Rose: My Life in Service to Lady Astor (33 page)

One of the extraordinary things about the British is that after a catastrophe like a war with the social changes it brings, we expect to go back and start again where we left off. I know I did, so I think did my lady. She felt she’d been stripped unnecessarily of her Parliamentary duties, but I think felt that she could get back some of her old glory by entertaining again at St James’s Square. This was not to be allowed her either. It had been bombed and his lordship decided to sell it to the government. A smaller establishment at 35 Hill Street was bought, but it could never equal the glamour of our old town house. The size of the staff is an indication. There was only a butler and one footman, a housekeeper and one housemaid, a chef and a kitchenmaid, a chauffeur, William, the odd man and myself. The working hours were now much shorter so dailies were employed to compensate, but the old feeling of unity in the house was gone and would never return.

At Cliveden some servants had returned and more staff were recruited in the house and gardens. Mr Lee got some semblance of the pre-war service, but he was forever sighing about his staff, and he and I would wistfully recall the good old days and the good old faces. ‘Change and decay in all around we saw.’ Luckily in my job I was a loner. Nevertheless, despite Mr Lee’s seeming pessimism he very soon had a good working team.

As I’ve indicated earlier much of our time now was spent travelling. When we were in England we were more at Rest Harrow, where my lady took her frustrations out on the little golf ball. She just couldn’t seem to settle. She continued to bear a grudge against his lordship for removing her from politics. I think that both he and I hoped that she would find some social work, the kind of thing she’d proved so good at organizing during the war, to occupy her mind. But work without the political power to back it was no consolation to her. She seemed to avoid his lordship’s company at Cliveden. Fortunately he had his interests: the horses and the gardens. Frank Copcutt, the head gardener, and he were very near to each other, and he still worked on the reconstruction of Plymouth. During the next few years his health began to fail and he had to take to a wheelchair. I’m glad to say that by this time my lady’s heart had relented towards him and she was able to be a deal of comfort to him until his death in 1952. Although expected, it came as a shock to her. She missed him more than she thought possible. He was her rock. Now she had no one to dance round. Even though they were so often away from each other his image had been there. She looked to others for consolation, but I don’t think she ever found it. She thought she could compensate for her lack of attention to his lordship by nourishing Mr Bernard Shaw in his old age, but he later resented her attentions and a friendship of years nearly went sour on her.

With his lordship’s death the title and Cliveden passed to Mr Billy. He had infinite thought for her ladyship. He remembered Lord Astor’s last words to him: ‘Look after your mother.’ Thinking that the loss of Cliveden six years after losing St James’s Square would be more than she could bear, he immediately told her that she could run it for as long as she wanted. She tried for a short time, but soon realized it was too much for her. Hill Street and Rest Harrow from then on were our only two real homes.

Let me not though become too introspective on her behalf. She still had plenty of spirit and fun in her and she remained a formidable lady to serve. She and I continued to battle on together. She didn’t give up trying to outdo and better me till the end. I have a letter she wrote me only three years before her death in which, after giving me a bit of praise and urging me to return before the end of my holiday, she went on to say, ‘There’s one thing I feel I must ask you, Rose, and that is not to interrupt me before I’ve finished speaking. It’s a very bad habit of yours, you know.’ That after thirty-two years of my doing it!

Although as I’ve said we were out of public life my lady had a few memorable occasions of which probably the royal wedding of Princess Elizabeth and Prince Philip was the first in the post-war period. She went with her son, his lordship. A royal wedding is a testing-time for a lady’s maid. The slightest thing wrong and it reflects on you. It’s like getting a horse ready for the big race: there are a lot of things to be considered. First there’s the style of the outfit. While that is decided between a lady and her dressmaker (in Lady Astor’s case, Madame Rémond of Beauchamp Place), a maid’s opinion may be asked for. Although this can cause trouble, it must be honestly given. Some dressmakers go for an effect for their own sakes and don’t always fully consider what suits the customer. Such occurrences were rare with my lady since she knew what she wanted, and said it. Anyway our tastes seemed always to tally, except for the occasional outrageous hat that I think she sometimes bought just to spite me.

My lady’s outfit was plain, neat and smart and very effective. She wore a black velvet suit, to which were pinned her medals, her black sable stole, black patent shoes and a black hat with pink ostrich feathers and of course some of her most precious jewels. She was easy to dress. We had a trial run the day before so there was no question of last-minute panics like buttons coming off or zips going wrong. Then, unlike some other ladies, she always got to the course in the pink of condition. She took it easy a day or two before, early nights so that her skin was at its best. There were no tantrums about ‘Where have these wrinkles come from?’ that some ladies’ maids had to endure and couldn’t answer truthfully, ‘The gin bottle and late nights on the tiles, my lady.’ So she enjoyed these occasions and graced them because she looked good and felt good. Many people think that ladies like Lady Astor buy clothes for things like weddings and receptions and never wear them again. This in all my experience is untrue. I know that that velvet suit was worn so many times that eventually I had to pronounce it unfit for further service. It was the same with most of my lady’s things.

One of the last large-scale parties that my lady gave was at Hill Street. It was for Davina Bowes-Lyon, a niece of the Queen Mother, who later married the Earl of Stair. It was for about seven hundred people. The house itself was of course too small, so at Mr Lee’s suggestion a marquee was erected in the garden, linked to the ballroom. It really was a triumph of organization and the supper party and ball went with a swing. It turned sour on poor Mr Lee though. About halfway through the proceedings, while he was serving soft drinks to the guests (her ladyship had made this a stipulation when offering to give the party), Mr Bowes-Lyon, who was with a circle of people talking to the Queen, turned to Mr Lee and asked for a large whisky and soda. ‘I’m sorry, sir,’ he replied, ‘that would be going against her ladyship’s orders. If you get her permission I’ll gladly fetch you one.’

‘Don’t be a fool, Lee, I don’t need her permission. Go and get me one.’

‘I’m sorry, sir, I’m only a servant here and I have one mistress to whom I’m responsible. I must refuse.’ And Mr Lee moved away.

It was obvious to my lady from Mr Bowes-Lyon’s expression that something had gone wrong. She questioned Mr Lee, who told her what had happened. ‘You should have told him to go out and buy himself one,’ she said, indignantly. ‘Never mind, I’ll do it.’ And she did.

‘It didn’t end there,’ he told me. ‘After this party Mrs Bowes-Lyon gave me £5 for the servants. Naturally I thought it was for the menservants and divided it out accordingly. It wasn’t much in all conscience for the hours and work they’d put in: it came to about £1 each. Mrs Hawkins, the housekeeper, heard that there had been some form of handout and was indignant that the maidservants had not had anything. She spoke to Lady Astor who in turn spoke to me about it. I explained the situation to her ladyship and when I mentioned the amount I’d been given she nearly exploded. I offered to share it round further, but she refused to allow me to do so. “Leave everything to me, Lee,” she said, and stalked off. It was really all a storm in a teacup, Miss Harrison, but it had unfortunate consequences. She must have had words with Mr and Mrs Bowes-Lyon because from then on they were both always ill-at-ease in my presence.’

I have already mentioned our hasty return from America for the Coronation. It caught me unawares, as had the Queen Mother’s invitation, and there was a lot to do in a little time. My lady’s robes had been in a tin trunk since before the war and needed a deal doing to them: cleaning, restyling and refitting. All right, some peeresses didn’t bother much, robes were robes and there was little you could do about them except to get the smell of mothballs out. This was not Lady Astor’s attitude; she had to look just so, and I’m glad that she did, otherwise I could have had little pride in my job.

Then the jewels had to be selected and the Astor tiara cleaned. I must say my lady looked an absolutely perfect picture. She understood how to carry costume and how to move in it. It was the actress in her. She practised too, not leaving anything to chance. It has always astonished me how few peers ever managed to look anything in robes. They’re supposed to add dignity to the occasion, but more often than not they do the opposite. Men seem to approach wearing robes self-consciously, as if they are convinced they’re going to look foolish, and so do end up looking like idiots. If any footman had the same attitude towards his livery he wouldn’t have lasted two minutes with Mr Lee.

Ten days before the Coronation came the news that contrary to my expectations I had to visit Rhodesia with her ladyship, and that I was to travel on the afternoon of the Coronation. I remember it as one of the days of my life. Up at five, dressing my lady, getting her away on time – she had to be in her seat in the Abbey by eight-thirty – seeing that all her luggage was packed for a three-month tour, then putting my bits together. No wonder I needed a large brandy when I finally got on that Comet.

One thing I had missed in my life in service was a visit to a royal palace in Britain. I was anxious to see at first-hand how the staff were treated. One of the housekeepers from Cliveden had left us to go to Buckingham Palace, but she had been there before my time and though Mr Lee had remained friendly with her and had indeed visited the Palace on several occasions, I didn’t just want to take his word about conditions there. I was therefore delighted when in May 1957 my lady had an invitation to stay at Holyroodhouse, Her Majesty’s Edinburgh home. My lady’s room was everything I expected it would be, but my own left much to be desired. It was a tiny place at the top of the Palace with an iron bedstead, an old washstand and a nasty brown jug of cold water standing on it, a rush-bottom chair which I dared not trust myself on, and a threadbare mat on the linoleum floor.

The servants’ hall was little better. If there was a Pugs’ Parlour I wasn’t invited into it. There was no one to welcome me, the food was of the ‘cookhouse door’ kind, and served like it. There was one pat of margarine per person to be spread on a doorstep slice of bread. ‘If this is life inside a fairytale palace I want none of it,’ I thought as I pushed my plate away. When I dressed my lady I spared her none of the details. She was attending a banquet there so it was the full treatment: sparklers, the lot. As I was getting her ready and explaining my discomfort I asked her if she thought the Queen knew of the servants’ conditions. ‘I don’t suppose so, Rose,’ my lady said in that resigned voice of hers that she put on when she was tired of a subject.

‘Then I shall write and tell her,’ I said. ‘It’s high time she did. I’m sure she’ll be glad to know so that things can be put right.’

This jolted my lady out of her complacency. ‘You’ll do nothing of the sort, Rose,’ she declared indignantly. We spent the next quarter of an hour having a battle royal!

I must say that before my lady went down to the banquet she looked particularly beautiful in a wonderful pale lavender taffeta dress which her diamond tiara and earrings shone over like glistening stars. It was as if she was a delicate piece of china. As I looked at her my mood changed to one of sweet sadness and I felt the tears behind my eyes. For the first time I realized that she’d grown old. It had at last become noticeable to me. When later I heard the pipers playing outside the Palace their plaintive notes matched my feelings. ‘I shall remember Holyrood for more reasons than the discomfort,’ I thought.

When on my return I told Mr Lee about the conditions that I’d found there he was not surprised. ‘Service with the royals,’ he said, ‘is on too big a scale so it becomes less personal. It’s like the factory floor, you have your particular duties to do, you rarely go outside them; it’s a narrow sort of life. I once employed a footman from the Palace, but he had to go. He’d been used to set duties and resented doing anything that he thought was outside them. No initiative and no real interest in the purpose of the job.’

By 1958 it had become obvious that the house at Hill Street was an unnecessary responsibility. We were no longer entertaining on any scale and were only ever there for a few months in the year. It was sold and we leased a flat at 100 Eaton Square, part of the Duke of Westminster’s estate. It was spacious enough, on the first floor and running the length of four converted houses. We had an excellent staff of the old school. Charles Dean, one-time footman, valet and under-butler at Cliveden, was now butler, Mrs Hawkins the housekeeper, the old and trusted William, odd man, an Austrian chef, Otto Dangl, who came to us from Lord Allendale and was to prove a wizard in the kitchen, and myself. There were of course under-servants, two in each department, a chauffeur who lived with his Rolls in Belgrave Mews and dailies to do the rough work.

So with Lord Billy’s instructions that her ladyship was to want for nothing, we lived well and happily. We were now reaping the rewards for our years of service. The greatest of these was the complete trust shown in us by the Astor children. It’s easy to say we deserved it; so had many others in our position who never got it from the families they’d served. It was something quite exceptional and something I shall remember until my dying day. It was given in the same manner by each of the children, even by Mr Bobbie Shaw, who hadn’t quite the same ‘tribal feeling’ as the others.