Rose: My Life in Service to Lady Astor (19 page)

‘Is she?’ responded Charles.

‘Didn’t you know?’

‘British servants, ma’am, are like the three monkeys: they see no evil, they hear no evil, they repeat no evil.’

‘Is that so?’ replied the shopkeeper, and added slyly, ‘another thing about you Britishers that I’ve noticed is that while your ladies often change their husbands, they never change their butlers.’

In the event Mr Dean did leave Alice Astor shortly afterwards, to take up service with Mrs Bouverie, and so he came into closer contact with the royal family than he’d ever been before.

As I’ve already hinted, Ascot week was the period of the most intense activity at Cliveden. Outside his family, farming and politics, the breeding and racing of horses was his lordship’s main interest. Ascot’s unrivalled supremacy as the chief racing social event of the year and Cliveden’s proximity to the course gave her ladyship the excuse for really going to town. It was the annual jewel in her crown as a hostess. Yet in fact she didn’t enjoy horse-racing and she would only attend one day, sometimes coming back early from that. But even without the races Ascot satisfied her lust for hats. I remember one week I had to produce forty-five for her to choose from and she’d wear two or three each day. ‘I don’t know why you don’t wear one and carry the other,’ I grumbled at her, when she couldn’t make up her mind between two. ‘Shut up, Rose,’ was the inevitable response.

Yes, Ascot week was really hectic. Every guest-room would be occupied. The kitchen and stillroom staff had prepared the cold meats days before for the buffet lunches, for although most of the visitors went racing, some stayed behind to keep her ladyship company. Breakfast was served at eight-thirty and there’d be a dozen hot dishes to choose from. Before this the footmen would have been scurrying along the passages with early morning tea and brass jugs of shaving water. Then downstairs to clean shoes and iron the laces. Some of the ladies’ maids, like me, would even wash laces before ironing them. Then there were the breakfast trays to be prepared and carried to the ladies who couldn’t face other people at that hour of the morning.

Frank Copcutt would be in very early to replace flowers and plants, and to rearrange the many vases and bowls. Later he would reappear with a tray of buttonholes and sprays for the racing party to choose from as they assembled in the hall to be escorted to their cars. There would be a large selection so that the ladies could choose those that went with their colour scheme for the day. The carnations for the men were again of different colours and sizes. As Frank said to me, ‘His lordship always chose the smallest he could find. On the other hand, the Duke of Devonshire wanted the biggest. One day I took along a huge red one and as he went to the trays I handed it to him. “Who do you think I am, Frank, a blooming poof?” he retorted.’

At around six o’clock the racing party would return, in what kind of spirits depended on their success with the horses. Frank drew my attention to something rather extraordinary. ‘You know, Rose,’ he said, ‘I could nearly always tell the winners from the losers by the state of my button-holes when they came back. Flowers seemed to reflect the feelings and expressions of people.’

At seven forty-five the gong would sound in the hall, which was the signal for all the guests to go to their rooms and dress for dinner, though I’d be lucky if I got her ladyship up on time.

The grand finale of Ascot was the Royal Ball at Windsor Castle. This my lord and lady always attended, as did many of the guests. It meant, as can be imagined, a busy and worrying day for me. Once again I’d put all the clocks on in her room. ‘Is that the time, Rose?’ she’d say as she came in to change.

‘Yes, my lady,’ I’d lie. ‘You’ll have to hurry and get ready.’ And of course it was kitchen stove night; fixing the Astor tiara was a business with a bobbing excited figure; and I’d have been having kittens all day with the thousands of pounds’-worth of jewels in my safe. I practically lived in her room. When I’d thought we’d finished her ladyship would examine herself inch by inch. She was particular when she was entertaining in her own house, but when she was going out she was obsessional. Eventually, when she was satisfied, she’d rush to the door, say ‘Goodnight, Rose,’ and down she’d run to the hall, like Cinderella after the ball, thinking she’d only got seconds to spare. Either his lordship was always early or Arthur Bushell told him about my ruse with the clocks, anyway she never tumbled my deceit.

All the servants, and I think his lordship as well, used to heave a sigh of relief when Ascot week was over. For most of us it had been eighteen hours a day for the past fortnight, no time off, and none of us had been out of the grounds, and so it happened year in, year out. There was one exception, though it was before my time. Mr Lee recalls it as if it were a nightmare. ‘Freddy Alexander, my under-butler at the time, was what I can charitably describe as a seasoned drinker, Miss Harrison. As he told me, he not only wanted a pint, he needed it. So I made an exception in his case. “You can go to the Feathers” – which as you know is the pub at the end of the drive – “but you can only leave while the guests are changing for dinner, and only so long as you are back on duty in time. But take care you are not seen by other members of the staff, and in particular not by her ladyship.” I didn’t need to tell him to take the smell of drink off his breath, he always carried a packet of cloves in his pocket and generally reeked of them. He promised this, and was duly grateful.

‘One day he must have left it a bit late, so he took a short cut under the front terrace. It would have been all right if her ladyship had been changing as she should have been, but she was on the terrace, talking to that other woman Member of Parliament, Mrs Wintringham. “Where are you going, Frederick?” she shouted.

‘“Not where you think, my lady,” was his reply.

‘Well, she did continue to think, and I don’t know whether he considered he might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb, but he was missing throughout dinner. After the meal I was keeping an anxious eye open for him and eventually saw him weaving his way back, again in front of the terrace.

‘“You blithering idiot,” I thought. So did Lady Astor. I got him as he came through the back door and ordered him into his room, and told him to stay there. But her ladyship had got the bone in her mouth, and she was determined to shake it.

‘“Where’s Frederick?” she demanded when I returned. ‘“He’s unwell, my lady.”

‘“You mean he’s drunk, Lee.”

‘“Yes, my lady.”

‘She turned away angrily. She didn’t tell me to dismiss him, but I had no option. Things are a deal easier today, but discipline then was tight; so, for that matter, was Freddy,’ Mr Lee allowed himself to quip. ‘He didn’t make it hard for me. “Of course I’ve got to go,” he said, “you’ve no option.” I was sorry to lose him but was able to see he got a reference.’ That all-important document; a reference.

So, as I hope I’ve shown, entertaining for the Astors wasn’t just something that they did, it was indeed an industry. Now there will be people who will criticize them and talk about poor people and the unemployed. But this was the accepted way of life at that time: people spent where it gave them the most pleasure. They also provided employment and kept money circulating. Workmen and tradesmen alike were grateful to them. And they also gave enjoyment to their own class. And why not? Comparisons are supposed to be odious: I think that they can also point the truth. I’ve never heard of anyone today who won half a million on the pools giving the money away for the betterment of mankind. It’s not in the nature of things.

A
s I was afraid I would when I began, I have given the impression that we served only one person, Lady Astor. This isn’t true and I must try and explain why. In fact the standards of service and behaviour were set by his lordship, reflected on to Mr Lee and in turn from him on to us. Mr Lee had joined as a footman in 1912. A few years later he became valet to Lord Astor and was therefore very close to him. He liked and admired everything that he saw of Lord Astor and tried to emulate him either consciously or unconsciously. And not only outwardly. He caught a lot of the inner man too, so that when he came to a position of authority he was able to command us in the same way as his lordship had, through example. Everyone is the better for having known a good person. Mr Lee was in a way an intimate of Lord Astor’s and later a disciple. A good commander, a man of real worth, delegates authority. He doesn’t keep running around to see if his orders are being carried out – he doesn’t need to. He has trust and gives it; the moment that trust is abused he knows it and takes action, but he’s also aware that the more that he gives the greater will be his return. That was his lordship and that was Mr Lee. It wasn’t Lady Astor. It wasn’t her fault, nor was it true all the time, but she had to interfere; it was in her nature, and she had to test from time to time to make sure that even those to whom she had seemed to have given the most trust were not taking advantage of her, but responding to her with loyalty. She did this with me almost to the end of her life.

Lord Astor was a good man of great stature. When you read about such men they seem dull, but to be with they are not, nor are they to remember. Without his lordship I am certain that a small part of history would be changed. Her ladyship would not have been the first woman Member to take her seat in Parliament, she would not be famed as a hostess; for one thing she would never have kept the staff to do it. His presence provided the stability and the permanence that was necessary for her to dance her life around. Having said that it is almbst all there is to say. He had chosen a political life; it was cut off through no fault of his own and inherited by my lady. He continued to devote his time and money to helping the less fortunate, but in this world it seems to me it’s words not deeds that count, or at any rate it’s words that keep you in the public eye. His relationship with Lady Astor was one of a young love which had matured over the years into a lasting deep affection. To those who didn’t know him there were no outward and visible signs of emotion. It wasn’t the fashion of the time to show them. I’ve asked Mr Lee if he saw any but as he said, ‘Good servants at the sight of any emotion turn away from it and make an opportunity to absent themselves.’

Her ladyship’s attitude towards Lord Astor was one of easy acceptance; she took without question or appreciation all that he gave her. Of course, she loved him, if ever she’d thought about it, but she didn’t give herself time. She mimicked him as she did all of us, sometimes cruelly. She was impatient if ever he was ill. She would blame it on to his lack of faith. If she’d given to him a tenth of the time she gave to her religion, Christian Science, he would have been a much happier man. I remember when I was in hospital, and his lordship came to see me, I was trying to express my gratitude towards him and I said, ‘It’s at times like this that you need all the kindness and understanding that you can get.’

‘Understanding, did you say understanding, Rose?’

‘Yes, my lord.’

Then he seemed to speak to himself. ‘Yes, I know just what you mean.’ And I think we both knew what he meant. Then the shutters came down.

Once again it seems I’m criticizing her ladyship. I’m not, for while to some extent it was in her nature, there were also circumstances which kept her away from him. She had a busy political life which he could only share in the shadows. She had this passion for entertaining people which early in his own political life he must have encouraged, so when it became a near-fetish it was to some extent his fault. He could also have tempered it, but it seemed that everything that gave her ladyship enjoyment gave him happiness. Perhaps after the war, when her ladyship gave up her seat in Parliament, he hoped that they would settle more together, but it was too late. He by then was a sick man; sickness was something that Christian Scientists have to ignore and my lady was impatient with her new life. ‘What shall we do with her, Rose?’ his lordship would say to me, and we’d set forth on a succession of travels to try to soothe her itching spirit. In a way, my lady was like a man who has devoted his whole life to his work, has found no time to interest himself in anything outside, so when he retires he finds he is lost. When she left Parliament she found herself in a similar predicament. She still had people and friends to interest her, but it was a long time before she was able to come to terms with herself.

His lordship had a hobby: racehorses. He was an owner-breeder. Now I don’t know anything about horses and I didn’t get the opportunity to find out much about them while I was at Cliveden, even though the stud farm was on our doorstep. When I saw them I thought they were very beautiful creatures, but while owning them may have been a profitable hobby for Lord Astor, backing them would never have been for me. I tried betting once when I first joined Miss Wissie. She said to me, ‘Daddy’s got a horse running today which I believe is going to win.’ She told me the name and when I went down to the servants’ hall I got one of the footmen to invest a shilling on it for me. It didn’t come up to Miss Wissie’s expectations and no more was said about it except under my breath.

Some days later she said, ‘Daddy’s horse Penny Come Quick is expected to win today, Rose.’

‘I’ve learnt a lesson after your last try, Miss Wissie. It seems it’s Penny Go Quick with me.’

This time of course she was right: it won. It didn’t make any difference to me though; I reckoned I was a bad chooser and so was never tempted again.

Mind you, I don’t think that Lord Astor backed horses. He bred and ran them for the love of it. Mr Lee and Arthur Bushell, his one-time valets, had hoped that he would occasionally give them a winner, but he never did. He said to them, ‘I will never give a tip to anybody. If I think my horse is going to win, and say so, and it doesn’t, I feel I’ve done people a disservice.’