realized beyond any of her expectations. As I’ve relived these travels I’ve been reminded of something that Mr Bobbie Shaw said when I’d only been in my lady’s service for a few years. He was trying to draw me out in front of her. ‘What would you like most in this world, Rose?’

  And I replied, after a moment’s hesitation. ‘To live my life over again.’ Today my answer, without any hesitation, would be the same.

  10

  Religion and Politics

  Religion for a servant could be hazardous. Even at the time I was in service there were many big houses where family prayers were still the order of the day, where servants were marshalled to church twice on Sundays, where tenant farmers, their labourers and those villagers in tied cottages were counted and where absentees could jeopardize their livings and their homes. It was still a time too when the remark in the vicar’s reference that you came of ‘God-fearing parents’ carried more weight in some places than your education, experience and ability to do your job, and when employers were more worried about the care of your soul than that of your body. The kitchen staff were generally the exception for these people. The chef or cook and their minions were either given some sort of divine absolution or else it must have been accepted that their souls were past redemption for the traditional Sunday lunch was sacrosanct. I know of this kind of attitude by hearsay, not from personal experience.

  My childhood religious upbringing has been the rock on which my faith has been built. For me religion is a personal thing and not something I display or discuss. I think it is necessary for me to declare it now since it affected my relationship with Lady Astor. My daily life is the outward expression of my religious feeling. Through my behaviour, my approach to my work and my relations with other people I try to show an inner grace. I try to be good, do good and think good. Of course I don’t always succeed, but I find it a simple creed and one that I can follow without the worry of doubts or dogma. I’m also a believer in faith through prayer and I think there have been occasions when through my prayers I and others have been touched by God. Having said that let me say that I don’t expect other people to think the same way any
more than I expect them to question my belief.

  When I went into service with the Tuftons I found that while they would have allowed me to go to church, my absence would have dislocated the running of the house. Even more would this have applied at the Cranbornes’. I had to content myself with occasional visits on my Sundays off. I discovered the beautiful sung evensong at Westminster Abbey and I enjoyed the services at the Guards Chapel, but my church attendances were irregular and I was driven to recalling my childhood experiences at the village church for consolation. I have done that throughout much of my life because when I began to work for the Astors, going to church was almost out of the question. I complained about it once or twice to her ladyship. ‘If you really wanted to you’d find a way,’ she said.

  ‘And if I did you’d find a way of making things awkward for me, my lady,’ I replied. So in service I learnt to rely on my own prayers, and they have never let me down.

  I’ve already mentioned my experience when my work and my lady’s attitude towards it and me made my life unbearable and how I was given strength to endure and to win through. There were two similar occasions that are easy for me to recall and relate, and others which are too personal for me to write about. The first was when I was in Germany near the town of Garmisch before the last war. We were staying with a millionaire friend of her ladyship’s, in a vast bungalow. We’d come there from Munich, where we’d stayed a few days at the Continental Hotel. During the first day there my lady decided to catch up on her mail, but by the time she’d finished writing she found she had missed the local post. Since some of her letters were urgent I was asked to go by train to Garmisch with them where I would be able to catch the post. I was driven to the station, had some language difficulty at the ticket office and eventually settled for a single ticket to Garmisch. I found the post office and posted the letters.

  When I got back to Garmisch station I couldn’t remember the name of the place I had to book to, nor the name of the house or person we were staying with. I searched my bag for some clue but found nothing. I panicked. I then remembered that the name of the station ended in … grinau, but discovered that there were two places, Untergrinau and Obergrinau. I decided to settle on the latter. When I got there it meant nothing to me. I tried talking to the passengers who got off the train with me, but they didn’t understand a word I said, and eventually I found myself on my own outside the station. I felt very small and lonely as I stood there with the mountains of the Austrian Tyrol looking down on me. I was alone and lost. I was like a little child. I wished myself back in my friendly Yorkshire village with my mother to care for me. I called for help. It came. I was suddenly warm inside and carefree, no longer alone. A fresh strength had entered my body and my mind. A spirit touched me. I allowed the sensation to take over. When it had passed my mind was clear; I knew what I had to do. I found the station phone box, telephoned the Continental Hotel in Munich where we’d been staying, got someone who spoke English and asked if they knew where Lady Astor was now. They did but wouldn’t tell me. I explained who I was and asked them to ring Lady Astor giving my whereabouts and to tell her, ‘Rose is lost’. They did this, for in minutes a car arrived for me, with my lady. I was a little girl again. I flung myself into her arms and said, ‘Whatever you do don’t scold me.’ I then told her my story, leaving out the prayer bit. ‘But whatever made you ring the hotel at Munich?’ she said. Then I explained about my prayer. She put her hand in mine, saying nothing, but I could sense her understanding and love at that moment. ‘Stuff and nonsense! You’re imagining things,’ I can hear people say, but I know the truth of what happened as my lady did, as anyone else will who has had a similar experience.

  The other occasion I am able to recall was when I was called before a tribunal who were to decide into what wartime job I should be recruited. On the face of things as a lady’s maid I stood no chance of exemption. My lady had asked me if she could send a letter. I refused. I wasn’t ungrateful to her but something in me thought it would be wrong. I had to appear at Slough in Buckinghamshire. On the train down I dismissed all thoughts of what I was going to say from my mind. I thought about my lady, the times we’d had together and the work I was doing for her and the country. Her ladyship had one of her secretaries meet me at the station to escort me to where I had to go. ‘She didn’t want you to be alone in your ordeal.’ What ordeal? I thought to myself. When my time came to appear I was ushered in front of five ladies in uniform.

  ‘What is your present employment?’ one of them asked.

  ‘Lady’s maid,’ I replied, and I could see from her and the other faces that they thought I was an easy one.

  ‘What would you like to do for the war effort?’

  ‘Stay where I am.’

  ‘Why?’

  Then I told them. I think it was the greatest speech I’d ever made. I told them about her ladyship’s work as a Member of Parliament and Mayoress of Plymouth. How it was my job to see that she was fit to do hers, and simply and truthfully I said how I’d been able to assist both her and his lordship. ‘Where are all these words coming from?’ I asked myself as I said them. It was as if it was not me that was speaking.

  I must have gone on for about five minutes. The chairman looked flabbergasted. Without even consulting the others she said, ‘Thank you, Miss Harrison, we shall not be requiring your services. Please continue in the good work that you’re doing.’ And the others murmured their agreement. Then I was outside telling the good news to the secretary, who fled to telephone Lady Astor. Again I was sure that someone else had taken over. So was her ladyship. ‘I was praying too, Rose,’ she said, though how she knew I was remains a mystery.

  I’ve already said that Lady Astor was a devoted Christian Scientist. Now having said that I don’t question other people’s beliefs, let me say that neither did I question her ladyship’s. I fulfilled to the letter everything she asked me to in the practice of her faith. It never entered my head to influence her in any way. I never called a doctor. Only one stipulation did I make, that if I thought she was seriously ill I would get in touch with Miss Wissie or the boys and hand over the responsibility to them. This was made of course after his lordship’s death, though since he too was a Christian Scientist I would if I had thought it necessary have gone over his head to the children, while he was alive.

  My lady went to church every Sunday and on Wednesdays when she was in London. She read her books and the Bible every morning and every evening. So did his lordship. They had not always been Scientists; my lady was the first to change from the Protestant religion at the beginning of the First World War. Her great friend at that time, and for the rest of her life, was Philip Kerr, later Lord Lothian, who was to be our Ambassador in America shortly after the beginning of the Second World War. He was born a Roman Catholic, but as a result of my lady’s conversion, he was persuaded to read Science and Health, was impressed with it and after a little time renounced Catholicism. His lordship followed their example shortly afterwards.

  While I am sure all three got help and consolation from their faith, and although I met many good men and women who were Scientists, particularly the practitioners whose lives were a living example of what their religion should be, in my experience of watching it I believe it to be harmful not only to its followers but to people around them. Here I am not just referring to Scientists’ attitude towards doctors and medicine. It teaches people to think far too much about themselves, their own bodies and souls. So long as they are in good health they’re unsympathetic and impatient. Other people’s sickness is their own fault. If they were better spiritually they wouldn’t be ill. I’ve never heard of a Christian Science mission to help the sick, undernourished and deprived. It lacks what is to me the cornerstone of any faith: charity, and to a greater or lesser extent this is reflected in the actions of the people who follow it.

  Yet you will say this often belies the picture that I have painted of Lady Astor. It does and it doesn’t. She was a creature of instinct
and I believe that when she allowed her true nature to take over she was a fine person. It was when she harnessed herself to her religion that things went wrong with her. Despite the work that she put into it I don’t think Science ever really satisfied her, and I believe that towards the end of her life she realized this. Mr Lee said to me once, ‘Lady Astor is not a religious woman, she’s all the time looking for a light she can never find.’ Christian Science though suited her way of life. It had no dogma and could be twisted and bent to excuse her faults and actions. It made her smug and sometimes self-righteous. It was as though she had invited Our Lord to one of her parties, he had accepted and sat at her right hand. It encouraged her to hate groups of people, Roman Catholics – ‘Red Cherries’ – as she called them, the Irish, the anti-prohibitionists. Yet perversely, among her greatest friends were Hilaire Belloc, a bigoted Catholic and Jew-hater, and two godless Socialists, Sean O’Casey and Bernard Shaw. The latter, with Lord Lothian, could without any doubt be called her two closest friends. Again Christian Science is only for the rich or the middle class. You can’t get a practitioner on the National Health, nor do you find one of their churches in a poor area. You buy your pardons. It cost the Astors plenty.

  The Astor children were brought up on Christian Science, though I don’t think they ever understood it, let alone practised it. It’s my opinion that they looked on it as a bit of a joke. It was the only way they could tolerate it. Though I wasn’t there at the time, there’s a family story about Mr Billy who when he was at Eton coxed a boat for the school at Henley Regatta. His crew got through the first heat, but was beaten in the second. Mr Billy was given a dressing-down by her ladyship. Their first victory, according to his mother, was because he had done his Christian Science lesson on that day, but his defeat, and that of the eight men whose boat he was steering, was because he hadn’t done it on the subsequent day. If that interpretation of religion is given to a young man he can only despise or laugh at it.