The Mad Boy, Lord Berners, My Grandmother, and Me

by Sofka Zinovieff

  The bride’s parents were there – Lady Fry in a marvellous hat, sitting on a sofa with a distracted look. No doubt she knew that Robert was Gerald’s ‘young man’; she certainly knew about being married to someone who liked young men. Sir Geoffrey, one of the witnesses, had a vaguely grumpy air. Gladys (Robert’s mother) was the other witness – a widow of seven months. Some of the younger guests look happier, including Lady Elizabeth Clyde (daughter of Gerry and Dottie Wellesley). There was a lot of champagne and, despite the war, Claridge’s still retained its art-deco glamour. Afterwards they all went off nightclubbing. There is no record of where the couple spent their first night, but it was probably back at the hotel.

  BRIDE AND GROOM LOOKING TENSE AT THE RECEPTION AT CLARIDGE’S

  Presumably Gerald was present, though the magazine article doesn’t mention him. Understandably, he was not happy. This time, the Mad Boy had taken things too far. Sexual freedom was all very well, but neither of the two bachelors were ‘the marrying sort’, as the old euphemism went. The discussions must have been fraught. Did Robert go over to Oxford to sit in Gerald’s dour parlour in St Giles’, trying to make sure Miss Alden didn’t overhear? Or were there heated arguments at Faringdon, away from American soldiers, gardeners and guests? Gerald definitely knew Jennifer – he had inscribed a copy of The Romance of a Nose to her a few months earlier and he had surely met her on her visits to Faringdon. But this development was unbelievable. And why the rush? Later, Robert would tell a friend that it had been Gerald who said, ‘You should marry Jennifer,’353 but this seems unlikely. Gerald’s view of marriage was a jaundiced one, and he satirised and mocked it in his novels. Years earlier, he had been asked the ingredients for a happy marriage and replied: ‘A long purse, infinite credulity, and no sense of humour, a combative nature and a stipulation that the man should be a man and the woman a woman – or vice versa!’354

  Jack Fox was then a seventeen-year-old, helping out at Faringdon before he went off to join the Navy in 1943. Small-built with foxy-red hair, he would later become the estate’s gamekeeper as well as a builder and stonemason. According to him, nobody among the staff knew about the wedding in advance. Jack always went rabbiting on a Saturday morning with Fred Shury and had gone over to help him pick vegetables before setting off with their guns. He found Robert’s loyal groom (and now general factotum) in a state of bewilderment. Robert had gone up to London the day before and had just rung up and announced, ‘I’m getting married this morning.’ Naturally, nobody would have suggested that marriage was out of the question for the Mad Boy – he might have been Gerald’s heir, but they were not viewed as lovers by the staff. Still, the secrecy was strange. Gerald and Robert’s friends were, understandably, astounded.

  Could it be that Robert and Jennifer had just decided to do something crazy? Was it a decision taken after too much champagne at the Gargoyle? Both were risk-takers in love and neither was having a ‘glorious war’. During these years, many couples had rushed to marry; men were leaving to fight and you never knew where the next bomb would land. But why such haste in this case? Jennifer appeared to have a boyfriend (what did Ian Lubbock have to say?) and Robert had a well-established partnership. Naturally, some pointed to the age-old trigger for shotgun weddings and it is possible that Jennifer knew she was in the very early stages of pregnancy. It is unknown whether or not she used contraception, but the Marie Stopes clinic did a roaring trade in Dutch caps, and there were also ‘things called Volpar Gels’.355 More significantly, abortions were available, particularly for those with money and contacts.

  When, a while after the wedding, Fred Shury noticed that Jennifer was pregnant, he commented, ‘I knew there must’ve been something.’ In the meantime, everyone was puzzled.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The Pram in the Hall

  T WAS NOT INEVITABLE that the newly-weds would live at Faringdon; Gerald’s tolerance had limits. He announced that they wouldn’t fit into Faringdon, what with the Americans, and that he had found them ‘a very nice nest’ nearby. If the farmer wanted a wife, then he could do the right thing and set himself up appropriately for all this burgeoning domesticity. But in the meantime, until all the arrangements were made, the couple moved into the main house.

  Jennifer must have been thankful to leave her flat in Beaumont Street; the heatwave had brought an infestation of mosquitoes to Oxford, so Faringdon, with its cool breezes gusting up from the Thames Valley, was particularly appealing. The bride was given a room on the southerly, more domestic side of the house, catching the morning sun and overlooking the lawns, where the sheep chewed the grass to a ragged thatch. Jennifer could look down on cars arriving at the front door, and across to the stone church, from whose carillon tower snippets of Bishop Heber’s hymns chimed through the day.

  There are no reports of what occurred during the first evening when Gerald, Robert and Jennifer had dinner at Faringdon together. And at breakfast? Gerald would have always been painfully polite. Or was there still breakfast in bed for ladies, in spite of wartime constraints? At this time of year there were magnolia flowers, large as creamy doves, ready to pluck from the curved walls flanking the house. Maybe Mrs Law continued the pre-war tradition and placed one of the headily-scented offerings on the tray before taking it upstairs.

  This was not the first time that Robert became sexually involved with a woman during his decade at Faringdon: there had been Maimie Lygon and Doris Castlerosse, to mention only two. But why get married? The dead hand of the law made it all so different. It is not known when Gerald was told about the pregnancy. He could never have imagined that he would test out Cyril Connolly’s adage ‘There is no more sombre enemy of good art than the pram in the hall.’ Yet here he was, in his sixtieth year, confronting the prospect of Faringdon’s airy entrance hall ringing out with the unfamiliar call of an infant, with its pram parked somewhere by the Victorian music boxes. But Gerald’s anger and fears rapidly dissipated. After all the misery and depression he had suffered at the start of the war, maybe this didn’t seem so tragic in comparison.

  The situation was probably helped by Jennifer, who was easy on the eye and amusing – two highly significant qualifications for success with Gerald. She was neither dominating nor demanding, but happy to fit in, almost as though she were a guest rather than a spouse. It had always suited Gerald to be surrounded by bad behaviour and he enjoyed a peripheral atmosphere of naughtiness and unconventionality, while sticking to his own serious routines. He continued to get up early, work at whatever was his current project and invite friends for meals and weekends. During the week he went back to Miss Alden’s lodgings in Oxford and left the Mad Boy and his bride to sort things out for themselves.

  Among the wedding presents was an appealingly child-sized seventeenth-century book, The Dictionary of Love, In Which Is Contained the Explanation of Most of the Terms Used in that Language, by John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester. It was given to the bride and groom by Jennifer’s old friend Glur and her husband, Peter Quennell. Their inscription now appears to be tempting fate: ‘To Darling Jennifer / Robert / Who need no instruction in this important and perplexing subject.’

  Sadly, it appeared that they did. No sooner had he married Jennifer than Robert changed. It was not that he didn’t care about her, but the realisation of what he had done threw him into a panic and he rejected his bride. Jennifer was utterly bewildered. She was aware of Robert’s complex sexuality, but had been confident that they would be able to make a success of their marriage. She assumed they would be lovers. His sudden angry coldness was shocking. She never forgot one night during what should have been their honeymoon, when she walked along the dark, blacked-out corridor from her room to his. The door was locked. She knocked, but he wouldn’t open it. Desperate and lonely, she wept and begged for him to let her in, banging the wooden panels, rattling the brass handle. His rejection seemed inexplicable. What had happened to the crazy Mad Boy, who had been so entertaining, fun-loving and sexy? The humiliation of retur
ning alone to her room was bitterly painful.

  Jennifer’s suffering made Robert withdraw even more – over-emotional women were not his territory. He didn’t have it in him to be a good husband, he later admitted. In fact he didn’t seem to have it in him to be any kind of husband. The prospect of a baby on the way only exacerbated his alarm. Until now, so much in Robert’s life had been a game, a quick dare or passed in the irresponsible haze of too many drinks. At school he didn’t give a damn, he had never committed to a regular job, army life had been undemanding and eventually shrugged off, and Gerald had let him get away with outrageously bad behaviour. Now a mad scheme had entrapped him in a situation that was only going to get much worse and was supposed to last until death.

  All three members of the household were damaged in one way or another, with wounds that went back to their childhoods, but Robert was by far the least self-reflective of the trio. Gerald had already written about the miseries of his early years and had spent time on the analyst’s couch discussing them. Jennifer was well aware of the disaster of her parents’ marriage and the effect on her of her father’s rejection. She had the language to discuss these matters and would later write about them when she had psychoanalysis. Robert, on the other hand, expressed himself physically rather than through words, by losing control, making love or risking his life in daredevil stunts. As soon as people came too close, he removed himself. And though he had settled with Gerald, their unlikely relationship only lasted because of the large degree of independence they allowed each other and their fine balance of domesticity with a lack of intimacy.

  CECIL BEATON’S PHOTOGRAPH OF JENNIFER, GERALD AND ROBERT IN GERALD’S WARTIME STUDY-BEDROOM. NOBODY LOOKS HAPPY, BUT AT LEAST GERALD IS BUSY WITH HIS BOOKS

  The staff at Faringdon welcomed Jennifer to her new home. It was bizarre that there was now a lady of the house, but if she was not quite Lady of the Manor, she brought a new feminine element to a place that had been created and dominated by men. Naturally, there had always been numerous female visitors, but this was something different – the start of a recognisable family. A young, beautiful couple, cocooned from the violence and horrors of the war, like Adam and Eve in a version of Eden. Jack Fox recalled first seeing Jennifer: ‘I never saw a woman with such a pretty face and a pretty figure. She was perfectly proportioned, like an hourglass. That summer, she’d lie out on a bed, sunbathing. She was brown as a berry.’356

  Friends were agog to witness the highly unorthodox ménage à trois. There is no record of public arguments between the newly-weds, but it is hard to imagine that Robert hid his mood successfully. Jennifer probably managed better. Some people were close to all the members of what had become rather an un-erotic triangle. Billa Harrod, for one, was delighted at having her three friends brought together in this way. She was very close to Jennifer (a mutual friend suggested that her adoration bordered on her being in love), but she also got on extremely well with Robert and Gerald.357 Billa had not approved of Ian Lubbock, and was notoriously forthright about these things. How marvellous, then, to be able to have them all under one roof at one of the loveliest houses she knew, and where she playfully signed herself into the visitors’ book as ‘Turkish’ (in reference to John Betjeman’s affectionate nickname, ‘my Turkish Delight’). Now the mother of two young sons – Henry and Dominick – Billa encouraged Jennifer in her pregnancy; the baby would have two ready playmates. Other friends also came from Oxford, including Maurice Bowra. The growling-voiced, sharp-witted don didn’t often appreciate feminine charms and he certainly didn’t suffer fools, but he liked the Mad Boy’s bride and was kind to her.

  Another local friend who was charmed by Jennifer was the roguish queen of fashion and elegant indulgence, Daisy Fellowes. She often drove over, inevitably drawn by the intrigue at Faringdon, as well as by her affection for Gerald. She was also able to catch up with Winnie de Polignac, the beloved aunt who had brought her up. But for Daisy, it was not only her aunt who beckoned, but the American soldiers. ‘Never have I seen her in such glamorous looks,’ wrote Diana Cooper to her husband, Duff, after meeting Daisy at the Dorchester. ‘The women were startled, the men looked avidly. She adores Compton Beauchamp – Oxford and Gerald within reach and an amorous American group to strengthen her morale.’358

  Clarissa continued as a regular guest at Faringdon but didn’t have much time for Jennifer or Robert. She was younger than both, but they seemed immature social butterflies compared to her and her overworked colleagues at the Foreign Office. ‘I couldn’t hang around having a lovely time during the war,’ she said.359 Jennifer felt this resentment coming from Gerald’s special friend. ‘Clarissa probably thought Jennifer silly; Clarissa was so busy not being silly,’ remembered a mutual friend. Jennifer and Clarissa did have certain things in common, however. They both had a penchant for homosexual men – something that continued throughout their lives. However, Jennifer’s voluptuous femininity was in obvious contrast to Clarissa’s almost austere seriousness. While Jennifer dressed in beautifully made frocks and heels, Clarissa’s favourite outfit was a manly trouser suit.

  By the end of the year, Robert was ill and Jennifer’s figure was swelling by the day. The prospective mother wrote to Alathea, who had closed up Oare House and moved with Geoffrey to Portmeirion, the Welsh resort designed by Clough Williams-Ellis. Alathea had sent another generous cheque to her daughter, who gives a good impression of the situation at Faringdon, without letting on that she and Robert are miserable.

  Faringdon, Dec 30th [1942]

  My darling Mummy,

  How sweet of you to give me such a tremendous New Year’s present.You are an angel though I really don’t think you ought to – but thank you, my darling, a million times –

  How are you feeling and are you sleeping better? Don’t worry about my clothes as I gave up that belt months ago, and now anyway would never be able to get into it! And I have a nice little red coat which looks quite pretty and keeps me warm – not that I need it here as the house is beautifully central heated except today, the coldest day of the winter on which the Americans have chosen to run out of coal. Very tiresome but we have electric fires so it’s quite warm.

  Poor Robert is in bed with jaundice and as yellow as a tea rose, as you used to say to me when I had it! He isn’t nearly as bad as I was, I’m glad to say, but is a wicked patient and won’t do as he’s told and will send for Bovril when I’m not looking – his mother is staying here so she helps to keep him in order.

  I’m sorry you’d read The Narrow Street. Wouldn’t you like to change it? Nancy Rodd [Mitford], who works at H.[eywood] Hill would change it any time.

  Will you really be in London in January? It will be lovely to see you again. I do miss you darling, and hope this time you will be better and we will be able to go to plays together.

  Take care of yourself, darling, and don’t get cold in this wretched weather. And all wishes for a Happy New Year from Robert and me.

  Best love

  From Jennifer

  Best love to Daddy

  As Jennifer waited out the last period of her pregnancy, numerous friends came to stay at Faringdon. There were old stalwarts like Coote Lygon (now a flight officer in the WAAFs, specialising in photographic interpretation) and Violet Trefusis, who put her nationality in the visitors’ book as ‘Bogus Aryan’. The most incongruous guest at the dining table was Pixie, Jennifer’s beloved old governess and lifelong ally. She surely brought warmth and encouragement at a time when the baby’s imminent arrival was making Jennifer very anxious. It was one thing to be a beautiful, suntanned bride in the summer, and quite another to be heavy with child during the dull, icy days of winter. It is tempting to speculate on the topics of conversation at mealtimes between Gerald and Pixie; two more different characters could scarcely be imagined. Robert laughed, scornful at needing one’s nanny at such an advanced age, and would later enjoy recounting inaccurate or scurrilous stories about the pious, ageing spinster.

  Pixie was not
the only special guest that February. Prim, Jennifer’s childhood friend from Oare, had had her first child three months earlier and came to stay with her husband, who happened to be one of England’s most glamorous actors, David Niven, and the only British star in Hollywood to return to join up. Having given up romantic leads in films, he lived out a real one instead. Spotting Prim dressed in the powder-blue uniform of a WAAF at the Café de Paris, he fell for her and the couple married within two weeks – nuptials arranged as rapidly as the Heber-Percys’. Prim’s fair ‘flower-like beauty’ could well have suited a screen role as the patient girl-next-door who gets her man in the end; Jennifer’s darker, more provocative looks would surely have her cast as the girl who gets in trouble. David Niven loved Primmie’s great kindness (‘She was incapable of saying an unkind word’360), but he craved thrills. Leaving the Rifle Brigade for more action with the Commandos, he joined the Army Film Unit, where in 1942 he starred as an RAF squadron leader in The First of the Few, and later, in 1944, appeared in The Way Ahead. Prim had meanwhile left the RAF and taken up war work building Hurricane fighters in Slough, but she gave that up and moved to London when she became pregnant with her first child. When David Jr was born, the infant was visited by stars such as Laurence Olivier, John Mills and Noël Coward, who as godfather gave him a silver cocktail shaker inscribed ‘Because, my Godson dear, I rather / Think you’ll turn out like your father.’

  If Jennifer and Prim went back a long way, to lessons with Pixie in the attic at Oare and walks on the chalky Downs, David and Robert also shared youthful memories. Both had attended Stowe in the mid-1920s, when the school had just been founded and there were relatively few pupils. So they remembered each other as adolescents, though they had not been close. It is easy to imagine the two handsome Old Stoics drinking cocktails by the fire and recreating their headmaster, J. F. Roxburgh’s, rich, honeyed tone of voice that had fascinated them as pupils. Niven remembered him with great affection, particularly for the attitude he showed to Nessie, the exquisite seventeen-year-old London prostitute (a self-proclaimed ‘’ore with an ‘eart of fuckin’ gold’) whom the young Niven had loved from the virginal age of fourteen, and whom he had invited to visit him for picnics in the school grounds. On one such occasion, Nessie insisted on meeting the famous J.F. (‘Look, dear, ’e’ll never know I’m an ’ore. ’E’ll think I’m yer bleedin’ aunt or somefing . . .’) The suave headmaster showed no dismay at the unusual school visitor, and finished their discussion by saying, ‘David is very lucky to have such a charming visitor.’361