Mrs Guinness

by Lyndsy Spence

  75 ‘… I don’t think sex was a big appetite in him.’ Diana Mosley to Duncan Fallowell, The Independent, 17 August 2003.

  34

  DECLINE AND FALL

  Warning signs of conflict raged through Europe. Hitler was denouncing every international control and stamping the Treaty of Versailles into the ground. Such arrogant disregard towards foreign sanctions and tense peace talks overshadowed his twenty-five year Peace Pact – but did anyone believe it? Many Britons asked: ‘Are we safe?’ The reassurance they craved did not come from the steadfast monarchy when, in January 1936, society was thrown into despair with the death of King George V.

  The new monarch, King Edward VIII, with his casual approach to dressing and modern views on socialising, hinted that the old traditions were waning. Such trivialities were looked upon as frivolous and nothing more than a privileged man doing what he pleased. However, for the old guard, an air of uncertainty lurked. For those who had grown up in the generation of the Bright Young Things, it signalled a change for the better. Baba and Fruity moved in Edward’s fast-paced circle and, with his ascent to the throne, Fruity assumed the king would reward him for his loyalty and elevate him to the role of an equerry. Baba predicted that the new king had other pressing matters to deal with, and she was right – it came in the form of the twice married, once divorced American socialite, Wallis Simpson.

  Polite society had always frowned upon public displays of adultery and it was a social rule that divorced women could not pay Court. They were viewed as wanton and indecent, and no self-respecting woman would challenge her husband for a divorce, regardless of infidelity on either part. Such things were simply kept behind closed doors and the married couple continued on as before. In 1936, Edward disregarded society’s rules and his public rendezvous with Mrs Simpson shocked the nation. He often escaped with his married mistress on Colonel Guinness’s yacht, but this hardly surprised Diana, who knew her former father-in-law could be capable of hypocrisy. But now, such taboo subjects were forced into the forefront of everyday life.

  Unlike Diana, who was treated with scorn both publicly and privately when she left Bryan, the British government enforced sanctions on the newspapers, prohibiting them from printing photographs of the king and Mrs Simpson together. Hitler, too, was aghast when he learned of the affair through Diana and Unity. It challenged the Nazi principle of family life, and he also ordered the German press to steer clear of reporting on the affair. Public reaction was catastrophic and the ordinary people who looked to their monarch as an example reacted violently and chalked on the granite walls outside Balmoral: ‘Down with the American whore.’

  While the general public were staging a minor revolution over the king’s indiscretions, the MPs scurried to limit damage and Ramsay MacDonald echoed the aristocracy’s motto: ‘The people of this country do not mind fornication but they loathe adultery.’ Mosley capitalised on the attention the scandal was attracting and openly supported the king. He commented: ‘The people will resist any attempt to hustle King Edward off the throne.’ And he demanded a public vote before abdication was even considered.76

  While Fleet Street was preoccupied with the king and Mrs Simpson, the plans for Diana and Mosley’s impending marriage were discussed. Mosley warned Diana that politics were rough and with her being alone for long periods of time at Wootton the best thing for her safety would be to keep it a secret. The reasoning behind this discretion were Irene and Baba – Mosley was still appeasing one and sleeping with the other. As such, the wedding would have to take place outside of England. Paris was decided upon, but Diana discovered the notice of the marriage would be posted up on the wall at the consulate, easy for prying eyes and journalists to discover – so in theory it was no better than a London registry office. Diana sought the advice of the Munich consul and she learned the procedure was much the same. Hitler stepped in and offered to order the Berlin registrar to keep the marriage quiet and, while she stayed at the Goebbels’ villa at Schwanenwerder, he helped her with the official forms. The wedding was arranged for October.

  Magda, now a devoted friend to Diana, promised to oversee everything from the purchasing of rings to hosting the wedding breakfast at Schwanenwerder. This pandering to Diana embittered Goebbels and he continued to address her as Mrs Guinness or ‘Ms Ginest’ – the spelling of her name varied depending on his temper – and this formality highlighted that he felt no friendliness towards her. He loathed the idea of the marriage – ‘that’s not all right with me’ – and he was livid that Hitler had a hand in such a thing. Whilst Goebbels sulked, Diana busied herself with shopping for her wedding outfit. And, as before with the Albert Hall and Olympia, she was absent for the most damning move of Mosley’s political career.

  On 4 October 1936, Mosley led the BU through the East End of London, home to a vast Jewish community and communist supporters. Independent Labourites and Jewish ex-servicemen marched in their own parade, escorted by a heavy throng of police, to repeated cries directed towards the fascists: ‘They shall not pass!’ Although Mosley obeyed the police, halting the parade and changing direction of the march at their command, it was a needless act used to provoke a reaction.

  One hundred thousand anti-fascists gathered, building roadblocks near the junction at Christian Street in a bid to prevent the BU from getting through. In an arrogant display of authority, Mosley arrived in an open-top Daimler to inspect his men and was almost the target of a missile, which narrowly missed him as he exited the car. A riot broke out. Lorries were overturned and bricks, stones and glass bottles were hurled through the air. Women in the doorway of their terraced houses threw rubbish, rotten vegetables and contents of chamber pots at Mosley and his fascist supporters, about 3,000 in total – clearly outnumbered by opponents who raised their fists in communist salute and shouted: ‘Kill Mosley!’

  It became known as The Battle of Cable Street and, to avoid bloodshed, Mosley agreed to abandon the march and his men were dispersed towards Hyde Park. The anti-fascists continued to riot, despite the 6,000 designated policemen sent to control the violence. A total of 150 demonstrators were arrested and 175 people were injured, including policemen, women and children. Of course, Mosley’s most loyal supporters, Diana and Baba, were unapologetic: it was the Jews and communists who created the disorder, certainly not Mosley.

  Mosley had, in fact, acted in accordance with the law and legally he could not be faulted. It still did not prevent parliament from passing the Public Order Act, prohibiting the wearing of Blackshirt uniforms and regalia, as well as giving the police the power to ban fascist marches. The most damaging clause lay in forcing movements like the BU to reveal the source of their funding. Accusing the government of ‘surrendering to red terror’, Mosley made comparisons to pre-Nazi Germany. He cited that Germany, when trying to suppress Hitler before he attained power, adopted the same tactics only to discover that the law aroused sympathy for, and interest in, the Nazi cause. Mosley was still confident he could convince a nation to follow his political ideology.

  With the world’s newspapers reporting on the movements of Hitler, the abdication crisis talks and the disgraceful fall of the BU, Mosley escaped to Germany.

  NOTE

  76 Reading Eagle, 9 December 1936.

  35

  A TOKEN GESTURE

  Unity had become Diana’s chosen confidant. Long past the days of confiding in Nancy, Diana had severed ties when her eldest sister carried out the treacherous act of mocking and writing about Mosley. Since moving to Germany and staying with Diana during her brief spell of living in Munich, the two sisters established a bond based on trust and their mutual admiration of fascism. Unlike Nancy, Unity did not criticise Diana’s devotion to Mosley, for she, too, had become involved with a married man.

  Janos Von Almasy’s introduction to Unity came through Tom Mitford who, in 1928, had stayed as a paying guest with the family of Janos. Descended from the Hungarian Counts Almasy, Janos played up to his role of a minor European aristoc
rat. At twenty-one years her senior, a ‘dashing Nazi’ and highly connected, it was the Nazi connection which Unity found attractive. He was married to Marie Esterhazy, the sister of Prince Esterhazy. His wheelchair-bound wife had been paralysed from the waist down by poliomyelitis in her childhood. It was a common rumour that Janos had married Marie for her enormous dowry and, since their marriage, they resided at Bernstein Castle in Austria. On his desk there was a skull wearing a Jewish yarmulke and a piece of polished serpentine, a soft gemstone from the castle’s quarry, chiselled with Hebrew lettering said to contain a curse.

  Unity had become a frequent guest at Bernstein Castle and together she and Janos holidayed in Venice, as had Diana and Mosley in the beginning of their affair. Described as dark and sinister looking, perhaps not unlike Mosley, Janos was an enthusiastic occultist, a keen astrologer and necromancer in the Wallenstein tradition. Mosley was also no stranger to the occult; one of his closest allies and spokesman on military matters, J.F.C Fuller, had been a disciple of Aleister Crowley, the libertine founder of the religious cult Ordo Templi Orientis (known by mainstream culture as OTO). Impressing Unity with his spiritual experiences, Janos charted Hitler’s horoscope, which he warned ‘portended catastrophes, collapse and death at his own hand’. Far from distracted by her romance with Janos, Hitler still remained the central protagonist in Unity’s life.

  Taking Unity into her confidence, Diana entrusted her with the most important secret of all: she and Mosley were to be married. The ceremony was shrouded in secrecy, but she cared little if the press learned of their union. However, Mosley was still desperate to keep the news from Irene and Baba. Having convinced her that discretion was key, he also made clear that it was under such circumstances that he would marry her. As always, she obeyed. But Diana ignored one of his rules when she told her parents, whom she felt would see him in a different light if they were no longer living in sin.* She also longed for a relationship with Deborah, who had been forbidden from visiting the Eatonry and Wootton because of their living arrangements.

  Hitler arranged everything; the marriage would take place on 6 October, just two days after Mosley’s disastrous march through Cable Street. It was a contrast to Diana’s wedding to Bryan, where every detail was overseen by her formidable mother-in-law, Lady Evelyn. Now, hidden in a bedroom in Berlin, Diana was carrying out what Bryan had declared as ‘sacred’ with the most calculated deception.

  But what of Bryan? In a non-conspicuous setting, he first met the woman who would become his second wife in 1925, a year before he had first set eyes on Diana. Echoing their initial meeting, he first caught a glimpse of Elisabeth Nelson, aged about 13, as she moved in a chattering crowd of young girls as they came in late to supper. He had been invited to the Nelson family home at Princes Gardens, Kensington, as the guest of Elisabeth’s older brother, Ronan. After an uneventful dinner, Ronan took Bryan rollerskating and he left without making the acquaintance of Elisabeth.

  In July 1936, Bryan met Elisabeth for the second time when they were both present at her cousin’s house. Elisabeth had just returned to England with her sister Biddy after a year of helping Ronan on the family’s ranch in Wyoming. The pattern of their courtship followed that of his early days with Diana. Elisabeth came to Biddesden and afterwards Bryan drove her to London, taking her to see Tchekhov’s Seagull. As he had done with Diana, Bryan fell in love with Elisabeth in the theatre; he felt ‘a sense of affinity’ to her, which had nothing to do with her physical looks. ‘I had indeed seen, admired and mutely loved others before my marriage to Diana, and I had less mutely admired others while recovering from the shattering experience of its breakup.’77

  Bryan had only seen Elisabeth three times before she set off on a drive down the Rhine to Salzburg, from where she sent him a postcard inviting him to stay at their family home in Argyll. With the thought of proposing to Elisabeth weighing heavily on his mind, Bryan went to St Martin-in-the-Fields to pray about his decision. Without warning, and before shyness overwhelmed him, Bryan proposed to Elisabeth whilst standing in a burn. They were married in a quiet ceremony at the Chelsea Registry Office on 21 September 1936. ‘A much better wife for him than I was,’ Diana modestly said.

  Standing in the bedroom window of the Goebbels’ Berlin home in Hermann Goeringstrasse, Diana strained to see through the bright autumnal sunlight and she spied a familiar figure striding across the park-like square. Emerging from the trees, she could see it was Hitler, closely followed by an adjutant carrying a box – her wedding present, a photograph of the Führer in a silver frame adorned with ‘AH’ and an eagle – and a bouquet of orchids. Filled with optimism, she confided to Unity that it was the happiest day of her life: ‘Everything was perfect.’78

  Dressed in a simple golden tunic draped over a long black skirt, Diana joined Mosley downstairs in the drawing room in front of Unity, Hitler, Magda and Goebbels. The ceremony was brief, with the registrar saying a few words in German, of which Mosley understood not one word. They exchanged rings and signed their names on the document. In a few minutes, the deed was done; it was cold, clinical and, most importantly, convenient. Hitler stepped forward and offered to look after the marriage certificate, promising to keep it in a drawer. It was the last time either Mosley or Diana would see it.*

  Afterwards, the party drove to Schwanenwerder, where the Goebbels gave a luncheon for twelve. Magda’s little girls, Helga and Hilde, with their bright-blonde hair and blue eyes – so much like Diana’s own sons – rushed in and out, presenting her with the flowers they picked in the garden. Diana wrote to Unity: ‘I could write forever about that part of the day …’

  The other part of the day did not evoke similar feelings of happiness in Diana. ‘I cannot describe,’ she confessed to Unity, how Mosley ‘spoiled the day for me’. The atmosphere had grown tense when Hitler dominated the conversation and Diana and Unity were clearly hanging on his every word. For someone who was used to being a type of führer in his own home, Mosley reacted with jealousy. He understood no German, Hitler did not speak English and, sensing Mosley’s displeasure, Diana tried to translate.

  When they were alone he argued that Hitler was no better than Ramsay MacDonald. Diana was furious with his comparison – she felt MacDonald a weak politician who ‘had a vanity that most found disturbing’ – and they quarrelled. The row made them late for dinner at the Reichskanzlier and it caused Diana further pain and embarrassment to keep Hitler, who had gone to so much trouble, waiting. Mosley’s ‘awful childish behaviour and the way in which he tried to say everything he could to wound’ her, had cast a dark cloud over the day. His viciousness was enough to shock Unity79 and she pitied Diana, who was known to cry easily at such displays of brutality.

  After a long day, the newlyweds retired to the Kaiserhof, where they argued again over the same issues. Diana displayed her anger through heavy silence and Mosley instigated a fight. Having exchanged bitter words, they went to bed in a dudgeon. Perhaps it was a premonition for what was yet to come.

  NOTES

  * Deborah was still forbidden to visit Diana because of the secretiveness of the marriage – to her parents it was equal to living in sin. Diana commented: ‘My darling Kit [Mosley] is more to me than all the visitors who are not allowed to come here.’

  * Diana and Mosley were remarried again in 1974 after Mosley needed the certificate to make a French will. Unable to locate their certificate from 1936, they remarried at the Caxton town hall.

  77 Potpourri from the Thirties, Bryan Guinness.

  78 ‘I felt everything was perfect.’ A letter from Diana to Unity, 7 October 1936, in The Mitfords: Letters between Six Sisters, Charlotte Mosley (ed.).

  79 ‘I do hope Kit [Mosley] is less nasty by now …’ A letter from Unity to Diana, 7 October 1936, in The Mitfords: Letters between Six Sisters, Charlotte Mosley (ed.).

  36

  LADY MOSLEY

  Mosley did not discriminate when he cast a veil of secrecy over his marriage to Diana; his own child
ren were also unaware and in the near future they would read about it, along with the general public, in a newspaper. Baba, too, learned of the marriage whilst glancing at a newspaper on the train to Paris and she inwardly seethed. Irene was in America when the news broke and when she returned to England to confront Mosley she possessed enough tolerance that it eventually brought out the best in her. Listening to Vivien’s unselfish views on the marriage and how Diana made Mosley happy, Irene agreed that her niece should continue to be loyal to her father. However, this mellowed composure broke when Irene sternly warned Mosley that he must never again betray his children’s trust.

  Hidden away at Wootton, Diana managed to keep her pregnancy a secret. It was an easy feat; Deborah was still prohibited from visiting her, Pamela had married Derek Jackson and was busy with her own life, and Jessica had been estranged from Diana since her elopement with Esmond Romilly. Following the publication of Wigs on the Green, Mosley banned Nancy from visiting the house and, exerting such an influence over Diana, she did not challenged his authority. She, too, agreed that there was ‘so much spite and disloyalty that I couldn’t really love her’. If she was lonely, she did not complain; the prospect of having Mosley’s child meant her ‘happiness was complete’.

  In November 1938, Diana gave birth to their son, Alexander. Afterwards she sat up in bed in the Grosvenor Road flat, looking out at the dark waters of the Thames with its distant wharves blanketed in snow, the remnants of a wintry storm that had swept through London. During her afternoon nap, the ‘stupid puritanical’ nurse took the baby from her side and placed his basket on the balcony outside. Awakening to the baby’s piercing cries, Diana feared the seagulls would swoop down and attack him. This fear, brushed off as irrational by the sinister nurse, consumed her waking thoughts and she willed herself to remain awake lest the baby’s freezing body should be carried off by the hungry scavengers.