by Mary Soames
Papa dined alone with Uncle Jo—and he told me this morning that everything had passed off very agreeably.
Please give my fondest love to all the family,
Tender love and kisses darling from your
Mary
P. S. Beatrice [Eden] arrived last night and I’ve just paid her a visit.
POTSDAM
21 JULY 1945
My darling Mummie,
On Thursday (July the 19th) Papa worked in bed all morning, and lunched alone still ‘digesting’ Conference papers.
I asked Donald Colquhoun to lunch with all of us, and in the afternoon he and a brother officer took me to swim in a most romantic lake about ten miles from Berlin. It is surrounded by pinewoods, and strewn with water lilies, and it is deliciously warm, and mysteriously deep. After dinner I attended a sort of party, and got involved in an orgy of toasts with 2 Russian generals. Meantime, while the A.D.C. (local, acting and temporary) was gambolling among water lilies and frisking with Bears—the Conference proceeded with its usual intensity.
On Friday Papa had Mr. James Byrnes‖ and the Prof. to lunch. Poor Prof, I’m afraid he is not very comfortable—he has to share a bathroom with someone else.
This afternoon Beatrice [Eden] and I sallied forth with a very good interpreter and a Russian escort to tour in great detail the wreckage of Berlin. The Russian was a Capt. Kotikoff—who announced that he had accompanied you throughout your tour—that he loved it—that you were a wild success … This was an excellent start to our afternoon—and throughout our peregrinations he was charming—easy and very kind. We clambered over ruins, and gathered an extraordinary collection of souvenirs until half past six, when we came home and refreshed ourselves with drinks.
Just before dinner Anthony came dashing over (he and Beatrice were invited anyway) and went up to Papa. It was to tell him that Simon’s aircraft had been found and everyone in it was dead.
Anthony and Beatrice both came to dinner nevertheless, and dined on the balcony with Papa and Lord Moran [and myself]. I have never seen two people behave with such noble dignity.
To-day, Saturday, there was the great victory parade. It was a thrilling, moving sight. Afterwards Monty and Alex and Admiral Kinga came to lunch.
In the afternoon Beatrice and I, again accompanied by that good looking and delightful Captain K. and Mr Morrow our nice interpreter, set off on a mammoth sightseeing tour of the royal palaces at Potsdam. It was very enjoyable, and there were very good guides and not jostling crowds—so we saw a lot.
… To-night Papa dined chez Uncle J. Beatrice and I Anthony’s two P.P.S.s had dinner in the delegation mess. Beatrice has been so nice to me—I am devoted to her and I think she is such an unusual and lovely creature.
Darling Mummie, your letter arrived to-day and I was so glad to hear from you …
Fondest love and kisses from your devoted
Mary
POTSDAM
24 JULY [1945]
Darling Mummie,
The whole of yesterday was coloured by the prospect of the great party in the evening. ‘Cranky’b was wonderful, and took immense trouble—a special table was constructed to get the necessary number of guests in.
Papa entertained the Chiefs of Staff and Anthony to luncheon. As soon as they’d finished—Cranky—Tommy—Mr. Pinfield—a horde of furniture movers and myself descended like a swarm of locusts on the rooms and a scene of disorder and scramble ensued, which I can leave to your imagination.
I had undertaken (very nervously) to arrange the flowers—and for most of the afternoon I sat amid a heap of rather sodden wind blown sickly-pink hydrangeas, and wondered what I could possibly do with them. However eventually I sorted something out. Then I rushed like a whirlwind through the reception room, casting out furniture—banishing statues, and trying to remember what you always say about chairs ‘talking’ to each other.
When Papa said ‘Have you got a pretty dress here?’ and I said ‘Yes I had.’ ‘Go and put it on’, said Papa.
So, I wore my printed crepe de chine, and clanked with your lovely aquamarines. At last the guests started to arrive, all our Chiefs of Staff and Field Marshals and of course American and Russian opposite numbers—then a fleet of cars swooped up and out skipped Uncle Joe attended by a cloud of minions, (the house had already been surrounded and laid siege to an hour earlier by what appeared to be half the Red Army).
Uncle J. wore the most fetching white cloth mess jacket blazing with insignia. Close on his heels the President arrived, having walked from his house.
When they all went in to dinner I went off and dined at the mess with the private office. Afterwards we returned through cordons of G. Men and Ogpu,c and I slipped into the dining room (on Papa’s instructions) and sat on a stool behind his chair, and this was lovely because I heard many of the toasts, and was able to watch the proceedings from a very good vantage point. The party appeared to be a wild success—and presently Uncle Joe leapt up and went round the room autograph hunting! The evening broke up at about midnight in a general atmosphere of whoopee and goodwill.
Tomorrow I shall be home. I long to see you darling Mummie …
But the person I’ve really lost my heart to is ‘Alex’—who is quite definitely my fav’rite Field Marshal. Moreover he is one of the few people I fell for when I was 17, who have stood the stern test of time, increasing discrimination and the decreasing vulnerability of my sentiments!
Tender love and kisses from the Conference kitten
Mary
THE POTSDAM CONFERENCE was not due to end until 2 August, but on the afternoon of 25 July my father, I, and his immediate entourage flew home, as the results of the general election would be announced the following day.
On Friday, 27 July, I wrote up my diary account of the preceding two days—dramatic days for the country politically; dramatic and painful days for my father and all of our close-knit circle of family, colleagues, and friends.
I am writing in the sitting room of the annexe—it is just before dinner. Mummie is with Papa. There is an atmosphere of finality throughout the flat—the Private Office dark and untenanted—an unusual feeling of unhaste and quiet—for after all there is no hurry now—no decisions—no meetings—no minutes—no telegrams.
I will try to recount accurately and calmly the crashing events of the last 2 days.
I will try, if only as a mental exercise, to keep my recital of these hours, which to Papa and those who love him, have brought a bitter and overwhelming defeat, I will try and keep this account beyond the sway of my emotions, and free from any trace of the tears, which seem to spring unbidden to my eyes.
On Wednesday 25th July, Papa conferred in the morning and we all met at the airfield at one o’clock. We had an uneventful flight home. I think we were all feeling soberly confident that Papa would return on the 27th having a workable majority. This view was supported and indeed chiefly derived from the reliable estimates of both big parties. Our farewells at Potsdam were therefore light hearted and of a very ‘au revoir’ nature. Little did we then guess what lay within the sealed ballot boxes.
Mummie was at the airfield. Papa on his return proceeded straight to work. R came to dinner and then caught the night train to Preston [his constituency in Lancashire]. He was very confident. Duncan & Diana came in after dinner—they were both gloomy—D. was certain he was ‘out’. Robin [Maugham] whisked me off to Michael Parish’s house—friends there v. confident.
THURSDAY 26TH JULY 1945
Felt v. excited when I woke up. At breakfast M told me Papa was suddenly feeling low about the results, and feared a stalemate perhaps. M & I drove down to the constituency (Woodford) and were admitted to the court. Here the first inkling of a setback occurred. Mr Hancock—a crackpot and non-representative polled 10,000, and early reports from London showed 44 Labour gains to 1 Conservative gain. We drove home rather silently and went to the Map Room, where all had been prepared to record and tabulate the results. On our way we met a glo
omy Jock [Colville] with black looks ‘It is a complete debacle’ he said ‘like 1906’.d We went in—Papa, David Margessone
and Brendan [Bracken] and the results rolling in—Labour gain, Labour gain, Labour gain.
It was now one o’clock and already it was quite certain we were defeated. I watched Papa taking it in—grasping defeat—savouring the humiliation. Every minute brought news of more friends out—Randolph, Bob [Boothby], Brendan out—Anthony [Eden] in—Fitzroy [Maclean] in—Leo Amery out—Ralph Assheton out. Duncan out.
Hot tears came and had to be hidden. Everyone looked grave and dazed.
We lunched in Stygian gloom—David Margesson, Brendan, Uncle Jack … Sarah arrived looking beautiful and distressed. We both choked our way through lunch. M maintained an inflexible morale. Papa—what can I say? Papa struggled to accept this terrible blow—this unforeseen landslide. Brendan and David looked unhappy.
But not for one moment in this awful day did Papa flinch or waver. ‘It is the will of the people’—robust—controlled—the day wore very slowly on—with more resounding defeats. All of the Staff and all our other friends looked stunned and miserable.
Papa spent the afternoon watching the results—M went to rest. I wandered from the sitting room to the Private Office—from the kitchen (where Mrs Landemare moved unhappily among her saucepans) to the Map Room and then back again. Finally I could bear it no longer and went for a long purposeless walk. It was a relief to feel the sun on my face and the wind in my hair to walk rapidly through the streets.
Back in the annexe Robin rang me up.
Dinner—Uncle Jack (so thin and ill looking),f Venetia (battered by her illness but such a kind and supporting friend), Duncan, Diana, Sarah looking aggressively beautiful—Brendan and Anthony. Papa was in courageous spirits—Mummie riding the storm with unflinching demeanour—Sarah only a little less brave. Diana pale but philosophic—I am ashamed to say I think, I of them all, was the least composed. But I struggled—I truly did. But I could not gaze at Papa or talk to his devoted friends without feeling overwhelmed with sadness.
After all but Brendan and Duncan had gone away Robin came to see me bringing with him Michael Parish. When Papa came from the dining room he sat down and talked to them. His stature seems to grow with every hour of this bitter personal calamity. He talked to us of the new government ‘give them a chance … let’s see what they can do … Only this—let them try to tamper with the Constitution and we will be at their throats—But now is your chance (to Robin and Michael) keep in touch—keep alert—you are our hope …’ Sombre—noble words and witty ones too.
Papa: ‘… I’ve thrown the reins on the horse’s neck.’
Michael: ‘… but you won the race.’
Papa: ‘And in consequence I’ve been warned off the turf’.
And then the future—his future—painting—writing—He looked at the picture he did at Hendaye. And presently he went off to discuss with Brendan.
Of course—at 7 he’d been to the Palace and laid down his burden taken up in darker days.
Robin and Michael swept me off to the purple, soothing gloom of the Orchid Room. Here were Toby and Miles Hillyard all grieved and shocked at the defeat—all sweet and comforting to me.
God, what a long, long day. I felt stunned, numbed, incapable of thought or action—dried up even of prayers.
FRIDAY 27 JULY
In many ways Friday was worse than Thursday. Cares and anxieties and the tedium of moving descended in their full force on M. Papa woke up to no boxes—no cabinet. Letters began pouring in—sweet—consoling friendly letters. Expressing love and indignation and loyalty.
Randolph arrived from Preston and is even now on the search for a seat. We both went and had drinks at the Ritz with Ally [Alastair Forbes]—Lunch—Randolph—Judy.
M for first time looks tired and shattered—but she set to work with Hambone. Judy & I spent the afternoon together—saw Hugh Fraser he is IN—Met Ronnie and swept him off to give us tea at Gunters. It was rather a relief to giggle freely—Had drinks with Robin—Robin Sinclair, Kate Mary and Bobby [Bruce]—Jane Forbes—the Hillyards and Ally. Dined alone with M & P. A sad dinner on the whole. Papa said ‘Yesterday seems years ago’. I thought so too—the days seem endless. After dinner Robin and the Hillyards came and I went off to Jane’s flat—We sat in the cool darkness of the garden. But conversation was only an inquest—my resolve for complete calm and dignity was broken once or twice—Home too late—too tired and too sad.
On the following day I returned to my diary:
SATURDAY 28TH JULY 1945
Visited Holding Unit and fixed to return next Wednesday—Bought two pairs of cami-knickers to try and boost my morale. Letters and messages continue to pour in—Mummie and Miss J beetled off to an Aid to Russia tennis match. I remained with Papa. He talked to Jack—and then we went over to the garden at No. 10, Papa read the papers in the friendly quiet of the Cabinet room, and then we sat in the sunshine in the garden looking at the lovely herbaceous border and watching white butterflies flirting with the flowers.
While Papa perused the evening papers I sat and thought of the times we’d lunched or dined en famille in the garden—thought of the Old Admiralty House days, and then our move—and scenes and people drifted through my mind.
This morning Mummie had Leslie [Rowan] and then John [Peck] in for sherry and to say adieu—for they were both off to Potsdam with the Prime Minister. It was for us both a painful farewell—very little was said, but I know Mummie was deeply moved and I think they are sorry too.
Papa and I went about half past four to see the house at Hyde Park Gate.g It is charming and he has fallen for it. We paddled round and I felt he was visualising his life there—and even finding it agreeable.
Back at the Annexe—and then to tea with Diana. She and Duncan are lending their flat in Westminster Gardens to M & P until such time as a house is ready.
M returned from Wimbledon and we all repaired to Chequers for the weekend.
LAST WEEKEND AT CHEQUERS
The party is—Uncle Jack, Tommy, Jock. Papa seemed fairly cheerful all through dinner. M went to bed. We all saw newsreels of the beginning of the Conference and Ike’s documentary film ‘The True Glory’. As we came downstairs I noticed Papa looked very gloomy—he said to me ‘This is where I miss the news—no work—nothing to do …’ It was an agonising spectacle to watch this giant among men—equipped with every faculty of mind and spirit wound to the tightest pitch—walking unhappily round and round unable to employ his great energy and boundless gifts—nursing in his heart a grief and disillusion I can only guess at.
This was the worst moment so far—unavailingly we played Gilbert & Sullivan—but finally French and American marches struck a helpful note—‘Run Rabbit Run’ raised great attention & ‘The Wizard of Oz’ was a request number. Finally at 2 he was soothed enough to feel sleepy and want his bed. We all escorted him upstairs.
Dear Sgt Davies (Inspector Hughes & Sgt. Green left him sorrowfully this morning) had waited up—O darling Papa—I love you so, so much and it breaks my heart to be able to do so little. I went to bed feeling very tired and dead inside me.
On 29 July my diary continued the account of that last Chequers weekend. I noted that Jock and I went to church but “I could not concentrate.” The Prof came to luncheon, along with Mr. Pennruddock, the Secretary of the Chequers Trust.
After lunch Jock and I walked for the last time to Beacon Hill and looked at the beautiful English landscape. We talked much of Papa. Duncan & Mummie were playing croquet. Mr White (the Rector of Ellesborough) came to tea to say goodbye, & later Mrs Randag (wife of the Dutch born farmer who was the Chequers’ tenant) and about 6 of her brood visited us. Randolph, Gil Winant, Sarah, Diana all arrived & we were all outside on the sunlit lawn. I played hectically with the children who are very sweet. Mr Bevir (Private Secretary) and Brendan [Bracken] also arrived.
We sat down 15 to dinner. Papa seems almost gay again. Awful
film. Afterwards I’ve left them. Sarah is playing records for Papa. It has been a peaceful evening—Randolph was pleasant and quiet and has twirled Sarah and me round waltzing.
Gil is sweet and sympathetic. Jock is sense and loyalty, intelligence and good company personified.
We’ve all signed on one page of that memorable visitors’ book where you can follow the plots and stratagems of the war from the names there.
Papa has signed at the bottom of the page and beneath his name has written ‘Finis’.
BACK IN LONDON my parents visited other flats, but the 28 Hyde Park Gate house seemed more and more the solution to their house hunting. Later that Monday, my diary records,
Papa and I drove down to Chartwell. When we arrived he went straight off for a tour of inspection of the house, the rose and water gardens and the lakes. Papa said how lovely the overgrown gardens are—‘… like the Sleeping Beauty’. It is lovely and peaceful beyond all words. A flood of memories came rushing to my mind with every step we took.
At half past nine Nana [who was cooking for us just now] gave us and Mrs Hill a delicious dinner.
I sat with Papa till midnight—alone … He said I was ‘sweet and valiant’—indeed I will try to be … Then we remembered this time last week—his ‘banquet’ [at Potsdam]. He said this had been the longest week in his life. It has been so in my life too. Only a week—only a week. It is difficult to grasp. I was feeling so very tired when I went to bed.
Pending their move into Duncan and Diana’s flat my parents were perching (as I put it in my diary) “in film-starry luxury in Claridges penthouse apartment.” On the last night of my leave I went with them to see Noël Coward’s Private Lives:
