Kick

by Paula Byrne

  The Duke wanted the Archbishop of Canterbury to give a blessing. The Archbishop wrote to the Catholic Bishop to ask if they might both say a few words of blessing. The Catholic Bishop declined. Joe Jr wrote, ‘the Duke’s idea on this is that it would lift the marriage from a purely civil ceremony to something which would have the blessing of God’.18

  Young Joe persuaded the lawyers not to force Kick to sign papers agreeing that the children should be brought up as Anglicans, though the Duke had wanted her to do so. Joe met up with the Duke at the Colonial Office, where he was Under-Secretary of State (i.e. a junior minister). Joe described him as ‘a shy old bird’ who was ‘as jittery as an old duck’. The conversation was strained, but the Duke wanted the Kennedy family to know that they had not put pressure on Kick to become an Anglican. The Duke told Joe that he had asked Kick to convert to the Church of England as it would make more sense for the family, but Kick had refused to do so. He also explained that he wanted the Archbishop to give a blessing as it would make his wife feel so much better. Joe thought this a bad idea, and they agreed to let Kick make the final decision.

  Kick wrote that her brother exemplified great ‘moral courage’ and ‘once he felt that a step was right for me, he never faltered’. She knew that Rose was capable of blaming Joe for supporting her decision and she was always deeply grateful for his strength in standing up to the formidable matriarch: ‘in every way he was the perfect brother doing, according to his own light, the best for his sister with the hope that in the end it would be the best for his family’.19

  Meanwhile, Tony Rosslyn made a last-minute intervention. He was in close contact with Joe Kennedy and had been keeping him informed. Tony took Kick out for dinner. They had always had a pact that if either of them were to marry, they would tell the other. It was a tense and unpleasant meeting. She told him she was engaged and was getting married. Tony was shocked and distraught and spoke frankly to Kick about the mistake she was making. ‘I’m afraid she got rather angry with me,’ he told Joe. Tony asked Kick to clarify her feelings towards Richard Wood, and then asked her about her religion and where she stood in relation to Billy’s Anglicanism. Kick told him that the decision she had reached was her own secret. Tony begged her, with the imminence of the Second Front, to wait for a while, and then she would be sure of her feelings for Billy. Kick said that if she had even one week with Billy then she would be happy. She told Tony that she was fated to be Billy’s wife, that she had felt this way for six years, that she loved him and that if you wanted something badly enough, you were sure to get it.20

  Tony was not the only one to think that Kick was acting hastily because of the war. Evelyn Waugh thought it was ‘second front nerves’ that were driving her to commit this ‘mortal sin’. He made no bones about her ‘apostasy’.21

  On 3 May, Kick sent a rather terse letter to her parents. She seemed firm and resolved and not quite so compliant. Rose had been lashing out at everyone she thought was unduly influencing Kick, and Marie Bruce was the chief target. Kick was distressed by the telegrams that were being fired across the Atlantic: ‘Marie Bruce is most upset about your cable. She has been more than kind. Please do not be angry with her.’ Her letter was short and her sentences pithy and stiff by her usual loving standards: ‘You have both been so wonderful to me all my life – given me every advantage and whatever I have or am stems from you both. Many thanks . . . Please try and understand and pray that everything will be all right in time. I’m sure it will be . . . Billy is so pleased and so kind. It would delight your heart to see how solicitous he is . . . Joe comes tomorrow. He is a great strength.’22

  Frantically, the Kennedys asked Archbishop Spellman to make one last intervention on 4 May, the day the engagement was announced. Spellman contacted Archbishop William Godfrey, who saw Kick and begged her to postpone the wedding on behalf of her greatly distressed mother. ‘Effort in vain,’ he cabled Spellman. Kick cabled back to her father the night before her wedding day: ‘Religion everything to us both will always live according to Catholic teaching. Praying that time will heal all wounds . . . please beseech mother not to worry am very happy and quite convinced have taken right step.’23

  Rose, defeated and broken, checked herself into New England Baptist Hospital in Boston for a ‘routine physical checkup’. She refused to give an interview, saying only to reporters: ‘I’m sorry but I don’t feel physically well enough to grant an interview now. I’m sorry it has to be this way.’24

  42

  ‘I Love You More Than Anything in the World’

  The greatest gesture for Anglo-American relations since the Atlantic Charter.

  Life magazine1

  6 May 1944.

  Kick Kennedy, pale and thin, dressed herself with care at the home of Marie Bruce. It should have been the most spectacular wedding of the year: the heir to Chatsworth marrying the daughter of the former American Ambassador. For a well-heeled Catholic girl, the day of her wedding should have been the most important of her life. There should have been a dress made from yards and yards of white satin, a train and a long, long veil. There should have been hundreds of guests, including prominent members of the Roman Catholic world; Kick’s parents were on close terms with archbishops, and the Pope had received them in a private audience on the occasion of his coronation, which they had attended as official representatives of all the Catholics in America. There should have been a full nuptial mass, hymns and a choir and glorious flower arrangements, wedding photos galore, all her sisters (except Rosemary) as bridesmaids, her little brothers as pageboys, her father proudly walking her down the aisle and Rose Kennedy as mother of the bride. As it was, Rose was in hospital and Joe, for the first time in his life, had gone completely quiet.

  If Kick had converted to Anglicanism, she could have been married in even more lavish style by the Archbishop of Canterbury. Even in wartime, the marriage of the future Duke of Devonshire, the heir to Chatsworth, would have been the society wedding of the year.

  Instead, it was a short ceremony at the redbrick Chelsea Register Office.

  Marie Bruce was more than a mother to Kick. It was she who organized the wedding dress. Clubbing together the clothes coupons of everyone who was willing (even the milkman contributed), they had bought pale pink crepe fabric, and the best fitter in London had copied one of Kick’s plain black American dresses. In February, Billy had given Kick a beautiful square-cut sapphire ring set with diamonds either side for her birthday, and in the haste they decided to use it as a wedding ring.

  Kick fastened aquamarine clips to her simple dress: ‘Couldn’t have been prettier’.2 She wore a half-hat made of two very pale pink and one pale blue ostrich feathers, with a pale pink veil. She carried Marie Bruce’s gold mesh bag with sapphires and diamonds (her ‘something old and something new’). The Duke had sent Kick a basket of pink camellias from Chatsworth that morning, and she carried a small posy.

  The press had picked up on the story but Kick refused to give interviews and kept the door to Mrs Bruce’s house firmly closed. On the morning of the wedding, Joe Jr picked up Lady Astor, Marie Bruce and Kick. They got lost on the way and, when they arrived, were met by a crowd of press photographers and spectators. The Duke and Duchess and Billy were already present, and Kick’s small party waded through a throng of reporters to get to the room where the ceremony was performed.

  Although the wedding invitations had been sent out only the day before, people came to support Billy and Kick; some were illustrious, such as society hostesses Lady Cunard and Laura Corrigan, but Kick had also invited porters from the Club (‘needless to say they all showed up’). She invited thirty of the Red Cross girls, and was amused when one of the guests said that she had heard the Kennedy girl had a lot of sisters, but not that many. Billy’s sister Anne was just fourteen, and she adored Kick, describing her on the day as a ‘shining light of gaiety and pleasure and enthusiasm. She was absolutely nonpareil.’3

  Charles Manners, Duke of Rutland, was Billy’s bes
t man. Joe and the Duke were the two witnesses. Joe reported that the whole thing took ten minutes: ‘Kick looked very pretty, and she repeated her statement without a falter. I think I was more nervous than she.’4 Billy, dressed in his army uniform, looked radiantly happy.

  The reception was held at Lord Hambledon’s house in Eaton Square. Marie Bruce bribed the head waiter at Claridge’s to make an ‘enormous chocolate cake’ (the ration was one egg per person per week). Kick reported that ‘the Dukie-Wookie supplied the champagne’.5 She loved ‘every minute’ of her reception party, and especially the strange mix of people. She observed a few GIs, tipsy on champagne, chatting with Lady Cunard, ‘who looked more terrifying than ever’.6 An American sergeant came up to Billy and said, ‘Listen, you dog [sic] damn limey, you’ve got the best god damn girl that America could produce.’7

  Young Joe reported back to the family that the couple received some beautiful presents, and that ‘everyone seemed delighted’. Marie Bruce had given Kick exquisite Porthault lingerie from Paris, the Duke and Duchess a diamond bracelet. Mrs Biddle gave her a Cartier ruby and sapphire clip. Her close friends Boofy and Fiona gave her a gold, diamond and pearl brooch. And Billy himself gave her an ‘enormous old diamond clip’ which Kick said she wouldn’t wear until after the war – ‘but it really is absolutely lovely’, she told Rose, knowing how much her mother loved jewels.8

  Kick’s going-away outfit was a red coat over a pink and white print dress; her hat was made of white gardenias. She and Billy set off for a honeymoon at Compton Place by the sea on the south coast. On the wedding ring that Billy placed on her finger were inscribed the words, ‘I love you more than anything in the world’.

  The minute the wedding ceremonies were over, young Joe sent a cable to the family: ‘EVERYTHING WONDERFUL DON’T WORRY SHE IS VERY HAPPY WISH YOU COULD HAVE BEEN HERE.’9 He promised to follow up with a long, descriptive letter. Marie Bruce and Nancy Astor, deeply worried about Rose’s reaction, also sent a joint missive: ‘DEAREST ROSE YOU WOULD REJOICE IN THEIR YOUNG HAPPINESS ONLY GRIEF YOUR SORROW KATHLEEN LOOKED LOVELY PALE PINK.’10

  There was no response. The next day, young Joe had had enough and cabled a terse message to his parents: ‘THE POWER OF SILENCE IS GREAT.’ The ex-Ambassador finally took the hint and cabled Kick. She had heard that Rose was ill in hospital: ‘MOST DISTRESSED ABOUT MOTHER PLEASE TELL HER NOT TO WORRY YOUR CABLE MADE MY HAPPIEST DAY.’11 In the meantime, young Joe sent his letter to the family describing the wedding day.

  Photographs had been taken by the press, including one of Joe: ‘I saw no point in looking extremely grim throughout so I looked as if I enjoyed it.’ Joe warmed especially to the Duchess: ‘I like her very much. She is the one who is so much in favour of it.’ He reassured the family as best he could: ‘Billy is crazy about Kick, and I know they are very much in love . . . I think he is ideal for Kick.’ He told them of his pride in her conduct: ‘Kick handled herself like a champion.’

  Joe was worried about the press coverage in America: ‘I suppose Boston went wild.’ He tried his utmost to reassure his mother that he hadn’t unduly influenced Kick, and that her soul was safe: ‘As far as Kick’s soul is concerned, I wish I had half her chance of seeing the pearly gates.’ Joe knew that the gossip in Catholic circles that Kick had married out of the faith was hard for Rose to bear: ‘As far as what people will say, the hell with them. I think we can all take it. It will be hardest on Mother, and I do know how you feel Mother, but I do think it will be alright.’12

  Joe had hit on the nub of the matter when he talked about Kick’s soul. As a devout Roman Catholic, Rose truly believed that Kick was damned and would go to Hell. It was a view shared by the devout Catholic Evelyn Waugh, who had also told Kick that her soul was in mortal danger and that her ‘apostasy’ was a ‘grave sin’. In the weeks following the marriage, Kick would be sent furious letters by irate Catholics telling her that she had sold her soul for a title. ‘They don’t bother me a bit,’ she said. Billy answered every one of them, calmly and courteously.

  Just a couple of days into her honeymoon, Kick took the trouble to write a letter to her ‘Dearest Mother’, telling her that she was sick with worry as the newspapers had reported that Rose was ‘very ill’. ‘They made out that it was because of my marriage. Goodness mother – I owe so much to you and Daddy that nothing in the world could have made me go against your will.’13 She was keen to emphasize her understanding of her mother’s position: ‘Please don’t take any responsibility for an action which you think bad (and I do not). You did everything in your power to stop it. You did your duty as a Roman Catholic mother. You have not failed. There was nothing lacking in my religious education.’ She also stressed yet again that she had not given up her faith: ‘it is most precious to me. Billy wants it to remain as such.’ She told Rose that until the time when her marriage could be made valid by way of a special dispensation, she would continue ‘praying and living like a Roman Catholic and hoping. Please please do the same.’14

  Kick begged Rose not to blame Mrs Bruce: ‘Marie Bruce saved my life. She took full charge of buying me what little trousseau I had . . . I can’t tell you how generous and kind most people were.’ She admonished Rose, ‘Marie feels very badly about being in your bad graces, as she loves you more than anyone else in the world. Please do write to her and make it all right as she was only doing what she thought right.’15

  Billy’s sister felt that Kick was perfectly at peace with her decision. Kick deeply valued all the support she was getting in England: ‘I never realized how many friends I had in this country (some of them are just impressed but most of them are genuinely pleased).’16

  Jack, still recuperating from his adventure in the South Pacific, was unimpressed by his mother’s coldness. He thought it was a coup for his little sister to marry into such a family, and bag England’s most eligible bachelor. He wrote to ever-devoted Lem: ‘Your plaintive howl at not being let in on Kathleen’s nuptials reached me this morning . . . You might as well take it in your stride and as sister Eunice from the depth of her Catholic wrath so truly said, “It’s a horrible thing – but it will be nice visiting her after the war, so we might as well face it.”’17 Jack added, with his usual wit: ‘At family dinners at the Cape, when you don’t pass Hartington the muffins, we’ll know how you feel.’18

  Joe Kennedy wrote to Lord Beaverbrook on 24 May: ‘She was the apple of my eye and I feel the loss because I won’t have her near me all the time, but I’m sure she’s going to be wonderfully happy and I can assure you that England is getting a great girl.’19

  43

  The Marchioness of Hartington

  This Book is the PRIVATE PROPERTY of Billy & Kick . . . Much has been written. Much has been said. I’m going to write down all the things that we shall ever know.

  Kick Kennedy1

  The weather in Eastbourne was wonderful. After the turmoil of the previous six months, Billy and Kick were badly in need of a rest. Kick sunbathed and turned as ‘brown as a berry’.2 It was a time of perfect happiness, marred only by Rose’s silence. Kick had not felt so well since returning from America to England.

  Once the honeymoon was over, Billy was to go back to the army, and Kick to the Hans Crescent Club. She told her mother that she intended to live with Marie Bruce while Billy was away. The night of her wedding, Kick started a new diary, calling it the joint diary of Billy and Kick, and getting her new husband to contribute. She wrote down her impressions of the wedding day, and reflected on the curiously successful mixture of Billy’s ‘ultra-conservative relations’ and her American friends from the Red Cross.

  Billy wrote down their plans to go to Eton for 4 June (the school’s special annual celebration). He teased Kick by mirror-writing jokes and limericks. ‘He thinks he’s made a joke! He just doesn’t begin to know how lucky he is,’ she wrote.3

  From Compton Place, they went to Hatfield to see Billy’s grandmother, and Kick enjoyed chatting to his uncle, Lord Robert Cecil, finding h
im ‘wonderful to listen to’. She told her parents that ‘all the old relatives and servants continue to give me the eye, but now I feel I can stand anything’.4 The press were more indulgent. Vogue did a feature on Kick, and the editor of Life wanted to write a piece about the marriage between Billy and Kick as ‘The greatest gesture for Anglo-American relations since the Atlantic Charter’: that idea greatly appealed to her.5

  Kick and Billy took rooms in the Swan Hotel near to where Billy was stationed. She painted a wonderful word picture of her life as a new war bride, joking that it wasn’t to be compared with her father’s set-up at the Waldorf, ‘but as I have often said it takes all sorts of experience to make life worthwhile’. Billy had a motorbike to ride back and forth from the hotel to his camp, and Kick had her bicycle.

  Billy wrote a tender love letter from his barracks, ‘to my own darling’, telling Kick that the last week had been the ‘most perfect week of my life, and has no blemish of any kind’. He was only sorry that it had gone so quickly. He told her that he missed her terribly, and was feeling sorry for himself in this dump, but, now that he had her, nothing else mattered to him. He told her that he ‘loved her so much, more and more every day, and it is Hell being separated from you’.6

  Kick was beginning to realize what it was to be the wife of a marquess, and was rather amused by the deference shown by the hotel’s bellboy (also an Irish Kennedy called Tom) who ‘rushed headlong into our room’ saying ‘Good Morning Marquis, good morning Marchioness’. It was a ‘preview of things to come’. He dashed around opening doors, pulling out chairs, ‘in fact never let us alone’. The hotel was run by an Irish couple, and she noted that what they lacked in efficiency, they more than made up with in kindness: ‘The whole place obviously loves a Lord.’7