Sarah Millicent Hermione Touchet-Jesson, Baroness
Audley (née Spencer-Churchill; 7 October 1914 – 24 September 1982) was a British actress and dancer
known for being the daughter of Winston Churchill, who was Prime Minister from
1940 to 1945 and from 1951 to 1955.
Sarah Churchill was born in London, the second daughter of
Winston Churchill, later Prime Minister from 1940 to 1945 and again from 1951
to 1955, and Clementine Churchill, later Baroness Spencer-Churchill; she was
the third of the couple's five children and was named after Sir Winston's
ancestor, Sarah Churchill, Duchess of Marlborough. She was educated at Notting
Hill High School as a day girl and later at North Foreland Lodge as a boarder.
Personal
life
Churchill
married three times:
Vic Oliver,
born as Victor Oliver von Samek, a popular comedian and musician (1936–1945)
(divorced)
Anthony
Beauchamp (1949–1957) (widowed)
Thomas
Percy Henry Touchet-Jesson, 23rd Baron Audley (1962–1963) (widowed)
It has been
both stated and confirmed by multiple sources,[who?] including Sarah
Churchill's sister, Lady Soames, that Winston and Clementine Churchill neither
liked nor approved of Sarah's first two husbands. Towards the end of her
marriage to Vic Oliver, she began an affair with the American ambassador to
Britain, John Winant; it is believed the failure of the relationship
contributed to the depression that led to Winant's suicide in 1947. Only
Sarah's third marriage to Lord Audley (the love of her life, it was said) was
greeted with warm approval by both parents.
In numerous
books about the Churchill family, it is said that Clementine (despite her
disapproval) managed to be polite to both Vic Oliver and Anthony Beauchamp
after Sarah had married them, but Winston Churchill remained rather cold and
hostile toward both, considering them to be self-centred, superficial types who
ultimately did not make his beloved Sarah either happy or fulfilled. Sarah's
marriage to Beauchamp in America in 1949 came as a shock to her parents since
they had neither been introduced to Beauchamp nor informed of the forthcoming
marriage. Despite her stubborn rebellion against the expectations of both
parents, Sarah reportedly felt guilty about this for the rest of her life,
since she had craved her father's approval in most matters.[citation needed]
In 1964
Sarah became romantically involved with African-American émigré jazz singer and
painter Lobo Nocho, and there were reports that the two might marry. Her father
was also believed to have disapproved of this relationship. Churchill appeared
in a London revival of Shaw’s Pygmalion in the 1950s, but drinking had become a
problem. She was arrested for making a scene in the street on a number of
occasions and even spent a short spell on remand in Holloway Prison. She wrote
frankly about this in her 1981 autobiography Keep on Dancing.
Death and
interment
Sarah
Churchill died on 24 September 1982 at the age of 67. She is buried with her
parents and three of her siblings at St Martin's Church, Bladon, near
Woodstock, Oxfordshire.
Diana Spencer-Churchill (11 July 1909 – 20 October
1963) was the eldest
daughter of British statesman Sir Winston Churchill and Clementine Churchill,
Baroness Spencer-Churchill.
She
attended Notting Hill High School and then the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art,
where she spent five terms, although her focus was not on acting. On 12
December 1932, she married John Milner Bailey (15 June 1900 East Grinstead – 13
February 1946 Cape Town, South Africa), who became the Bailey baronet Sir John
Milner Bailey, 2nd Bt, but the marriage was unsuccessful and they divorced in
1935. On 16 September 1935, she married the Conservative politician Duncan
Sandys (later life peer Lord Duncan-Sandys). After they had had three children,
that marriage also ended, and they were divorced in 1960.
On 11 April
1962, her name was legally changed back to Diana Churchill.
Diana had
several nervous breakdowns. In 1962, she began working with the Samaritans, an
organisation created for the prevention of suicide. In 1963, she died, aged 54,
from an overdose of barbiturates. A coroner later concluded that the death was
a suicide. She is buried with her parents (who both outlived her) and siblings
at St Martin's Church, Bladon, near Woodstock, Oxfordshire.
Winston Churchill’s Brilliant but Troubled Son,
Randolph
Was he bipolar? Evidence suggests Randolph suffered
behavioral ills.
Thomas
Maier
Uncovering
Great Minds
Posted Oct
30, 2014
After World
War II, Randolph Churchill, Winston’s only son, still believed his destiny was
to become prime minister, and that the name Churchill alone would carry the
day, regardless of the mounting evidence against his chances.
Many had
predicted greatness for young Churchill a decade earlier, when he boldly
displayed his gifts as a public speaker which seemed more impressive than his
famous father. “He used all the colorful rhetoric and manners of Winston
Churchill,” rhapsodized The New York Times about one of Randolph’s early
speeches. “Except that he was more restrained in his speech than his impetuous
father, the young Mr. Churchill showed conclusively he was a chip off the old
block.”
Randolph
shared these high expectations of himself. “I am not afraid to reveal ... my
two main ambitions,” Randolph declared in 1932. “I wish to make an immense
fortune and to be Prime Minister.”
Despite his
braggadocio and overt confidence, however, Randolph appeared tired and much
older after the war. At age 34, his smooth blond hair had begun to thin and
gray, and his overweight body was still recovering from his wartime injuries.
Unlike with his father, the election in 1945 had left him without a seat in the
House of Commons and suddenly looking for a job.
In the
past, Randolph had relied on writing, particularly for newspapers, just as his
father had used journalism to earn some cash and promote his views in between
political posts. But Randolph, caught in the maelstrom of divorce and a
shortage of funds, returned to another, easier way to make money. Near the end
of 1946, he traveled to America to give lectures, hoping to repeat his
successful speaking tour from the early 1930s.
Americans
still tended to view Randolph as the heir apparent, the next Churchill to
assume power, unlike many in Britain with less regard for him. “It was perhaps
just as well that America existed for Randolph,” remarked his cousin Anita
Leslie. “It was such a large country to jaunt around in giving lectures—and
Randolph remained excellent on the platform if not in private life.”
On the
lecture trail, Randolph kept himself amused at night by excessive drinking and
boorish gestures to women. “Britishly drunk all the time, soliciting
respectable women at luncheon parties, etc.,” author Evelyn Waugh (“Brideshead
Revisited”) complained to his agent after meeting his friend Randolph in
Hollywood.
Randolph’s
penchant for rapid mood changes—a sudden, almost violent intensity in his
speech, followed by a period of mildness seeking forgiveness—suggested problems
beyond alcohol abuse. Only Kay Halle, who’d known him since his golden-haired
youth, seemed to recognize a deeper cause in Randolph’s psyche.
To Halle,
Randolph confided that “he could feel whenever an illogical tantrum was going
to overwhelm him." She didn’t seem to consider this “illogical tantrum” a
symptom of mental illness. Instead, Randolph described to Halle, “a physical
sensation that arose from the earth” and left him feeling out of control.
“If I can
stop it before it reaches my knees I will be all right,” Randolph explained to
Halle, his longtime friend, “but once it gets above them a black fog envelops
me and I just don’t care what I say.”
Randolph
Churchill’s behavior displayed signs of bipolar disorder (then called manic
depression) as defined in today’s medical literature: very elevated emotional
highs with racing thoughts and talkative outbursts followed by remorseful
“black fogs” and feelings of worthlessness; irritable moods and little temper
control; impulsive decisions and spending sprees; binge drinking and
overeating; compulsively seeking sex with many different partners; and a false
overestimation of self-importance.
In
retrospect, Lady Juliet Townsend, Randolph’s goddaughter, said many of these
symptoms were evident in his demeanor though never diagnosed professionally.
“He certainly was a person who was very up and down,” she recalled in 2012,
“and got more down than up as time went on.”
His
contemporaries, including Waugh, dismissed these problems as part of Randolph’s
eccentricity or buffoonery, without regard for a deeper cause. “Randolph’s
friendships were not very close friendships because he was so wild—people
didn’t like to get too close to him,” recalled Adrian Berry, grandson of
newspaper baron Lord Camrose. “My uncle Freddie [Birkenhead] regarded Randolph
in slightly comic terms, not a person whom he’d confide in.”
Neither Clementine
nor Winston was much for psychological analysis, and none of their
correspondence about Randolph’s behavior suggests it. Perhaps the nagging sense
of a family link (that his son’s erratic nature too closely resembled that of
his late father) was too uncomfortable for Winston to consider.
Even Halle
seemed ill-equipped to deal adequately with Randolph’s raw admission. “Kay
tried to train him to check this crazy creeping temper at the ankle stage,”
Leslie described. “But it was no good.” Kay’s well-intentioned but amateur
methods—as if his “crazy creeping temper” could be put on a leash—were no match
for the “illogical tantrums” that continued to haunt his existence.
Across
America, Randolph’s bad-boy antics were followed by gossip rather than political
columnists. In December 1946, he was arrested for reckless driving after
addressing a women’s club in Connecticut. Rather than hire a lawyer, he
unwisely conducted his own defense. He argued that his 80-mile-an-hour speed
along the Merritt Parkway wasn’t necessarily “reckless” because the highway was
“one of the safest in the world.” The judge failed to see his logic and fined
him 50 dollars.
Back in
England, the verdict was even harsher. Both his parents, Winston and
Clementine, could no longer hide their disappointment in him and his adolescent
behavior. Randolph’s acts of genuine heroism during the war, his insightful
advice as Winston’s eyes and ears in other nations, and the deaths of friends
and colleagues in battle had somehow failed to mature him or season his
judgment.
In his
wake, all he seemed to leave behind were unpaid bills and a broken marriage,
with a 6-year-old son who barely knew him. Unlike Winston at this same age, who
spoke of life’s brevity after his father’s death, Randolph acted as if the
party would never end.
Upon his
son’s return to England, Winston let it be known he didn’t care to see him, an
emotional wound Randolph could not bear. In February 1947, Randolph composed a
heartfelt letter admitting his faults and acknowledging his father’s
disappointment in him.
“As you
know the only career in which I am seriously interested is politics,” he said.
“While fully realizing that I have made my full share of mistakes I believe
also that circumstances have not so far been propitious. But I am still young
and fortune may yet come my way.”
Randolph
conceded he should have become a lawyer, just as Winston suggested, but needed
to work as a journalist to pay his debts. What he could not afford emotionally,
though, was the estrangement of his father.
“Please
don’t expect too much of me now,” Randolph beseeched. “Believe instead, I beg
you, that I have no other ambition than to be ultimately judged an honorable
and faithful son. No day passes but that you are constantly in my thoughts and
I am grateful that you think so often of me. Give me your confidence and I
shall not fail you.”
Girl who grew up with giants: Stalin, Chaplin,
Lawrence of Arabia - she met them all. The extraordinary life of Churchill’s
youngest daughter
By JANE
FRYER FOR THE DAILY MAIL
PUBLISHED:
01:35, 2 June 2014 | UPDATED: 14:33, 2 June 2014
Right up
until her recent brief illness, Mary Soames would finish every meal by
reclining in her favourite armchair beneath a photograph of her father, Sir
Winston Churchill, close her eyes and spark up a vast, Churchillian-sized
cigar.
And,
presumably, allow herself the occasional reflection on a truly extraordinary
life.
Not many
people spend their formative years living at Chequers and in both No 10 and 11
Downing Street, meet Stalin (or, indeed, remember him in their diary as ‘small,
dapper and rather twinkly’), Harry Truman, wheelchair-bound Franklin D.
Roosevelt (‘tremendous, extraordinary — he looked so powerful you almost
thought he was going to get up and walk’) and pop downstairs before bedtime to
find Lawrence of Arabia (or Aircraftman Shaw, as he was known to the family)
with his ‘amazing, piercing blue eyes’ in the drawing room.
Lady Soames
— who died on Saturday, aged 91 — was
the fifth and last surviving child of Sir Winston Churchill and his wife
Clementine.
She always
maintained she was ‘not intended — a child of consolation’.
Her birth
followed the sudden death in 1921 of her sister Marigold, aged just
two-and-a-half, from tonsillitis. The illness was contracted while her mother
was staying with the Duke and Duchess of Westminster in Cheshire and spotted so
late by the then nanny that there was nothing Clementine could do but watch
helplessly and weep.
With three
much older siblings and a mother deep in grief, Mary was raised by a new,
strict but wonderful nanny she called ‘Nana’.
Mary was
not like other children. At the age of five she already spoke, wrote Winston,
‘in the tone and style of a woman of 30’.
By her own
admission, she was ‘the most awful spoilt little brat, very precocious, because
I lived almost entirely with grown-ups’.
Even
without the steady stream of very important people turning up for dinner — the
artist Walter Sickert, War Minister Duff Cooper (‘he and papa would shout at
each other and have frightful political ding-dongs, though they were on the
same side’), Max Beaverbrook, the brilliant Oxford scientist Lord Cherwell,
Noel Coward, the Prince of Wales (later Edward VIII), Charlie Chaplin (Mary was
allowed to stay up late to watch him perform) — it was an odd household.
Her older
siblings — Diana, 13 when Mary was born, Randolph, 11 (horribly spoiled by
Winston to compensate for his own father’s cold neglect), and Sarah, eight —
were a tight, unhappy gang who had already seen off a number of unkind nannies,
including one who filled all the nursery chocolates with mustard because she
thought one of the children had taken one without asking.
Meanwhile,
their mother, Clementine — about whom Mary wrote a highly acclaimed biography —
was the product of a desperately insecure, fatherless childhood. Clementine was
neurotic, highly strung and depressive.
Then there
was Winston. According to Mary, he was ‘frightfully noisy when he lost his
temper’, and would recite the works of the Whig historian Thomas Macaulay or
Byron at the dinner table.
He took up
so much of her mother’s attention that Clementine ‘didn’t participate’ in her
children’s early lives at all.
‘He always
came first, second and third,’ said Mary. ‘But I honestly never felt
neglected.’
Winston was
also fantastically extravagant. Particularly when it came to Chartwell, the
80-acre Kent estate he’d bought at auction for £5,000 on the day Mary was born,
against Clementine’s wishes and behind her back.
There was
no enormous pot of money to dip into — the whole family relied for most of
their income on Winston writing historical books and newspaper and magazine
articles.
This meant
that, with 17 servants, building projects and Winston’s combined champagne,
port and cigar bills equalling all other household expenditure put together —
he once grudgingly proposed to cut his cigar intake to four a day — tensions
were often high.
‘There
would be great harouches when you’d be shouted at for not turning the lights
off,’ said Mary.
Meanwhile,
she flourished. She did well in her school certificate and, a week later, war
broke out, Chartwell was shut up and she was moved to Admiralty House, then
Downing Street and Chequers.
Between
1939 and 1941, Mary worked for the Red Cross and the Women’s Voluntary Service.
And then
one day she overheard a conversation at No. 10 between her father the Prime
Minister and General Pile, the commander-in-chief of the anti-aircraft forces,
about the lack of men available for the anti-aircraft batteries and how they’d
have to use women.
Instantly,
Mary rushed off to join the Auxilliary Territorial Service, where she served
until 1946, working up through the ranks to junior commander in charge of 230
women, shooting down flying bombs and serving in London, Belgium and Germany.
She adored
it. She worked hard and played harder.
‘Our lives
were guided by the pleasure principle. Whatever terrible things were happening,
there were parties every night,’ she said.
Mary was an
attractive girl and love bloomed in that ‘very jolly atmosphere’. An early
eight-week engagement to Eric, Lord Duncannon, was squashed by her parents, who
worried she was too young.
She then
fell for an ‘excruciatingly dull’ American officer called Ed Conkin, and a
panicking Winston intervened: ‘Now don’t you go marrying that young man.’
Mary was
close to her father, or ‘the Dove’ as she called him. They’d go to the theatre
together, dine at The Savoy and she’d watch with ‘breathless pride and
apprehension’ as he addressed the Commons.
She
accompanied him as his aide-de-camp on several overseas trips.
She was at
his side at the Potsdam Conference in 1945 where she arranged the table settings
for Churchill’s dinner with Harry S Truman and Josef Stalin.
She was
‘stunned, numbed, incapable of thought’ when he lost the 1945 general election.
That night she wrote in her diary: ‘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 . . .” ’
The
following day, she had clearly gained her composure and added: ‘Bought two
pairs of cami knickers to try to boost my morale.’
After the
adrenaline highs and extraordinary times of war, civilian life was a terrible
letdown — until she met Christopher Soames, a young Guards officer.
‘It was all
a bit sudden,’ she once said. ‘I don’t suppose we’d seen each other six times
before we got engaged.’
The pair
married in 1947 and moved into the farm at Chartwell. They were blissfully
happy and were soon joined by five children, Nicholas (now the sizeable MP for
Mid Sussex), Emma (the journalist), Jeremy, Charlotte and Rupert.
Politics
were only briefly on the back burner. In 1950, Christopher became MP for
Bedford and later parliamentary secretary to Winston.
Mary
dedicated her time to him during the school term and the children in the
holidays.
Next came
four years in France, where Christopher was ambassador, and quite a bit of
socialising with the exiled Duke and Duchess of Windsor.
‘He only
wanted to talk about England and what was going on there,’ she said. ‘I’m sure
he never regretted what he’d done. The things he regretted were the things he
lost out on.’
A stint in
Brussels — where Christopher was vice president of the European Commission —
was ‘not so much fun’.
They were
also in Rhodesia (‘happy at the time, but not such a bright scene now’) where, as the governor of the country, Christopher handed
over the last great chunk of the British Empire to a nice-seeming chap called
Robert Mugabe.
In the
meantime, Mary was the perfect wife and mother, and wrote her best-selling book
about her mother’s life, which won the prestigious Wolfson History Prize.
After
Christopher died in 1987, she spent six very happy years as chairman of the
board of the National Theatre.
Mary led an
extraordinary life and lived it well. But if politics, history and very
important dinner guests were the constant back-drop to Churchill family life,
unhappiness also ran through like a thick, dark seam.
Her elder
sister, Diana, committed suicide with a barbiturates overdose in 1963; her
other sister, Sarah, became an alcoholic and died aged 67 in 1982.
And the
grossly indulged brother Randolph became an arrogant, under-achieving gambler.
‘Nothing grows in the shadow of a great oak tree,’ he once said bitterly. He
died aged 57 of a heart attack in 1968, having written the first two volumes of
the massive biography of his father.
‘I don’t
know why I turned out like this while others had such problems,’ she once said.
‘But I do think nana made a great difference.’
No comments:
Post a Comment