Loopy look at British aristocracy
Print Edition
Why are wealthy Britons so entertaining to read about? Maybe it has something to do with the collision of crisp formality and a kind of babyish loopiness — looming over every well-manicured herbaceous border is an eccentric uncle named Birtwhistle. Or, more darkly, maybe fans of the Patrick Melrose novels and “Downton Abbey” are drawn to scandal: To learn of an illustrious family’s secret shame is to put a human face on a glamorous abstraction.
So, too, with the writer and musician Anthony Russell’s well-observed memoir, in which he reminisces about spending childhood weekends and holidays in Kent at Leeds Castle, the moat-surrounded, 1,100-year-old “former stronghold of Saxon kings” that his grandmother, Lady Baillie, purchased in 1926. An indomitable and severe matriarch, she oversaw both her staff of 50 and her social circle in a manner the author likens to that of the conquering Normans. Family members and guests sometimes complained about always being at Lady Baillie’s beck and call. Meanwhile, her shy young grandson made repeated attempts to get her and her courtiers to engage him in conversation. Most of them, however, seemed to think of children merely as small people who can’t spell Gstaad.
Yet, within this lonely cocoon Russell also encountered goodly amounts of peculiar charm. Bringing to life members of the castle’s staff and guests bearing names like Mr Elves and Guysy-Wee, he chronicles everything from fox hunting and afternoon tea to a “duck launching,” a spectacular divorce suit called “The Case of the Virgin Birth,” and near run-ins with famous guests like Noël Coward and David Niven. Most memorable is his depiction of the court members at Christmas “disguising the inherent vulgarity in handing out cash” to their hostess’ grandson. “Lady Huntley sidled up in the manner of a French prostitute attempting a pickup,” he writes, “her hands behind her back and a come-hither expression on her face. Murmuring ‘Happy Christmas,’ she turned and leaned backwards, wiggling a pound note between her fingers.” Lady Huntley then meanders off, “looking to all intents and purposes as if a rejection had just taken place.”
If such scenes are good fodder for the book’s main theme — how the privilege of “the castle way” fostered delusions of grandeur — Russell has a much more difficult time capturing the aftermath. When he goes off to boarding school at Stowe at age 13, we can see how his experience with Leeds’ architectural splendor spoils him for the majesty of the school’s campus. We can also intuit how conflicted Russell feels about his family’s connections. His big break as a musician — recording a demo of five (ultimately rejected) songs — came at the behest of Ahmet Ertegun, a co-founder of Atlantic Records and a friend of Russell’s father.
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