Gone With the Windsors

17th March 1933

I made a point of speaking to Melhuish on the telephone this morning. He said, “You’ve missed Violet. She had a meeting at nine and then she’s going directly to the Habberleys. We’re there for the weekend.”

I said, “It was you I wanted. I was with the Prince of Wales last evening and he most particularly asked to be remembered to you.”

Stopped him in his tracks. “Wales?” he said. “Really? Were you at the Belchesters?”

I said, “No, at the Ernest Simpsons.”

“Simpson, Simpson?” he said. “Know the name, but can’t place him.”

I said, “You met him at my soiree. He was in the Guards, and his wife is called Wally. She talked to you about salmon flies. She was a school friend, but these days Violet disapproves of her.”

He said, “Does she? Well, Vee’s a good judge of people. As for Wales, these days I’m not entirely sure how sound he is. There was a time. We had a good war together, but he doesn’t appear to have done much since. From what I hear, all he does nowadays is plague his tailor and run his valets ragged. He’s a bloody clotheshorse, Maybell. If you ask me, we’re going to get a dandy for a king.”

It says it all. The Prince is so modern and unstuffy, and Melhuish is so set in his ways. How left behind he must feel.

Stood Wally lunch at the Dorch. Penelope Blythe came to our table and said, “Oh Wally, I hear His Royal Highness is back from Northumberland. How is he?” I could have killed her. I’d sworn Pips and Hattie to absolute secrecy.

Wally doesn’t seem as anxious about things as Ernest, though.

She said, “Well, of course, nothing the Prince of Wales does goes unnoticed. And why shouldn’t he call in on friends at the cocktail hour?”

I said, “I suppose what’s remarkable is that he comes to an address like Bryanston Court.”

“Not at all,” she said. “That’s the kind of prince he is.”

The Erlangers want me to dinner. The Trillings are begging me. Pips absolutely insists on having me. Wally’s schedule may suddenly be full, but they know they can get the story from me, and without earnest Ernest sucking on his pipe and pontificating about discretion.

20th March 1933

To the Crosbies. The Prosper Friths were there, also the Erlangers and the Belchesters. Billy Belchester said it didn’t surprise him to hear that the Prince of Wales had taken up with people in the suburbs. He said, “It’ll be his latest fad. That’s Wales all over. Picks things up and then drops them. I hope your Simpson friends are prepared for that.”

Freddie said, “Still, I think it was very astute of Maybell to get him onto worker housing. He’s not the easiest of conversationalists, but that is a subject dear to his heart. Golf, too.”

Prosper Frith said it was all very well for Wales to be keen on worker housing when he didn’t have to find the money for it. He said, “Ask me, he should attend to his own affairs. Cut ribbons. Settle down and produce an heir. Leave politicking to those who understand it.”

Daphne Frith said, “Well, I’d hate to have Royalties suddenly proposing themselves for cockers. It’d be such a strain, always being prepared.”

Not for Wally, of course. Being prepared is what she does best. I do wonder about Violet and Melhuish though. The Prince is so agreeable, I can’t think why they allowed the friendship to wither. Tea parties with the Bertie Yorks are all very well, but Wales is the one who’ll be king someday.

Freddie says His Royal Highness is a big campaigner for pit head baths.

21st March 1933

Harrold’s Lending Library had nothing on pit head baths. Ida says they are facilities to allow coal miners to perform their toilette before going home to dine. All at the mine owner’s expense, you can be sure.

22nd March 1933

Lunched with Wally. The Prince of Wales has asked after me!

She and Ernest had dinner with him last evening at the Benny Thaws.

She said, “He loves Americans, you know. He finds us much more in tune with his thinking than those English stuffed shirts. And he’s often at a loose end in the evening, especially when Thelma’s in the country. Really, if we want him, he’s ours for the taking.”

She’s talking about offering him a dinner. Not a potluck with just her and Ernest, but a proper dinner, where he can meet lively Americans. With only a cook and two maids, it sounds overambitious to me. Wilton Place would be far more suitable, but she didn’t like my saying so.

She said, “I can manage perfectly well at Bryanston Court, thank you, and the Prince feels at home there. Obviously, I’ll get in extra help. But don’t be disappointed, Maybell, if you’re not invited. The guest list will be out of my hands. That’s the protocol, you see? David will have to approve everything.”

Minnehaha Warfield lecturing me on protocol!

27th March 1933

Lunch with George Lightfoot, who didn’t seem at all interested in the Simpsons and the Prince. He said, “It’s no great coup, Maybell. I could introduce you to any number of people who spend their lives avoiding royalties. They’re costly to maintain and have the habit of encouraging familiarity, then suddenly frowning on it. Befriending them is like venturing onto creaking ice.”

Flora is in trouble again. Violet took her to an outfitters to buy her clothes for starting at Miss Hildred’s Day School after Easter, and when they got home with their purchases, Flora hacked her new straw hat to pieces with Doopie’s sewing scissors.

Lightfoot said, “I’m afraid it won’t save her from Miss Hildred’s, though. She’s going, bonnet or no bonnet. It’s a shame really. I shall miss her singular ways. It’s not often a child reaches the age of nine without being tamed.”

Disappointed to find he’s not coming to Philip Sassoon’s at Easter. We could have traveled together. He was invited but had already accepted for something in Gloucestershire. The girl named Belinda with the jutting jaw.

I said, “Are you in love with her?”

“No,” he said, “not noticeably.”

2nd April 1933

To Carlton Gardens. The boys are home from school. I’d promised Rory we’d go to a cartoon theater this vacation, but now we have the complication of Flora, who was supposed to come with us but is in the doghouse. He was pleading Flora’s case with Violet, and Flora was doing nothing to help herself, sitting on the stairs, shouting, “I’m not going to Miss Dread’s and I’m not wearing a banama hat.”

Ulick said, “It seems very clear to me that she hasn’t yet learned her lesson. It’ll do her no good at all to be let off scot-free. Melhuishes know how to take their punishment like a man.”

Rory said, “But she’s a girl. And if she can’t come to see The Three Little Pigs, I shan’t feel decent about going.”

To be resolved.

4th April 1933

Saw Lightfoot on my way to Monsieur Jules. He says Rory took his appeal to the House of Lords, but Melhuish told him he never overturns Violet’s decisions.

He said, “The only thing I can suggest is that I play the Christian mercy card. I am her gobfather, after all. I’ll see what I can do.”

5th April 1933

Violet has agreed to a compromise. Flora will be allowed to come out with Rory for a high tea, but there will be no cartoons until she has behaved herself for a full term at school. Lightfoot said, “There are conditions, of course. We’re not to indulge her too much, or in any way let her forget her misdemeanors. Doopie said, ‘Bedda nod smile doo mudge, Dordie. Bedda pud on gumby vayzes.’”

I don’t see why Doopie always has to tag along on these occasions. And I wish she could be trained to say “George” instead of “Dordie.”

7th April 1933

To Ruddle’s for a fried-fish supper. Flora behaved impeccably. I don’t know why Violet has such problems with her.

Rory asked about Wally. There’s obviously been talk in the drawing room at Carlton Gardens.

I said, “You may very well see her yourself at Easter. You’ll be at Windsor, and she’ll be just along the road, at Fort Belvedere with the Prince of Wales.”

“Gosh,” he said, “even though she’s poor? Are you going, too?”

I said, “No, I’m going to Kent to stay with Sir Philip Sassoon.”

“Oh,” he said, “the gaudy Semite.”

Lightfoot said, “I say, Rory! Where did that come from?”

“Ulick,” he said, “after Aunt Maybell told us he gave her luncheon on a lapis lazuli table. Ulick said he’s a gaudy Semite and not our kind of person.”

Doopie not following things at all, looking perplexed, asking Lightfoot over and over, “Who Horty Zeemide?”

We should leave her at home really. She never does well in restaurants.

Flora said, “Gaudy Semite is a nice name.”

8th April 1933

A wire from Randolph Putnam. Franklin Roosevelt has announced that in the future, only the government may own gold bullion, and those of us who thought to put our hard-earned dollars into gold are going to have to sell it to the Federal Reserve. At a very poor price, you may be sure. How sound Brumby’s judgment was. Never trust a lawyer.

10th April 1933

Two days to reach Randolph by telephone, then, when I did get through, he did nothing to put my mind at rest. If I don’t turn in my gold, I can be prosecuted for hoarding and, as if that isn’t bad enough, he’s coming to England in June. I said, “I shall be at Royal Ascot.”

“So will I,” he said. “I’ll be staying in a town called Maidenhead. I have a Putnam cousin there, twice removed. Now Mother has passed over I’m going to start seeing the world and I’m holding you to dinner, Maybell. We have a lot to catch up on.”

I doubt that anything of interest to me has ever happened to Randolph Putnam.

15th April 1933, Port Lympne, Kent

If Trent Park was a dream, Port Lympne is paradise. Terrace gives onto terrace, vista onto vista, and the lawns are carpeted with daffodils. Dickie and Edwina Mountbatten are here, he being a nephew of Ena Spain and brother-in-law of the betrousered Nada Milford Haven. Everyone in this tiny country is connected to somebody. Alex and Nelly Hardinge are also guests. He’s the King’s private secretary, but I don’t suppose His Majesty dictates letters on a holiday weekend. So far I haven’t found out who they’re related to.

Others present: Tom Mitford, just back from Munich, Germany, where he and his sister Unity met Mr. Hitler and judge him to be the coming man, Sir Philip’s cousin Hannah, a Frenchman called Hippolyte, who plays tennis, and Marthe Bibesco, who is personally acquainted with Mr. Mussolini. She says he has a magnificent, manly jaw. Arriving tomorrow, the Winston Churchills—he’s something in politics—an actor called Gielgud, and a coal porter! Sir Philip certainly doesn’t give a damn for class distinctions.

16th April 1933

This morning, a treasure hunt for eggs, each couple being provided with a list of clues written in aquamarine ink. I was paired with young Tom Mitford, who’s just back from Heidelberg and speaks very highly of the German nation. Our clues led us to the orangerie, where, hanging from a tree, we found a perfect little egg-shaped crystal pendant for me and a tiny basket with a plover’s egg for Tom.

A simple, rustic luncheon was served on the lawn: spit-roasted kid and pineapple ice. Then Philip took us up in his airplane, one at a time, for an aerial view of the estate. What an accomplished man! He makes one feel nothing is too much trouble, and he’s tireless. Everything must be perfect. Last evening, he had the Union flag hauled down, because the red in it clashed so violently with the orange sunset.

Musical diversions after dinner. Philip’s wonderful dusky servants brought in thimbles of coffee, which they somehow set ablaze, and then the coal porter, who, I must say, is very well-scrubbed considering his trade, claimed the piano and played and sang for quite an hour. He was really rather good. I’ve advised him to think of taking it up professionally. There must be a great many people in London who’d be willing to pay him, and it would surely be more agreeable than portering coal.

Philip said, “Maybell, you’re a rrriot!” He’s so easy to amuse. I think I could very happily be Lady Sassoon.

17th April 1933

Marthe Bibesco says the man who played for us last night was Mr. Cole Porter. Philip might have made it clearer.

18th April 1933

How drab Wilton Place seems after Port Lympne. I found the men rather standoffish, especially Johnnie Gielgud. And Alex Hardinge didn’t smile, even when he was hunting for eggs. They say the King enjoys a joke, but I suppose servants only smile when given leave, and once a servant, always a servant. His wife was adorable though, and so was Clemmie Churchill, and I liked Philip’s cousin once I grew accustomed to her swarthy appearance. She has very good emeralds and superb pearls, but without them, one could quite imagine her selling fish from a barrow in Lombard Street. I couldn’t warm to Marthe Bibesco. She’s one of those predatory types who fastens on to the most important man in the room and allows no one else to get a word in.

But an exquisite weekend. Rrrravishing, as dear Philip would say. I wonder why he never married. It may be Cousin Hannah and Sister Syb have stood guard over him too fiercely. Well, they don’t deter me.

19th April 1933

Wally and Ernest are back from Fort Belvedere with the Prince’s blessing to make him a dinner on May 2nd. We start work tomorrow.

Lunch with George Lightfoot. He says Marthe Bibesco is a grande horizontale.

Something else to look into at the Lending Library.

20th April 1933

Wally says a grande horizontale is a ceiling expert.

For his dinner, the Prince has requested a list of lively, interesting people, with a good sprinkling of Americans. She’s told him she can accommodate fourteen, which is stretching Bryanston Court to its absolute limit. Pips and Freddie are already on the master plan, whereas I am scribbled in a margin along with the Judson Erlangers, the substitutes’ bench. She said, “It’s not that I don’t want you there, Maybell. And you probably will be there. I just have to weight every place very carefully. Pips and Freddie are a good combination. She’s sparky, he’s political.”

I said, “Well, don’t think I’m going to keep the date open indefinitely.”

She said, “Go ahead. Fill it up if you must, but if His Royal Highness summons you to dinner, you’ll have to drop everything. One doesn’t turn down Royalties. I’d have thought you’d know that.”

Of course, if she’d only transfer the dinner to my dining room, there’d be seats for twenty.

21st April 1933

Lunched with Pips. Told her she and Freddie are on Wally’s A list. She said, “Only because she owes me, I’m sure.” Not just the loan of a ruby choker, apparently. There have been opera pearls. And a crocodile bag.

25th April 1933

Flora’s first day at Miss Hildred’s. Lightfoot had drinks with Melhuish this evening and says there were no reports of mayhem.

26th April 1933

Wally called me to tell me her plans: only three courses, and no wines, because she’s going to serve curried chicken. There’ll just be gin fizzes and then cold beer with dinner.

I said, “It’s of no interest to me. I’ve made arrangements to go to an operetta in aid of Navy Widows.”

She said, “Then you’d better unmake them. I’ve just finished the placement, and I’ve put you between Prince George and Prince Louis Ferdinand.”

I knew she wouldn’t be able to manage without me! And Prince George! Naughty, rebellious Prince George. We’re sure to get along. Prince Louis Ferdinand is a German, but Wally says he speaks perfect English. His mother is Crown Princess Cecilie, a regular at Lily Drax-Pfaffenhof’s house parties. Wally says it’s quite on the cards that Mr. Hitler will restore the monarchy, and then Louis Ferdinand may reign some day.

I’m undecided between my magenta crepe and my copper silk.

28th April 1933

To Carlton Gardens for drinks. Chatted with dear Leo von Hoesch, told him I was dining with a future Kaiser on Tuesday. He said, “How astonishing. We don’t have Kaisers anymore.”

I said, “But surely the National Socialists say they’ll bring them back?”

“Yes,” he said, “they do say that, don’t they.”

I fear Ambassador von Hoesch is losing touch with things.

Violet says Wally mustn’t feel too let down if the Princes don’t appear. She says neither of them is known for their punctuality or reliability. Sour grapes, I’m sure.

Flora has apparently gone to school like a lamb every morning.

29th April 1933

Wally’s guest list is finalized. No room for Judson and Hattie, because His Royal Highness wanted Thelma’s friends, the Bernie Cavetts, and he’s keen to meet Boss and Ethel Croker. Pips says she’d happily give up her seat. She thinks the idea of Ernest bowing and scraping all evening is excruciating.

I said, “Don’t you want to know the Princes?”

She said, “Not particularly. They’re not like real people. And anyway, I’ll bet Wally’s going to seat me way down the table. I hope so. I’ll probably get the truck man.”

Bernie Cavett made his fortune in road freight, apparently.

30th April 1933

To Bryanston Court, to help with the finishing touches. The menu is decided: avocado ice cream, curried chicken, apple fritters.

Ernest has cold sores. He’s anxious about Wally’s idea of serving beer and keeps bringing out bottles of his cherished claret to try and persuade her, but, as she says, the Prince of Wales has access to the finest cellars in the world and anyway, he’s no great wine drinker. He’ll much prefer the novelty of beer.

One thing Ernest doesn’t need to worry about this time is the expense. Funny how an overture of caviars was deemed necessary to reel in Thelma Furness, but the Prince of Wales is getting something more akin to a porch brunch.

3rd May 1933

Last evening I danced with two princes, three if you count an exile, which I think I do. More, anyway, than Nora Sedley Cordle will do if she lives to be a hundred, and I shall make sure she hears about it from Randolph Putnam.

The two Princes are very different. Wales fidgets a lot and allows his gaze to wander when he’s in conversation. Prince George seems more assured, much more attentive as a dinner partner, and an excellent dancer. Freddie Crosbie had described him as “lavender-toned,” but he looked perfectly healthy to me.

And Prince Louis Ferdinand is delightful. He’s been living in Michigan, helping out Mr. Ford at his automobile factory, and adores our American way of life, but he may soon have to give it all up, because his elder brother has chosen to marry a commoner, which places Louis next in line should the Germans bring back Royalties. His mother wants him to go home and find a suitable bride.

Zita Cavett said, “Why go home? Why not choose a gorgeous American girl?”

He said, “A wonderful idea, but your husband got there first.”

They all pant after Zita. It’s her legs. Bernie Cavett found her in the chorus at the Chicago Majestic. A showgirl at a dinner for the Prince of Wales, and with seats at a premium! Hattie Erlanger would be furious if she knew.

There was no withdrawing. Boss and Ernest lingered over their cigars. The rest of us rolled back the rugs and played Thelma’s latest hoochie-koochie records on my gramophone. It was the greatest fun. The Royalties didn’t leave till midnight and were effusive in their thanks. Ernest was quite pink with pleasure, but Wally was as composed as ever. All that dancing and not a hair out of place. The whole thing an undoubted success. I must hand it to her.

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