Porchey tried to put a brave face on things, but he was very hurt by Tilly’s decision to go to the States. She assured him that she would be back in the spring, that she simply couldn’t face a damp cold British winter, but they both knew that the air of Arizona was more an expedient excuse than anything else.
She sailed for New York in late November. Porchey accompanied her to Southampton and stood on the dockside to wave her off. They had been married for not quite three months. He returned to Highclere to find several of Tilly’s unpaid bills, including a very sizeable one from Cartier. Judging from the stream of invoices that arrived from New York over the next few weeks, Tilly was in no hurry to leave the chill of that great city for the benefits of the Arizona desert.
It was a strange Christmas at Highclere that year. Porchey had been in downcast mood ever since Tilly’s departure and in mid-December he fell ill with a severe throat infection. On the advice of his doctor he went up to town to have his tonsils removed, but the operation was bungled and he haemorrhaged so severely that, briefly, there were fears for his life. Almina nursed him back to health and by 27 December he was well enough to return to Highclere with Eve and Bro, where they all spent a very quiet New Year. Tilly had finally made it to Tucson, Arizona, and did not rush back to support her husband.
Despite the family’s absence, the castle was full of activity. Another twenty-seven nursery schoolchildren and their accompanying staff had arrived at the beginning of December. Porchey left instructions that the usual entertainment for the village children should go ahead, and extra preparations must be made for the evacuees, who were spending their first Christmas away from home. On Christmas Day each child woke to find a stocking at the end of their bed stuffed with an orange, a ball, a chocolate doll, a penny, a small toy and some gums. The kitchen staff cooked a traditional lunch for the entire household and in the afternoon the nursery school assembled round the Christmas tree in the Library to receive a gift from Father Christmas, before singing ‘Away in a Manger’.
For many of the evacuees, the best gift of all arrived on Boxing Day, in the form of their parents. That must have been a day of raw emotions: delight in seeing each other; agony as the hour arrived for the visitors to board the train at Highclere Station and return to London. By Christmas 1939, after three months of relative calm, there was a widespread feeling that the evacuation of London had been overhasty. There were no bombs and, meanwhile, families were suffering from having to live apart. Many parents reclaimed their evacuee children and took them back to the city. Again, Highclere’s proximity to town and the consequent possibility of visits must have contributed to the fact that this didn’t happen to the Curzon Crescent children. They and their parents were spared the awful fate of some Londoners, who brought their children home only to see them killed in the Blitz that battered the city between September 1940 and May 1941.
Porchey faced 1940 in a miserable mood. In November of the previous year, when Tilly left, he had written to Leslie Hore-Belisha enquiring about jobs in America. Some part of him seems to have accepted that his wife was unlikely to return to England, at least for a while. When that scheme too drew a blank, he decided that going south to recuperate from his operation might be a good idea. He would think again about looking for a military role when he was feeling stronger. And perhaps Tilly could even be persuaded to join him on the Continent. At the end of January he set off for Genoa, with plans to go on to the south of France, and was overjoyed when Tilly confirmed that she would meet him in Italy. She couldn’t wait to see him, she promised. They could have a second honeymoon.
Tilly had spent the last two months enjoying herself. She was a tremendous hit as Lady Carnarvon, the subject of ‘much lorgnette-peering’, as one press cutting from her scrapbook puts it. She turned heads at the Ambassador Hotel in New York when she lunched there one day, appearing in a ‘hand-knitted pink baby bonnet that she ran up herself, combined with a purple tweed suit and a pink blouse.’ She was only outdone in outrageous ostentation by ‘Mrs Charles Laughton’s blue felt hat covered with British military and naval insignia picked out in gold.’
Tilly was certainly making the most of her new profile, but she was not completely self-interested, nor had she forgotten Highclere and the evacuees. She toured several states, dancing at gala dinners to raise funds for the British war effort, urging American ladies to knit socks and vests for British soldiers and telling her audiences all about the thirty young evacuees at Highclere (which the American press reported as ‘a hundred children at Newburg, England’). If this activity sounds frivolous, it should be remembered that at the time there was no support among the American public for the States to intervene in the war. The decisive event in favour of such an argument was of course the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor in December 1941, but by that time the tide of public opinion had already begun to turn, in part due to propaganda efforts such as Lady Carnarvon’s. Other friends of Porchey and Catherine also did their bit in this regard. Alfred Duff Cooper and his wife Diana undertook a four-month speaking tour, and Churchill later sent the Duke of Kent on a goodwill visit to President Roosevelt.
There’s no doubt that Italy and the south of France were infinitely more appealing to Tilly than Highclere, which partially explains her decision to meet her husband there when she had avoided having to come back to England at the time of his acute illness. But in her defence, the first few months of 1940 were the phoniest of the phoney war, at least in mainland Europe, so by March there seemed less reason to be fearful of imminent invasion than there had been in December. It seems extraordinary now that people should have been dashing around on holidays when Europe was at war. The appearance of calm wouldn’t last much longer.
Lord and Lady Carnarvon were reunited at Genoa and went on to Monte Carlo, where Tilly lost quite a lot of money in the casino. Porchey would have been happy to spend a quiet few weeks enjoying the sea air there. But Tilly was restless and began to suggest that it would soon be springtime in Paris, and they should not miss it. Eager to keep her happy, Porchey agreed.
Paris was a mixed success. Porchey thought that mostly it went quite well. They went to the races and had some amusing evenings with friends. But there were disquieting incidents as well. Tilly was furious when, leaning over the piano at which Noël Coward was playing, Porchey started to whistle along. She told him off for indulging himself in schoolboy tricks in the presence of the maestro. One morning Porchey forgot about her rule that he should not enter her bedroom without knocking first. He was walking in when Tilly spotted him in her dressing-table mirror and hurled a well-aimed heavy silver hairbrush at him. He ducked just in time as it cracked into the mahogany door and he hastily retreated, apologising.
The greatest proof of overall harmony, though, was that Tilly agreed to return to England with him. In late March the Carnarvons arrived back in London and headed for the Ritz as usual. Tilly’s efforts to secure an ADC post for Porchey in Paris had come to nothing and had only succeeded in finally rousing his temper. He felt it was time to return to Britain and resume his quest for something useful to do, and he must have pressed his case forcefully enough to overturn any doubts on her part.
To his delight, when he got back to town, he learned that Baron Amherst had just been transferred, and the job of adjutant to Colonel Breitmeyer was now his if he wanted it. Porchey was heading back to the Queen’s Own 7th Hussars and he couldn’t have been happier about it. Not even the little matter of having to live in rural Kent seems to have troubled him, though it must have troubled Tilly a great deal. Buoyed up by this change of fortunes, he was evidently in convincing mood, because he persuaded Tilly to accompany him and took a house for them close to the army base. It was also made plain to both Robert Taylor, his valet, and Jack Gibbins, first chauffeur, that they would be required to enlist. So with the Vauxhall car painted in camouflage, His Lordship’s brass bedsteads (the frame for his bed) and other summary comforts (including Monsieur Pascal, the chef) transported, Lo
rd and Lady Carnarvon set up house in Shorncliffe.
For the second time in his life, Porchey was taking a new bride to join his regiment. The trip to India with Catherine seventeen years previously must have seemed a lifetime away. Then there had been nothing more pressing on anyone’s minds than winning at polo. Now the 7th Hussars were awaiting an uncertain future. They were stationed in a highly strategic part of the country, close to France and vulnerable to any bombing raids or, whisper the unmentionable, any invading army. Their role was still undefined: for as long as there was no land battle, nobody had to resolve the question of what purpose a cavalry unit might serve in a modern war. So they waited, and Porchey settled into his new role. He provided administrative support to Colonel Breitmeyer; though he was kept busy with regimental business, there was no possibility of being overstretched. A deep shelter had been built below the officers’ mess for use during raids, but in the absence of any action, its chief attraction was that it had an extremely well-stocked bar.
Taylor and Gibbins spent much of their time in a battle of wits with the Regimental Sergeant Major. They were undergoing basic training and were not eligible for any leave, but they had worked out how to make up an official rubber stamp in Lord Carnarvon’s name, which they used to stamp their passes for a night here and there. They would return to Highclere to re-provision the wine stores and the chef’s supplies, as well as visit sweethearts and family. Robert and Joan were still courting, and in fact the war had made them think more seriously about their future together. Porchey turned a blind eye to these occasional jaunts. The Sergeant Major would be left red-faced and spluttering, yelling after them, ‘I’ll get you buggers in the end, I promise you!’ as the men slipped the leash once again.
The war wasn’t quite such a series of jolly japes for everyone, though. The Army was still in preparation mode but the Navy was already engaged, in the waters around Scandinavia. At the end of November 1939, Stalin’s Red Army had launched an invasion of neutral Finland, expecting a swift victory. Despite their superior fire- and manpower, the Soviets were hampered by the fact that Stalin had purged the Army of most of its experienced senior ranks. The Finnish Army, by contrast, was efficient and determined. The Finns held out for two months before they succumbed to the might of the Soviet machine. They concluded a peace treaty in March, but by that time, the effectiveness of the Red Army was in serious doubt.
Hitler took note of Soviet Russia’s vulnerability and the complete failure of Allied Supreme Command to come up with a coherent response to the invasion. Both things fed his confidence. By the spring of 1940 he had set his sights on Norway. The Allies too had planned to occupy the country, for the same reasons: its strategic importance in relation to the blockade that would prevent supplies from reaching Germany by sea, and its coalfields. There was a significant build-up of both German and British ships. The British Admiralty believed their superior power would prevent any invasion, but tensions were rising, nonetheless. So while Porchey and Tilly set up house in Kent and drank cocktails in the officers’ mess, Geoffrey was sent to Scotland to await imminent battle orders. For him and for Catherine, it was getting harder to ignore the threat lurking in the shadows.
Porchey began his relationship with the glamorous Tanis Montagu (neé Guinness) in 1934. She was beautiful, worldly and a fixture in Hollywood circles. They had a passionate but tempestuous romance.
Extract from a letter from Tanis, found in the Highclere archives.
Tanis’s rejection led to public humiliation for Porchey.
Although Lady Almina and Porchey’s relationship had been strained at times, Almina dropped everything to meet Porchey when he returned from his abortive trip to America.
Lord Porchester and his sister Lady Penelope on their ponies.
Porchey and his son, taken in 1938 when Henry was 14 years old.
Porchey described Robert Taylor as ‘the perfect butler’. Robert worked at Highclere for fifty years.
Highclere staff sewing in Catherine’s Rose Garden.
The Rolls-Royce Phantom III Porchey bought in 1937. The current Lord and Lady Carnarvon bought back the car and repainted it in the Carnarvon colours in 2012.
Lord Carnarvon was devoted to horses and was an excellent jockey until injury forced him out of the saddle.
King Edward VIII and Mrs Wallis Simpson in 1936. Porchey also attempted to persuade Edward not to abdicate, but in the end he chose Wallis over his throne. (Picture Acknowledgment i3.1)
Porchey was captivated by the Viennese ballet dancer Tilly Losch.
Tilly’s good looks and aristocratic title ensured many column inches.
With Adele Astaire.
Tilly dressed as the part of the angel in ‘Everyman’ at the Ambassadors Theatre 1935.
The Earl and Countess of Carnarvon (Tilly) with Lord Stanley of Alderley en route to the wedding of Randolph Churchill and Pamela Digby, October 4th 1939.
Jeanne Stuart was a successful actress and movie star, married very briefly to Sir Bernard Docker after which she dated the actor James Stewart. She spent much of the war at Highclere after Tilly departed to the USA.
(Picture Acknowledgment 15.1)
15
Blood, Toil, Tears and Sweat
Geoffrey was posted to Glasgow in February 1940. That winter was one of the harshest anyone could remember, and in Scotland the mood among rank and file naval personnel was one of hunkering down to the fight. The rest of the country might have been labouring under the delusion that nothing much was happening, but for Geoffrey and his colleagues, the rapidly concluding peace between Finland and Soviet Russia augured badly. They had received orders to prepare for action.
British and indeed Allied military strategy in the first few months of the war was based largely on the conviction that an effective economic blockade would quickly starve Germany into submission and that meanwhile the first priority was not to rush to attack (despite Churchill’s urging of a swift naval foray into the Baltic Sea to secure coal and iron deposits on which Germany depended), but to continue to rearm. Battles should be picked carefully, once the moment was right. Unfortunately, this eminently reasonable-sounding approach didn’t take into account the Axis powers’ willingness and ability to make numerous aggressive moves concurrently. That would come to cost the Axis dear in the long run, but it afforded them huge victories in the short term—victories that very nearly proved decisive. Norway was the first of the setbacks to overtake the Allies in 1940; the first of a series of miscalculations, losses and near-catastrophic lucky escapes that resulted in the fall of both British and French governments, the occupation of France and a rude awakening for the British people from their phoney war slumber.
Two weeks after his arrival in Glasgow, Geoffrey sent for Catherine to join him for a visit. She had only been there for four days when he received his orders. He was to take command of HMT Juniper, one of a newly commissioned class of trawler equipped with anti-aircraft and anti-submarine guns. He and his crew would be on patrol service. Catherine stayed for another week, as Geoffrey quietly set about getting to know his vessel and his men. Geoffrey had a gift for rallying people’s spirits and a calm presence of mind, and one imagines that he must have lavished reassurance on his wife. But the escalation in tensions would nonetheless have been difficult to bear, especially since they both knew that, once Catherine left him, there was no knowing when they would see each other again.
Catherine went to stay with her sister at Cumlodean House in Scotland on her return journey to the south. She was trying hard to be calm but struggling, and she needed comfort. Philippa did her best, assuring her older sister that all would be well, but she was unhappy herself, and also without her husband since Lord Galloway had been down in town for the last two weeks. Philippa never expected much news from him when he was staying at his club. ‘It’s probably better not to know,’ she explained sadly to Catherine. Philippa’s marriage was not a happy one and her difficulties made worse by the fact that her little boy
was not at all well. He suffered from epilepsy and his parents were at the end of their tether trying to find effective treatment. The Wendell sisters found some comfort in talking of family and their past. There was so little to enjoy in the present and so much to dread about the future.
Just six weeks after Catherine’s departure from her husband in Glasgow, Germany launched its amphibious invasion of Norway, on 9 April 1940, and achieved nearly all its objectives by the end of the first day. King Haakon II had refused to authorise a handover of power to the Nazis and had broadcast a defiant message to the nation; he and his government had then fled Oslo and retreated north, just ahead of the Germans, to Tromsø. The Norwegian resistance was brave but ultimately hopeless. Hitler now had commanding access to the North Sea and the perfect staging post to launch air strikes against Britain. The Allies were caught completely on the back foot.
The first naval battle of the war took place on 9 April off the west coast of Norway. The Luftwaffe sank the destroyer HMS Gurkha and damaged two cruisers and a battleship. There was initial disbelief among British naval command before they rallied sufficiently to retaliate the following day, at Narvik, where they destroyed nine German vessels. But Allied Supreme Command was completely taken aback by the German superiority in the air and, above all, by the success of the ground operation. An expeditionary force of British and French men was sent to fight alongside the Norwegians; but in reality the land battle had already been lost. On 26 April the War Cabinet ordered a withdrawal from most of the territory, leaving only a rump force in the north of the country.
Lady Catherine, the Earl, and the Real Downton Abbey Page 20
