Bachelor nights
Hugh Montgomery-Massingberd
Of Kings and Cabbages Peter Coats
(Weidenfeld & Nicolson £12.95)
The secret of writing in the first person is to be mildly self-deprecatory. Unfortun- ately, it is a point that has passed by the distinguished garden writer Peter ('Capa- bility') Coats of House & Garden fame. This latest effusion of embarrassingly dated and dowagerish drivel continues more or less from where the tasteful trimmer of the silver fern left off in his first volume of autobiography, Of Generals and Gardens. 'The book was a success', swanks the author in the preface to the disappoint- ing sequel, before proceeding to quote some of its favourable reviews. Mr Coats was, however, clearly miffed that the critic of the Waikitaro Gazette found it to be a classic example of name-dropping. In one of the tedious travelogues ('Cruising in Comfort', etc) with which Mr Coats pads Out the book, he is 'amused' to learn from a Kiwi sailor 'from the dread Waikitaro' that 'it was not much of a place. No culture.' Suddenly I find this haven in New Zealand irresistibly attractive.
Mr Coats's defence against the charge of name-dropping (Tut when you cross the Atlantic as part of a high-powered mission, it would seem to be eccentric not to mention that the mission's head was Win- ston Churchill . . .') is typically arch and second-hand; it has been done much better before by David Niven, et al. Pausing only for the occasional touchy dig at our hero from Waikitaro, Mr Coats blithely carries on dropping. But are the names worth catching? The scorecard reads (give or take a courtesy title or twenty): Kings and Queens 12; Ambassadors (vital contacts on what could be called the ex-ADC social circuit) 11; Princes and Princesses 19; Dukes and Duchesses 13; Marquesses and Marchionesses 4; Earls, Counts and Coun- tesses 18; Viscounts and Viscountesses 17; Barons and Baronesses 22; Baronets and their ladies 4; Knights and their ladies (most of the former are 'Knights Bachelor' in more ways than one) 33 and Dames 2. What more could anyone want for £12.95?
The key word in the Coats vocabulary is 'friend'. Some years ago when I was obliged to listen to the alleged social triumphs of another bachelor partygoer, I devised a 'friendship scale' in an unsuccess- ful attempt to preserve my sanity during the Big Drop; 'great friend' meant they had lunched together once, 'friend' that they had been half-introduced at a cocktail party, and so forth. When Mr Coats assures us that the Droghedas 'have always been dear friends', Chips Channon was 'a very close friend', Wavell was 'almost . . • my greatest friend', and Pam Cavendish is a 'much loved friend of today', I do not doubt him for a moment, but the refrain is needlessly rendered hideous by repetition — 'Lady Colefax, a good friend of mine', the Duke of Bedford's first wife 'was also a friend', 'Vita was always a friend of mine', 'the Comtesse de Paris, wife of the King of France, who has become a friend', 'Ter- ence Stamp, a friend', 'Queen Helen of Roumania, who was a friend of mine', 'Antonia Fraser, who is a friend' (that is quite enough friends). Mr Coats likes his little joke. The farrago of feeble old stories reminded me of nothing so much as It's Been A Lot of Fun by Brian Johnston (with whom Mr Coats was no doubt at Eton, as he seems to have been with everyone else), though M
this instance admirably well-informed sur- veys of various gardens around the world
are substituted for cricket reports between
the cracks. Have you heard the one about Edward VII apologising for an equine fart
to the Kaiser, who replied 'don't mention it — I really thought it was one of the horses'? Or what about the social climber who, when asked if she had seen the Dardanelles, said 'they were away'? Or how Guy Burgess was worried about his '0.E-' tie wearing out in Moscow? You have. • •, well, what about Mr Coats's rib-tickling revelation that he thought of suggesting to
'Tony' Snowdon and Roddy Llewellyn,
when both happened to ask him if they could get into Albany, that they 'should get together, and perhaps share something'? Laugh? I though I'd never start — though there is one goodish Noel Coward storY (`Yehudi who?', some ignoramus asked him and Coward is supposed to have replied 'Yehudi Stapleton-Jones — we were at school together').
Although he occasionally displays quite a touching curiosity about human nature (as in a tale of a tramp he met in the park), Mr Coats's general idea of an anecdote Is., alas, that of the proverbial snob. Thus d does not matter how boring or unfunny or contemptibly familiar, or even sometimes slightly inaccurate, the story may be so long as it drags in somebody from what his publishers sheepishly describe as'"elegad,t and aristocratic" international societY • Weidenfeld & Nicolson themselves receive an unhealthy dose of the author's flattery, while their proprietor is described as man of extraordinary imagination an, creativity — and a consummate host . Perhaps a new competition should be set up to find the publisher most grovellinglY_, praised in his own publication and cane the 'Petticoats Prize'?
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