 |
| Nancy Astor |
Before the Astors took ownership of the property it had been one of the centres of political and social life in this country for two or more centuries. From the mid seventeenth century when it was owned by the Duke of Buckingham through the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries the house was closely linked with the great people and events of the nation. In 1740 when the house was owned by Frederick, the Prince of Wales, the great English patriotic aria “Rule, Britannia” was first performed there. On a more sombre note it is believed that it was at Cliveden in 1751 that the Prince received a blow to the chest from a cricket ball while playing in the grounds; the resulting infection proved fatal. The house is in a stunning position overlooking the Thames and the Thames Valley. As I looked down on the river from the grounds I thought how the river was a kind of symbol - flowing past Cliveden and then on to London and past Westminster - connecting this great house with the decisions that would be made in Parliament and by successive governments through the ages. What happened in Cliveden's drawing rooms (and bedrooms!) was carried down the river to Westminster and perhaps shaped government policy!
But despite its glorious history Cliveden is still today perhaps most remembered for the rather less salubrious events that occurred there in the early 1960s – the Profumo affair – an event that rocked the country, was instrumental in a change of government and spawned films, books and perhaps a change in the way we view our political and social leaders.
In 1942, the Astors had given Cliveden to the National Trust with the proviso that the family could continue to live in the house for as long as they wished. With the gift of Cliveden, the National Trust also received from the Astors one of their largest endowments (£250,000 in 1942 which is equivalent to about £8,637,518 today). The Astors ceased to live at Cliveden in 1968, shortly after the Profumo Affair.
In the early 1960s, John Profumo was the Secretary of State for War in Harold Macmillan's Conservative government. In 1961 he met Christine Keeler, a London call girl at a house party at Cliveden. The relationship with Keeler lasted only a few weeks before Profumo ended it. However, rumours about the affair became public in 1962, as did the allegation that Keeler was also having a relationship with a drug dealer, Johnny Edgecombe, and Yevgeny Ivanov, a senior naval attaché at the Soviet embassy in London. Given Profumo's position in the government and with the Cold War at its height, the potential ramifications in terms of national security were grave, and this, along with the adulterous nature of Profumo's relationship with Keeler, quickly elevated the affair into a public scandal. As newspaper report followed newspaper report an increasingly complex and tangled web of intrigue and innuendo became the talk of the country – society osteopaths, call girls, government ministers, spies, drug dealers and attempted murder – and ordinary people began to look rather differently at those in power. Profumo was found to have lied about his role to Parliament and an official enquiry into the matter was undertaken. Within a few weeks of its report the Prime Minister, Harold Macmillan, resigned on the grounds of “ill health”. He was replaced by Sir Alec Douglas-Home but within the year the Conservatives were defeated and the country had a Labour government lead by Harold Wilson.
I can still remember as a teenager following the story of the Profumo scandal in the newspapers and reading of the alleged “goings on” at this great house near the Thames. I never dreamed that one day I would walk around its grounds with my grandchildren! Today the house is still in the hands of the National Trust, open to the public and is used as a great hotel.
Whatever “goings on” are part of its history, as you walk around its grounds, high over the Thames and look down on the river and out over the Thames Valley one can’t help feeling a sense of history when you consider the great names and great events that are its heritage . It is also stunningly impressive and imposing; Sir Harold Nicolson – the English diplomat, author, diarist and politician and the husband of writer Vita Sackville-West said in 1936 “There is a ghastly unreality about it all ... I enjoy seeing it. But to own it, to live here, would be like living on the stage of the Scala theatre in Milan”. Perhaps more kindly, in 1863, when the property was owned by allegedly the richest man in England – the Duke of Westminster – the Duke’s wife wrote: “When one lives in Paradise, how hard it must be to ascend in heart and mind to Heaven”. Having visited Cliveden on a number of occasions over the past few years I think both comments have equal worth!
I’ve thought about our visit a good deal in the past week as we have listened and watched further exposures at the Leveson Inquiry into the phone hacking affair involving Rupert Murdoch, the News of the World and powerful people in high places. In its way, it is not too different from the Profumo scandal of half a century ago. As we have heard of the relationships that allegedly developed between government ministers, Prime Ministers and powerful people like Rupert Murdoch one can imagine that in days gone by over the past centuries “deals were done”, influence was bought and sold, governments were influenced – all over a glass of sherry or a pleasant meal or on a stroll around the magnificent grounds at Cliveden. I suspect that had Murdoch and others of his ilk been around at the time of Nancy Astor’s glittering house parties he would have undoubtedly been a guest and broke bread with the Prime Minister of the day – tacit understandings, nods and winks and “gentlemen’s agreements” would have been the accepted norm! Perhaps the Murdoch exposures don’t indicate that political morality has “gone to the dogs” in modern Britain – perhaps (in fact probably) it has always been thus!
There is, however, a possible difference. In the days of Nancy Astor those invited to a Cliveden House party would have undoubtedly been those at the very top of the social tree – by their aristocratic birth (Prince Edward – later King Edward VIII?) or their great wealth (Joseph Kennedy?), their international prominence (Ghandi or Roosevelt ?) or their intellectual or literary accomplishments (Shaw or Kipling?). They were exclusive gatherings of the very great and good. It’s highly unlikely that the local school teacher or refuse collector or even vicar would have been invited! By the time of the Profumo scandal, however, the world had changed and Nancy Astor was long gone. Cliveden house parties were much more representative of a wider society – albeit the top end of the London social scene – osteopaths, diplomats, relatively minor politicians like Profumo – and call girls! Maybe this is where Murdoch might have better fitted in, together with his News International cronies – Rebekah Brooks and her kind! Probably understandings and agreements were still made over a glass of wine or a meal but perhaps more mundane or pragmatic nods and winks – a business deal, a job offer, an introduction to some powerful body, a liaison with an upper class call girl! Yes, that sounds more like Murdoch’s sort of house party – I don’t have to try very hard to imagine our present Secretary of State for Culture, Jeremy Hunt, meeting someone from Murdoch’s empire in the grounds at Cliveden and, over a coffee or a whisky or glass of wine agreeing to nod through the BSky B deal so desired by Rupert Murdoch! All very grubby! I’d like to believe, however, (and I think that there is probably some substance to it) that in Nancy Astor’s day nothing so grubby as money or commerce would have been discussed – rather the great decisions of Empire and nations, stimulating intellectual discourse, literary and fashionable debate would have filled the lounges and been heard over the dining tables. As an addendum to this I might add (and this is pure, unashamed prejudice on my part!) the truly awful title and concept of a Secretary of State for Culture would, I think, have been an anathema to the guests at Nancy Astor's house parties! Yes, I think perhaps things have changed!
Today, of course, although Cliveden’s magnificent buildings and grounds are still there and beautifully kept by the National Trust and the hotel company that runs the exclusive hotel there are no more great house parties. It is only exclusive now in the sense that you can enter only if you pay the £8 per person entry at the gate or the several hundred pounds a night tariff to sleep and dine in the hotel. We all enjoyed a cup of tea and piece of cake in the tea room, we looked down on the Thames, we peered through the windows into the exclusive hotel and we spent a pleasant few minutes wandering around the wonderful maze – first built by Lord Astor in the late nineteenth century -and got stickers to prove we had reached its centre!
And as we did so it was easy to catch a moment of history – to imagine what stories the walls and the gardens and the maze and the dining tables and the bed pillows could tell if they could speak. Secrets whispered, agreements and trysts’ made, great decisions that would affect nations discussed, glittering wit and high politics mixed. It might seem all rather twee or old fashioned today in an age where money is king and increasingly used to define a person's worth and standing (rather than intellect, breeding or political or social prominence). But for me that was an extra joy of walking around Cliveden – not only was it a pleasant afternoon out but it was also a time when one could reflect on our history and the great events and people which have moulded us both as individuals as a nation - a real walk through history.
 |
| The Beales bring a touch of class to Cliveden. Would Nancy Astor have allowed us in? |
In the early 1960s, John Profumo was the Secretary of State for War in Harold Macmillan's Conservative government. In 1961 he met Christine Keeler, a London call girl at a house party at Cliveden. The relationship with Keeler lasted only a few weeks before Profumo ended it. However, rumours about the affair became public in 1962, as did the allegation that Keeler was also having a relationship with a drug dealer, Johnny Edgecombe, and Yevgeny Ivanov, a senior naval attaché at the Soviet embassy in London. Given Profumo's position in the government and with the Cold War at its height, the potential ramifications in terms of national security were grave, and this, along with the adulterous nature of Profumo's relationship with Keeler, quickly elevated the affair into a public scandal. As newspaper report followed newspaper report an increasingly complex and tangled web of intrigue and innuendo became the talk of the country – society osteopaths, call girls, government ministers, spies, drug dealers and attempted murder – and ordinary people began to look rather differently at those in power. Profumo was found to have lied about his role to Parliament and an official enquiry into the matter was undertaken. Within a few weeks of its report the Prime Minister, Harold Macmillan, resigned on the grounds of “ill health”. He was replaced by Sir Alec Douglas-Home but within the year the Conservatives were defeated and the country had a Labour government lead by Harold Wilson.
 |
| John Profumo |
I can still remember as a teenager following the story of the Profumo scandal in the newspapers and reading of the alleged “goings on” at this great house near the Thames. I never dreamed that one day I would walk around its grounds with my grandchildren! Today the house is still in the hands of the National Trust, open to the public and is used as a great hotel.
 |
| The Christine Keeler photograph that went round the world in 1963 |
 |
| Looking down on the Thames - linking Cliveden with Westminster! |
I’ve thought about our visit a good deal in the past week as we have listened and watched further exposures at the Leveson Inquiry into the phone hacking affair involving Rupert Murdoch, the News of the World and powerful people in high places. In its way, it is not too different from the Profumo scandal of half a century ago. As we have heard of the relationships that allegedly developed between government ministers, Prime Ministers and powerful people like Rupert Murdoch one can imagine that in days gone by over the past centuries “deals were done”, influence was bought and sold, governments were influenced – all over a glass of sherry or a pleasant meal or on a stroll around the magnificent grounds at Cliveden. I suspect that had Murdoch and others of his ilk been around at the time of Nancy Astor’s glittering house parties he would have undoubtedly been a guest and broke bread with the Prime Minister of the day – tacit understandings, nods and winks and “gentlemen’s agreements” would have been the accepted norm! Perhaps the Murdoch exposures don’t indicate that political morality has “gone to the dogs” in modern Britain – perhaps (in fact probably) it has always been thus!
 |
| The great and the good walked around this fountain - and then there was us! |
Today, of course, although Cliveden’s magnificent buildings and grounds are still there and beautifully kept by the National Trust and the hotel company that runs the exclusive hotel there are no more great house parties. It is only exclusive now in the sense that you can enter only if you pay the £8 per person entry at the gate or the several hundred pounds a night tariff to sleep and dine in the hotel. We all enjoyed a cup of tea and piece of cake in the tea room, we looked down on the Thames, we peered through the windows into the exclusive hotel and we spent a pleasant few minutes wandering around the wonderful maze – first built by Lord Astor in the late nineteenth century -and got stickers to prove we had reached its centre!
 |
| We got stickers when we got to the middle of the maze - I wonder if Nancy Astor gave a sticker to Ghandi or Roosevelt when they found the centre? |
No comments:
Post a Comment