Mrs Guinness

by Lyndsy Spence

  The rigid schedule of sightseeing around Bavaria delighted Diana. Baroque churches, castles and trips to the opera were a world away from the sleazy Berlin nightclubs that were the catalyst of her experience only two years previously. Bavaria was also the heartland of the Nazi movement, a familiar term which existed in the foreground of her mind following her meeting with Putzi Hanfstaengl.

  The Jewish question, too, was never far from Diana’s thoughts. Since the end of the First World War the influx of Jews to the East End of London did little to convince a vast number of Britons that Jews were good for the economy. They viewed the Jews as opportunists, accusing them of moving in on businesses whilst British men were off at war. Xenophobia was rife among the ruling classes; the British Empire lay in lands beyond Europe and in its position of Imperial ruler it looked down on foreigners. They were indecent, dishonest and louche. ‘Abroad’ was ‘unutterably bloody’ and for the Victorians, the generation above Diana, the Continent was a ‘place of banishment or refuge’ and shrouded in secrets – it was not the sort of lifestyle a decent person would enter into willingly.

  With her love of art and culture, Diana had somehow risen above such prejudice, yet the outlook she would soon adopt mirrored the view of her paternal grandfather, Bertie Redesdale. Diana had only known Bertie for the first six years of her life, during which he was a distant, elderly figure in mourning for his dead son and often bedridden from bouts of illness. In his younger days, Bertie had established himself as a landowner, diplomat, writer, collector and lover of all things exotic. This fondness for culture did not pass on to his son David, but skipped a generation and attached itself to his granddaughters.

  Another ancestor with similarity to Diana was Bertie’s mother, Lady Georgina, who was a bolter. She scandalised society – much as Diana had done in leaving Bryan – when she abandoned her husband Henry Mitford to live with Francis Molyneux, whom she later married. Divorce was a social taboo in those days and Lady Georgina was alienated from her children, lest she inflict her wicked sense of immorality onto them, too. Some say Francis Molyneux fathered her children and not Henry Mitford, but nobody in the family knew for certain and, presumably, nobody cared.

  A glittering diplomatic career awaited Bertie when he entered the Foreign Office in 1858, where he was appointed Third Secretary of the British Embassy in St Petersburg. It was during his service in the Diplomatic Corps in Peking that he met the Japanologist Ernest Satow and in 1871 his novel, Tales of Old Japan, was published. The publication was credited for introducing classical Japanese tales such as The Forty-Seven Ronin to the Western public. Bertie also edited and wrote lengthy introductions for two of Houston Stewart Chamberlain’s books, Immanuel Kant: A Study and Comparison with Goethe, Leonardo da Vinci, Bruno, Plato and Descartes and, most notably, Foundations of the Nineteenth Century, published in Germany in 1899 to great success.

  Foundations of the Nineteenth Century was a love letter to the superiority of the Teutonic people. It emphasised Chamberlain’s sole view that a racially pure German race should rule the world. Chamberlain was openly racist and a rampant anti-Semite. He made no apologies for his views and argued his case for a racially pure Germany by wrapping the text up with scientific, philosophic and culturally based arguments, all of which were founded from his own unstable beliefs. Given its theme, it was ironic that Bertie opted to praise the Jews in his introduction for Chamberlain’s book. He wrote: ‘The charities of the great cities of Europe would be in a sad plight were the support of the Jews to be withdrawn … Politically too they have rendered great services …’ – the latter part was believed to be a reference to Bertie’s hero, Benjamin Disraeli.

  This striking parallel between Bertie Redesdale and Diana could have been argued from a predestination point of view. Bertie, a well-travelled man and admirer of Eastern culture, contradicted himself when he befriended Chamberlain. Much like his granddaughter Diana would do in her relationship with Mosley, Bertie risked his respectable reputation amongst the aesthetes to support a view that racial origins determined almost everything – a bizarre stance, given that Bertie had fathered two children with a geisha.

  Through his connection with Chamberlain, Bertie became acquainted with Siegfried Wagner, and this introduction to German opera at Bayreuth was described by him in quasi-religious terms. It validated a view that had been agreed by many respectable English scholars of the time, that the German people were, indeed, a superior race. Mosley, too, had a small but significant connection to this argument on racial origins. It was believed that Mosley was one of the initiates of the Children of the Sun – a Dionysian cult comprised of children of Britain’s Roundtable elite. Among the initiates were T.S. Eliot, W.H. Auden, D.H. Lawrence and Aldous Huxley. It shared its name with the German Sonnenkinder, the term used to designate the eugenically bred, racially pure Lebensborn children of Nazi Germany.

  The intellectual side of Germany’s culture did not fascinate Unity and, since the moment of their arrival, she continued to press Diana with the same question: ‘When will we meet Hitler?’ Knowing Unity’s fondness for celebrity, Diana had sold the idea of Germany to her with the promise they would meet the new German Chancellor. Her sister longed to see Italy or France, and so far Germany was a poor alternative. Hanfstaengl was the only connection Diana had to Hitler and, despite his claim that he was a household name, no one outside of political circles seemed to know who he was.

  The trip was slowly turning into a disaster; Diana knew about twenty words in German, she could ask a simple question but she did not understand the answer. Unity knew no German at all. Hanfstaengl did not give Diana his address; repeating the same motto, he assured her everyone in Germany knew of his whereabouts. However, this proved fruitless when Diana asked the doorman at her hotel to find him and they, too, could not track him down. Finally, Diana achieved success at Brown House, the Nazi Party’s headquarters, and suddenly their luck began to look up when the illusive Hanfstaengl telephoned her hotel. ‘You have come at exactly the right moment,’ he cryptically told her, but in their current state of mind his words were of little consequence to the weary tourists. ‘We are having our Parteitag tomorrow, I will get you tickets and a room in Nuremberg.’ Having exhausted the sights of Munich, Diana and Unity accepted his offer.

  Excitement was in the air when Hanfstaengl met Diana and Unity at the station, informing them the Parteitag would last four days, not one as they had imagined. It was a jamboree of Unity’s dreams. Everywhere they looked they saw hundreds of men in uniform congregating around the old town and there were Nazi flags hanging in the windows; the sense of pageantry hypnotised her. Even Diana’s dire spirits were elevated by the excitement, and both sisters were impressed to see Hanfstaengl in a party uniform of his own design. In return, he delighted in escorting the two beautiful women around Nuremberg.

  The Parteitag of 1933 was not a militant display. There were no foreign visitors, no diplomats or prestigious guests, only the everyday German people who were riding a wave of joy and jubilation. Despite the event appearing low-key in comparison to Hitler’s future rallies, the theatrics were advanced beyond the BUF’s capabilities. Dramatic lighting, spirited music and vigorous young men in uniform served as a backdrop to Hitler as he stood below a 100ft spread eagle fixed upon a timber frame.

  The German film-maker Leni Riefenstahl had been recruited to work on the special effects and Hitler ordered her to make a film of the event. Victory of Faith was an hour-long documentary screened for Hitler and party dignitaries in December 1933, and it was such a maverick piece of film making that the London Observer reported on it:

  The film is one long apotheosis of the Caesar spirit, in which Herr Hitler plays the role of Caesar while the troops play the role of the slaves. It is certainly to be hoped that this film will be shown in all cinemas outside Germany, if one wishes to understand the intoxicating spirit which is moving Germany these days.

  In her autobiography, Diana described her invitation to th
e event as a chance encounter, a gesture of goodwill on Hanfstaengl’s behalf. There were no strings pulled and no one exploited the connections with the BUF. However, Hanfstaengl had all of the characteristics of a snob and his English visitors were just the type of old-world aristocrats which he, and Hitler, admired.

  Was Hanfstaengl working behind the scenes? It certainly seems that his inviting Diana and Unity was a calculated move, for a few weeks later a brochure of the Parteitag was published with photos of Unity wearing her BUF black shirt under a tweed suit. This photograph of Unity reached England and her parents were livid at Diana for introducing Unity to ‘a murderous gang of pests’. This hardly mattered to Diana, who was still estranged from David and Sydney.

  Although they could not understand the speeches, Diana and Unity were mesmerised by Hitler’s oration, the dramatic pattern of his voice and the passion driving his political message. Had Diana been fluent in the language she would have listened to a speech driven by the topic of racial purity, largely motivated by recent events – the boycott of Jewish businesses, the book burnings and the Arierparagraph, which banned the hiring of Jews in a wide range of professions. Aside from the grotesque anti-Semitism, it is baffling how someone who loved books as much as Diana could support a party and a leader who ordered such a senseless undertaking. Those who listened to, and understood, Hitler’s views were left in no doubt about his future plans for the Jews.

  Perhaps given the language barrier, the overall impression of the Parteitag remained a positive experience for Diana, who ‘witnessed this demonstration of hope in a nation that had known collective despair’. And recalling her previous queries on Nazism and the Jews that had enraged Hanfstaengl, Diana begun to wonder how such a political party, which seemed to have the respect and support of the German nation, could be harmful.

  The thought of meeting Hitler did not conjure up the same thrill in Diana as it had in Unity. However, years later Diana felt the same level of excitement and confessed, ‘I thirst for only a glimpse of him.’ Determined to meet the star of the Parteitag, Unity implored Diana to follow up with Hanfstaengl, who offered a variety of feeble excuses, finally telling them: ‘You mustn’t wear lipstick, the Führer doesn’t like it.’ Finding this an odd statement, Unity defiantly announced, ‘I couldn’t possibly do without it.’ Having previously exaggerated his importance in the Nazi Party, Hanfstaengl used it as an opportunity to dodge his promise of arranging a meeting with Hitler.

  The exuberance of Nuremberg and Hanfstaengl’s gracious hospitality added to the misery Unity felt when she returned to Swinbrook. She pleaded with David and Sydney to grant her permission to return to Munich, where she could study art and learn German. At 19, she had two failed seasons behind her and she displayed little enthusiasm in finding a husband, or even an admirer. She lacked Diana’s grace, Nancy’s ability to hold down a job and Pamela’s contented nature, all of which added to her troublesome behaviour at home. After much deliberation, David and Sydney decided it might be good for Unity to experience a change of scenery. After all, the three eldest girls had spent a year in Paris, taking art lessons and becoming fluent in French.

  With her rebellious behaviour and incessant need to shock, Unity found a kindred spirit in Diana. To the impressionable Unity, Diana was an esteemed example; her love for Mosley and her support of fascism strengthened Unity’s political views. Although Mosley’s propaganda palled in comparison to the Nazi Party, it thrilled Unity that her sister had a link to this ideology sweeping Germany, gaining worldwide attention and, at that time, respect. Diana was a proverbial bridge between Unity’s connection to England and Germany, a place where she was certain she would find her niche.

  Keeping it a secret from her parents, Unity joined the BUF and, through this hero worship of Mosley and Hitler, she coveted a small collection of militant materials. Among her prized collection were copies of Blackshirt and a badge which Mosley had personally given her. The words ‘Hello, Fascist’54 still thrilled her and, for someone who was viewed as an oddball, it made her believe that the Leader had singled her out. With this belief, Unity set forth to spread the word of fascism.

  To Mosley, however, Unity was a liability. Despite his indiscretions, he was a shrewd man and, taking into consideration how the BUF respected Cimmie, he knew this allegiance with Unity might run the risk of making a mockery of the party. With Unity on her way to Munich, it seemed to be the best solution for everyone involved. She would be out of sight, out of mind.

  NOTE

  54 On the eve of Diana’s divorce from Bryan, Mosley called at the Eatonry where Nancy, Pamela and Unity had gathered. Pamela quickly departed, but Mosley looked in Unity’s direction and greeted her with: ‘Hello Fascist!’ He also gave her a BUF badge.

  27

  THE GOLDEN MONTH

  OF OCTOBER

  With Mosley still abroad, Diana extended her travels to Rome, where she visited her friend Gerald Tyrwhitt-Wilson, 14th Baron Berners. Lord Berners had captured Diana’s fancy the year before when they became acquainted through the great connector of people, Emerald Cunard. Aged 49 to Diana’s 23, Berners was a contemporary of her parents but not a product of their uptight generation. Like her father, he held a seat in the House of Lords but had only attended once; he said he would never return because a bishop had stolen his umbrella.

  Age never held any mystery for Diana and Berners possessed everything she admired in a human being. His talents ranged from charming painter to accomplished musician and, gifted with a sense of parody, he succeeded in writing ‘screamingly funny’ tales based on his friends and foes. Under the pseudonym ‘Adela Quebec’, Berners cast himself in the role of headmistress in his spoof novel, The Girls of Radcliff Hall. The novel, privately printed and distributed amongst friends, amused his admirers and troubled those who could not laugh at themselves. Cecil Beaton, for one, was outraged and bought fifty copies of the 100 printed and burned them all.

  The daily routine was a sedate interval after the electrifying ceremony of Munich. Led by Berners, the culture-loving Diana indulged in guided tours of the city, with her friend wearing his tinted spectacles to divert attention from his eyes, which he believed were so kind that they would make him an easy target for beggars. As the afternoon sun palled, they enjoyed ices in the Piazza Navona and motored out to Frascati. For someone jaded by English society, it was refreshing for Diana to be exposed to something unknown.

  In the mornings, Diana awoke to Berners sitting at his piano, composing music that seemed to match her mood. ‘His music had a dying fall, there was a superficial gaiety in it accompanied by an underlying sadness.’ She suggested he write twelve bars of a fascist march, which appeared in the Daily Express, simply ‘because I asked him to’. Although apolitical, Berners did not mind Diana’s leaning towards fascism; he was quite accustomed to the ideology, which had been the system in Italy for years. Rome, however, ‘remained unchanged’. Diana’s friends were extremely rich and with such riches came frivolity – and fascism, to this set, was the lesser of two evils when compared to communism. Fascism, they realised, posed no threat to their wealth.

  After a morning of composing, Berners would move to the telephone located outside her bedroom door to make arrangements for their evenings. ‘Pronto, pronto è Lord Berners,’ he shouted in fluent Italian, pronounced in his English accent.

  When his guests arrived, Diana was amused by the Romans, whom she thought ‘exceptionally beautiful to look at and also exceptionally spiteful about one another’. They sat on the balcony of his house at 3 Foro Romano, overlooking the Forum, which they used as their pleasure garden. Serenaded by the cook’s canaries, Diana feasted on delicious sponge cakes of chocolate, sour cream, rum, angelica and candied cherries. Clever and witty, Berners made Diana scream with laughter, the gaiety lifting her melancholic mood, consumed by thoughts of Mosley and his devotion to Baba.

  Berners, too, suffered from his own form of melancholy provoked by crippling bouts of depression, brought
on by his bad heart. It was an illness which made him pessimistic and gloomy. Diana noticed that he could be talkative at lunch, keeping everyone entertained, and then down for the rest of the afternoon. If someone should come to dinner he would perk up again. This contrast in moods was confirmed when, towards the end of Diana’s visit, they were joined by Desmond Parsons, a handsome young man governed by a pronounced lack of enthusiasm. It amused Berners when Parsons arrived promptly and announced: ‘I had a disastrous morning in the Vatican.’

  ‘I hope you like veal,’ Berners said, without addressing Parsons’ complaint.

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Parsons in sarcastic tones. ‘I am a regular veal fiend.’

  A fellow guest held the remedy for their glum spirits. M. Sandez, a Swiss millionaire whose pharmaceutical business bore his name, told them of a ‘merveilleuse’ drug sold in Paris which promised to relieve symptoms of depression. Diana, sceptical of its claims, gently coaxed Berners: ‘Don’t worry, you’ll come out of it; you always do.’

  ‘My mother had the same depression and she died in the middle of one,’ Berners replied.

  That was the end of Diana’s optimism and the three friends piled into Berners’ lumbering Rolls-Royce with its interior lining sporting stencilled butterflies. Loathing to drive abroad, his chauffeur, William Crack, drove at a glacial pace towards the French border, occasionally taking wrong turns, which inspired Berners to tease him: ‘William, I’m an old man and I’ve left you a lot of money in my will. I do think you might go the way I want sometimes.’ By chance, their journey turned into a culinary adventure, stopping off at every three star restaurant on their way to Paris for the wonder drug.

  Once the drug was in their possession, Berners and Parsons consumed it immediately. Assuring Diana it was ‘quite harmless with no unpleasant side effects’, they convinced her to sample it, too. She found it useless and it had no effect on her whatsoever. Berners and Parsons, however, manoeuvred around in a blissful state, ready for any joke. But this euphoria lasted only a day or two before their old familiar foe re-emerged.