Country House Society

by Pamela Horn

  The less charitable regarded her in a different light. She was called ‘the most persistent and successful lion-hunter’ that London had ever known:

  Every eminent person, every famous name, everyone whose achievements had attracted attention or whose position inspired awe, sooner or later was inveigled to her oval dining-table. Resistance was futile. Sibyl Colefax issued another, and another, she would mount up scores of them if necessary, until the prey eventually succumbed … through sheer weariness. Thus by attrition did the collection of famous guests grow to unrivalled dimensions.119

  Daphne Fielding described how one regular recipient of these missives, the maliciously witty Lord Berners, ‘impishly adapted a Victorian toy he owned, a large japanned head of a blackamoor, so that when a button was pressed it opened its mouth and spewed out a stream of these invitations’.120 A particularly desirable potential guest might receive three or four invitations at the same time, written in Sibyl’s sprawling, almost illegible hand, each for a separate occasion. Not being acquainted with someone she felt she ought to know was her greatest anxiety, and her ‘self-esteem rose in proportion to the number of celebrated persons she assembled around her’.121

  Yet even her critics admitted Lady Colefax was well-read and was a knowledgeable connoisseur of art. One of her closest friends was Bernard Berenson, the American-born art expert whom she and her husband visited several times at his villa near Florence. She had first met Berenson in 1894 when, aged nineteen, she had visited Italy with her mother, and they had kept in touch ever since.122 Sibyl also appreciated music, and on a wider basis she was always concerned to promote the best interests of her friends and guests. Michael Colefax claimed she would often introduce young people to those who, she thought, might advance their careers. In a letter to her husband she once wrote, ‘What differentiates me from most people is that I enjoy liking more than disliking – I enjoy love more than hate – I enjoy describing & praising far more than decrying and abusing.’123 In that respect she differed greatly from her fellow hostess, Mrs Greville, and even from the mischievously witty Lady Cunard.

  Sibyl went to great lengths to serve excellent food to her guests, aided by her skilled cook, Mrs Gray, and her entire daily round was centred upon the luncheon and dinner parties she was to hold, or her other social commitments. At the beginning of the 1920s, she wrote to Bernard Berenson, ‘We’ve of course slipped back into the Ballet, Opera, dining whirl which is very pleasant and I don’t pretend not to enjoy [it].’124

  Yet among those who accepted Lady Colefax’s hospitality, sometimes, as in the case of Virginia Woolf, with reluctance, there were many who mocked her persistence in issuing invitations, and derided her ‘lion-hunting’ technique. On 1 May 1925, for example, Virginia Woolf told a friend that she was about to take tea with Lady Colefax. She ‘interests me, as you would be interested by a shiny cupboard carved with acanthus leaves … so hard and shiny and bright is she; and collects all the intellects about her, as a parrot picks up beads’.125 Yet when the two met alone for tea at Virginia’s house, she admitted Sibyl was ‘so nice’. She only glittered ‘as a cheap cherry in her own house’.126 The diplomat, Sir Ronald Storrs, who declared his dislike of Sibyl’s habit of ‘capping everything with a more celebrated but less well-fitting cap’, also conceded that she was at her best ‘in total company of two’. Then she ‘was not peering round fearing she might be missing somebody or something else’.127

  A number of guests commented, too, on her inability to create spontaneity and light-heartedness at her luncheon and dinner parties. To Sir Ronald Storrs she was a ‘convenor rather than a chairman’ of her parties, while Lady Desborough declared she knew how to get her guests to her table ‘but she does not know what to do with us when she has got us’.128 In that respect she received little help from her husband. One socialite said of Sir Arthur Colefax that he was deaf but ‘unfortunately the reverse of dumb … boring beyond belief’.129 Even Sibyl herself, despite her affection for him, recognised his deficiencies in that regard.130 But she herself was accused of talking ceaselessly without saying anything memorable. On one occasion, her rival hostess, Lady Cunard, declared mischievously, ‘Oh dear, I simply must stop. I’m becoming a bore, like Lady Colefax.’131

  As she became more prominent on the London social scene, Sibyl became aware of the snide comments made about her. In 1929, in a letter to her friend, Harold Nicolson, she had evidently expressed her deep hurt at this treatment. In response he sought to console and reassure her:

  Of course people are … malicious, but are they malignant? After all, Sibyl, the central fact is that … Argyll House is a feature in the intellectual life of today & that it will be thought of and remembered long after the disagreeable sneers are forgotten. I do not pretend that I have not heard people say that you are autocratic & dictatorial (poor Sibyl!) in arranging your parties. But the point is I have never heard anyone of importance speak of you except with admiration & I have heard many of the men & women whom we most admire affirm again & again their friendship towards you & the debt they owe you.132

  On a wider front, after her first visit to the United States in 1926, she became an enthusiastic supporter of efforts to strengthen Anglo-American relations. She had gone there initially to see her elder son, Peter, who had recently taken up employment in America, but thereafter she regularly entertained American friends and acquaintances when they came to London. Soon her transatlantic connections were to become as important to her as her English friends. According to Michael Colefax she would give two or three dinners each year from May to July specifically for special friends from the United States.133

  In the end, despite Sibyl’s ‘lion-hunting’ tendencies and her tireless pursuit of celebrities, as her son Michael declared in an account of his mother’s life, her true nature was shown ‘in her abhorrence of the vulgar, in her quick enjoyment of any form of beauty, in her detestation of publicity, malice or intrigue … If Sibyl met anybody, liked them & sensed that the feeling was reciprocated it was a friendship for life. The exceptions were very few & far between.’134

  It was, then, in their very different ways that all four of these new-style ‘great hostesses’ made their contribution to the vibrancy of London’s social life during the turbulent twenties. With the onset of economic depression at the end of that decade their role, and that of others like them, inevitably became more subdued.

  5

  Domestic Affairs and Breaking the Mould

  No one who considered herself a lady expected to have to do any housework. If one had a servant at all one did not even pull a curtain or open the front door when the bell rang.

  Loelia, Duchess of Westminster, Grace and Favour (London, 1961), p. 94.

  The upper classes now began, almost as a matter of course, to go into business. Only thus could they save the fortunes of their class.

  Patrick Balfour, Society Racket: A Critical Survey of Modern Social Life (London: 1933), p. 78.

  Domestic Issues

  During the 1920s the domestic life of many elite families underwent a change, as they moved away from the elaborate and lavish arrangements that had been common before 1914 towards a more cautious and cost-conscious existence. For some that meant from the middle of the decade the purchase of new, more functional art deco furniture and fittings, with their rectangular shape and avoidance of excessive ornamentation, which made them easier to clean. They appealed to those consciously seeking a more modern image or who were now living in mansion flats rather than their own large houses. They were also a response to the approaching era of mass-production and the machine age.1

  Very often the changes were accompanied by a reduction in the number of domestic servants, to match more restricted incomes, and a greater resort to labour-saving devices and commercial services. These latter included an increased use of hotels and restaurants as venues for luncheons, dinners and receptions by hosts and hostesses whose own domestic resources were too limited to provide large-scale hos
pitality. The nouveau riche also appreciated the facilities they offered since such locations removed the uncertainties involved in organising their own parties. At the Savoy, Stanley Jackson described ‘a new-rich ostentation’ jostling ‘the remains of Edwardian magnificence’. He claimed that during the decade the hotel’s fourteen banqueting rooms were continuously booked for an endless series of luncheons and dinners. ‘Throughout the ’twenties it was rare to see fewer than seven or eight hundred people in full evening dress, dining and dancing every night at the Savoy.’2

  Few with straitened finances were as fortunate as Lady Diana Cooper, who was able to rely on rich friends to provide game, salmon and champagne for the lavish parties she and her husband, Duff, held at their Gower Street home. ‘Immense expenditure in effort, frugality in money, was Diana’s rule’, it was said, and ‘the result gave happiness to everyone, including the donors’. Like many successful hostesses, she was fortunate in having an exemplary butler, named Holbrook. Though, ironically, she was sometimes angered by ‘the bland satisfaction’ with which this paragon anticipated her requests. ‘We need some more coal, Holbrook’, she would say, only for him calmly to respond, ‘I took the liberty of ordering it this morning, my lady.’3

  In other cases hostesses economised by organising cocktail parties, which became part of the London social scene from about 1922, or they arranged afternoon games of bridge. However, in the case of bridge enthusiasts like Margot Oxford, expenditure on the game could far outweigh economies made elsewhere. In July 1927 her stepdaughter, Violet Bonham Carter, expressed fury at the size of ‘Margot’s bridge bills (40£ last Sunday)’ and the pressure this ‘completely irresponsible extravagance’ was placing upon the restricted income of her husband, the former Prime Minister.4

  Yet, despite these developments, numerous aspects of social life continued much as before. That included a continued emphasis on the importance of observing the rules of etiquette in relationships with friends and acquaintances. They covered such questions as the paying of calls, the leaving of visiting cards, and the importance of observing a correct precedence of rank when arranging seating at a dinner party. ‘Society, for its own protection, has built up a definite code of manners and customs which must, to some extent, be observed by any one desirous of being welcomed by well-bred people’, declared Lady Troubridge. Nevertheless, it was also important to remember that ‘the practice of etiquette’ implied more than ‘a knowledge of the conventions regarding the giving and accepting or refusing of invitations, the number of cards to leave … or the correct use of titles … : [it] must be built upon the fundamental principles of respect and kindly feeling for others.’5

  Certainly Loelia Ponsonby recalled how, after 1918, afternoon calls ‘and card-dropping still went on, although not to the same extent as in Edwardian days. It was unusual to write and thank for a dinner or a dance, but the polite left a card.’6 She also remembered how the ladies who came to lunch with her mother ‘deplored Modern Times. They said how crippling the taxes were, how dreadful the housing shortage, how expensive the shops … Above all they complained about the servant problem.’

  As a government report had noted as early as 1919, after the war, girls were reluctant to return to the restrictions on daily lives and on dress connected with residential service, while many parents, too, discouraged daughters from taking up the work.7 As a consequence there were loud laments about both the shortage of domestic staff and the generally uncooperative behaviour of those recruited. ‘No peace even down here’, wrote the exasperated Earl Winterton about servants at his Shillinglee country house. ‘I hear Crowe has been misbehaving himself. D--n all modern servants, I say.’8

  According to Loelia Ponsonby, however, the new circumstances meant that advertisements for domestic workers in the newspapers and elsewhere began ‘to adopt a conciliatory tone. “Good wages. Good outings,” they promised, adding as an attraction, that they had electric light.’9 Landed families and other established aristocratic households normally had less trouble in recruiting servants than their nouveau-riche counterparts. Lily Milgate, who was employed by several well-to-do families between 1922 and 1930, mostly as a housemaid, considered that the

  happiest time of my life was from the age of 14 to 22 for these years were spent in the stately homes of England before the decline set in of the real gentry and noblemen and before their lovely houses were opened to public eyes. I feel now that I was privileged to have lived in such mansions and to have seen & touched the wonderful treasures they contained.10

  Similarly, Mrs Boyce, a farmer’s daughter from Northamptonshire, who became a lady’s maid to Lady Millicent Palmer at Cefyn Park, in North Wales, preferred to work for a titled family:

  If they were just money-made people, well, nobody wanted to go there, they didn’t know how to treat a servant. It had got to be breeding, especially for housemaids and lady’s maids and footmen; they were very particular where they took a job. The good old aristocracy of England, they treat you as a jewel.11

  Then she added, somewhat shamefaced, ‘So we’re a lot of snobs all of us really.’

  Nonetheless Loelia Ponsonby argued that despite the complaints, in practice ‘we all continued to live with what now seems a vast quantity of servants … [The] houses were the reverse of labour saving. Coal needed carrying, grates blacking, wash stands needed cans of hot water brought and slops carried away. Nothing was in a handy or convenient position. There were flights and flights of stairs and few taps. Ceremonies had to be observed. One dressed for dinner though the skies fell.’12 Furthermore, for those wives who led an active social life or, like Lady Denman, were involved in various administrative and charitable ventures, efficient servants were essential. ‘When my mother was made Grand Dame of the British Empire,’ declared Lady Denman’s daughter, ‘she said that she could never have achieved what she had done had it not been for the excellence of her staff, who took all worries off her shoulders and organised everything. All she had to do was to say how many people were coming for the weekend … [The] servants all felt part of the family.’13

  Where large parties were held in private houses, the problems involved in arranging these remained as great as they had ever been, even if, as sometimes happened, outside caterers were hired to help, and temporary staff were brought in. Gordon Grimmett was one of these, after he lost his place as one of the Astors’ full-time footmen, in 1924. It was a way of earning extra money to supplement his salary as a floor manager in one of the Lyons Corner Houses. Occasionally he went as an auxiliary matching footman to Arlington House, which meant that he and the other footmen were all of the same height and build. ‘We were chiefly there as ornaments, for after we had dinner we lined up in the beautifully dim-lit corridor and just stood there for the rest of the evening … Nevertheless there’s something artistically satisfying in wearing full livery and carrying it well.’ He and the other auxiliary footmen were paid the substantial sum of £2 5s a night for a dinner and ball, or a little more if they had powdered hair. But there was ‘always a deduction. At the end of the evening when you went to collect and sign for your fee you threw five bob back to the butler and got a, “Look forward to seeing you again” for your pains.’14

  Cecil Beaton attended one of these large receptions, given by Mrs Guinness, where the guests were so numerous they were

  literally overflowing into the street … all the people one has ever known or even seen – up and down the big staircase, in the ballroom, along the corridors – ‘Hutch’ singing in the ballroom while we all sat on the floor – Edythe Baker playing to some of us in another room downstairs – Oliver Messel in the same room giving a ludicrously lifelike imitation of a lift-attendant describing the departments on each floor – Lady Ashley shining in a glittering short coat of silver sequins over her white dress – glimpses of the Ruthven twins – of Noel Coward … impression after impression, before one sank and sank … to the supper room.15

  Where house parties were held, mistresses
normally arranged the allocation of rooms for the guests in consultation with the housekeeper, and would discuss with the chef or cook the proposed menus. The butler would be informed of day-to-day engagements, including the number expected to lunch or dine. This could be a considerable responsibility, especially if extra guests unexpectedly arrived. In 1920 the Astors’ newly promoted butler, Edwin Lee, recalled how early in his career he had to arrange a dinner for forty people, followed by a reception for up to 2,000, at his employers’ town house, 4 St James’s Square. So nervous was he at the prospect of this, and so meticulous was his general approach to his work, that he held rehearsals with his underlings to give himself peace of mind.16 Later he became the key figure in organising most aspects of the Astors’ hospitality, and that included coping with Lady Astor’s volatile and demanding character. Only once did he threaten to leave, after becoming exasperated at her unreasonable conduct and lack of appreciation. He announced that he would go at the end of the month, but quick as a flash Lady Astor saw she had gone too far. ‘In that case, Lee, you must tell me where you’re going because I’m coming with you.’ That broke the tension, and, according to the butler, they both ‘ended up laughing and she was easier in her behaviour towards me for quite a while’.17