Terence Towles Canote
5.0 out of 5 stars
These Great Ladies: Peeresses and Pariahs is a collection of
pen portraits of various women from British, 20th Century history. Some, such
as Margaret, Duchess of Argyll and author Joan Wyndham, are still somewhat
famous to this day. Others, such as Jean, Viscountess Massereene, have somewhat
faded into obscurity. Miss Spence writes of these women with a light tone,
while at the same time recognising the seriousness of much of the subject
matter (such as when dealing with the politics of the eras). What is more, she
treats each of these women sympathetically, recognising that they were human
beings who were both products of their times and their circumstances. I highly
recommended for anyone who is interested in British, 20th Century history, the
British aristocracy, or who simply enjoys reading about the lives of
fascinating women.
‘These Great Ladies: Peeresses and Pariahs’ reviewed
24 March 2017 Michael Seely
❉ Lyndsy Spence introduces us to
a truly fascinating group of Great Ladies.
‘Oh dear,’ said Evelyn Waugh of his society friends, ‘these
great ladies.’ In this book of pen portraits the reader is introduced to
obscure ladies who were society stars in their day. From the Churchills to the
Mitfords, British and European Royals, to international playboys and film
stars, these ladies knew everyone. And everyone knew them, for better or worse.
These Great Ladies, Peeresses and Pariahs is prolific
biographer Lyndsy Spence’s latest book. As with her most recent book, The
Mistress of Mayfair, she looks into the lives of unconventional and very
glamorous women who lived in the early part of the twentieth century, long
before their official permission to behave as badly as men, was granted. Most
of the characters detailed in this book were born into wealth and privilege,
and if they hadn’t, certainly married into it, which softened the rather expensive
errors of judgement they sometimes made, especially regarding their mates. Few
ever seemed to make successful love matches. They were famous for being
themselves.
So who are these eight people, whose description by Evelyn
Waugh gives the book its title? The first is my favourite, Margaret, Duchess of
Argyll, the grit in the pearl as Spence subtitles her.
The daughter of a self-made millionaire, whose early choice
of men included a suicidal drunkard who threw up in Cliveden House, a doomed
aviator, and had a secret abortion thanks to David Niven’s penis. Her father’s
background meant that her life was not as restricted as others from her wealth
set. Her youth coincided with the rise of fascism, the general strike and the
depression. When the second world war broke out in 1939, her control freak
Catholic husband wanted to take their children back to America but she wanted
to contribute towards the war effort. She would have been a pariah had she not,
a fate which befell the Mistress of Mayfair. Following an accident in a lift
shaft in 1943, she suddenly developed a desire for sex and since her husband
had been satisfying his own tastes, divorce soon came. Like every good
Catholic, he had hoped a good Mass would sort things out.
Margaret’s second marriage was to the Duke of Argyll, a
debt-fuelled drunken gambler, a fortune hunter who wanted to restore Argyll
castle to its former glory. That marriage did not last long. His antics in
setting up a divorce and the lengths he went to prove her adultery are quite
shocking. The trial was in 1963 – the year sexual intercourse famously began.
This is quite a story and deserves a full length biography, although Margaret
did pen her memoirs.
Mariga Guinness, well, that surname ought to ring a few
bells. Descended from German, her father was a member of the Nazi party to
pursue his career (he apologised when the war was lost) and her mother went mad
in Japan shortly before the war. An intellectual, she lived in post-war Oxford
where she married a scion of the Irish brewing family, and her mother-in-law
was now married to Sir Oswald Mosley, Britain’s answer to Hitler. Mariga was no
fascist, and had no time for the Mosleys. She had little time for socialists
too. Spence says she liked buildings more than people. She was certainly no
snob, and careful in her terminology: ‘travellers,’ not gypsies, and
traditional, not folk music.
Sylvia Ashley is the serial bride. Born into working class
stock, her looks soon took her into musical theatre, and she was determined to
become a star. For an important audition, she sung the National Anthem, aware
that the producer was an ardent monarchist. She courted the great and the good
and became a society star and she scandalised polite society by marrying an
earl. The marriage did not succeed and since she did not want to return to her
previous life, became the mistress to the elderly and legendary Douglas
Fairbanks whom she eventually married and outlived. As a wealthy widow, she now
fell for another titled and drunken gambler whom she married and supported and
quickly divorced. Clark Gable came next, who had recently been made a widow by
the death of Carole Lombard (whose recent biography is reviewed here). Again,
not a successful marriage, as she had great wealth and was not afraid to flaunt
it. She took her revenge within the divorce courts and Gable had to cough up
10% of his future income. She ended her life as an unhappy and childless
princess.
Joan Wyndham, born into a Victorian estate in Wiltshire,
also became seduced by the acting bug,since she had no intention to become a
debutante. Perhaps the most earthy of our eight, she liked to drink and swear
and fell into a promiscuous bohemian artistic set, although she was not easy to
seduce but the Blitz sorted that out.
Enid Lindeman an Australian who married a millionaire
shipping magnate. He died within the year and the rich widow unwisely settled
for an untitled cavalry officer who she hoped could manage her finances as they
lived the army life around the world. Husband number three died as well, so you
can where the rumours she bumped them off began. She spent part of the war
living in a suite at Claridges hotel with a former lover, the obese Viscount
Castlerosse, who appears in The Mistress of Mayfair. She did her bit for
Blighty working in a munitions factory as a welder but transferred the
equipment to her home from where she happily worked. She married Castlerosse
after his wife committed suicide, and then basically shagged him to death. Her
mother-in-law ordered her to abort their unborn baby, to which she agreed. She
was rumoured to have inadvertently bumped off New York department store owner
Donald Bloomingdale, to whom she gave a fatal dose of heroine. You really don’t
want her telephone number.
We’re back into politics with Venetia Montague, and a
fascinating tale of a rather complicated love triangle featuring British Prime
Minister Henry Asquith, his wife and daughter Violet. The evidence suggest they
were having an affair and may even have produced a child. Violet had been an
early boyfriend to Winston Churchill and did not take his eventual marriage
well. Asquith’s secretary, Edward Montagu was also after her too and eventually
they married, much to Asquith’s distress. To keep his inheritance, she had to
convert to Judaism.
Irene Curzon’s father was a viceroy of India during a time
of militant uprisings. Her father’s influence dominated her life well into
adulthood, especially when he wanted to tap into her income. They were
estranged when he died. She was thirty and left out of the will. Her
brother-in-law was Oswald Mosely, whose own treatment of his wife, her sister,
Irene held a grudge. She particularly hated Mosley’s lover, Diana Mitford. Here
we delve into the murky world of the British Union of Fascists. Irene was a
visitor at the 1936 Berlin Olympics and met Hitler, but she was disgusted by
what she saw. Mosley’s internment during the war must have pleased her
enormously.
Finally, Jean Massereene. A banker’s daughter, she is here
described as eccentric; in other words far from conventional. She wanted to
become a fashion icon, and features in a 1909 book called Britain’s Beautiful
Ladies, with a foreword written by Queen Alexandria! Her mode of dress was
considered scandalous, she did not wear a corset. She was also out-spoken about
politics, in particular the vexed issue of Home Rule for the Irish. She was
pro-union during the troubles, which lead to a potential assassination attempt
when her home at Antrim castle was set on fire.
As you can see, some of these lives are interlinked, it’s a
small world in some ways. Spence demonstrates just how far we have come in
certain attitudes, although I suspect that was not her motive here. There is a
helpful reading list at the end if you wish to find out more. Spence hopes to
give some of these lives full biographies in the future. So hurry up, Spence!
Montague and Margaret please!
If there is a moral from this entertaining book, it is simply don’t get married. Just take a
cheque. Wish I had.
Waugh and the Great Ladies
Posted on March 6, 2017 by Jeffrey Manley
Lyndsy Spence, founder of The Mitford Society and editor of
their annual collection of essays, articles and reviews (which recently
published its 4th volume) has also written a series of essays about
aristocratic women of the interwar period. This is entitled These Great Ladies:
Peeresses and Pariahs and consists of studies of eight examples, including
Margaret, Duchess of Argyll, Mariga Guinness, and Venetia Montagu. In her
introduction, Spence credits Evelyn Waugh for having provided the inspiration
for the book and its title:
When the stage adaptation of Evelyn Waugh’s Vile Bodies was
to appear in a London theatre, aristocratic women, young and old, scrambled for
tickets. Dedicated to Diana and Bryan Guinness, the book, when published in
1930, set high society ablaze. It was read by everyone, adored and vilified in
equal measures, and through time it has become a life enhancer. Likewise when
tickets were made available for the play, a socialite’s revolt took place.
Emerald Cunard got her manicured claws on one, but complained about the
location of her seating and about having to take Prince George to the
eighteenth row. ‘Old trout,’ snapped Waugh, ‘she’s only an American anyway.’ A
snob to his fingertips, even he was beyond forming a literary tease when
Emerald, formerly named Maud, needled him. And Doris Castlerosse, a wily,
willful courtesan known in lower echelons as Jessie Doris Delevingne, refused
to pay for her ticket. ‘Oh dear,’ Waugh appeared lost for words, ‘these great
ladies.’ Like Waugh, I am attracted to the glamour and artifice of their lives.
From an outsider’s perspective nothing infiltrated their exclusive worlds. But
dig a little deeper and one will find women with ordinary, universal problems
while living extraordinary lives. I was drawn to women who were stars in their
day but have fallen into obscurity, in the mainstream anyway. As such, I have
chosen women who not only dazzle me but who were pioneers on the social front,
albeit their fame for the sake of being famous or their social consciences.
However behind the scenes they were quite naughty and lived by their own rules.
The quotes are from Waugh’s letter to Dorothy Lygon, dated
16 April 1932 (Letters, pp. 61-62) as cited in John Howard Wilson, Evelyn
Waugh: A Literary Biography 1924-1966, p.92.
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