WHEN SPIRO MET EDNA
Simon Courtauld recalls a Spectator lunch for Vice-President Agnew. Barry Humphries left the table and returned as Dame Edna Everage
THE editorial lunch at The Spectator has seen some interesting guests over the years. The best lunches have usually been those at which a clash of personalities has occurred, or embarrassment has been caused to one of those present.
Graham Greene was there one day, sit- ting next to a fairly humourless Tory politi- cian. It was just before the publication of Andrew Boyle's book, The Climate of Trea- son, revealing Anthony Blunt as the 'Fourth Man', and names of other likely candidates — Maurice Dobb, Fred Warn- er — were being tossed around the table. The politician did not think this a very dig- nified topic of conversation, but he was a lot less amused when Graham Greene said that while he was uncertain about the identity of the Fourth Man, he had just had a postcard from the Third Man, Kim Philby, in Moscow — which he then pro- ceeded to remove from his breast pocket and hand round the table.
On another occasion I recall the then political correspondent, Peter Paterson, who had good socialist credentials, goad- ing Jessica Mitford by talking about 'black- amoors'. (Paterson also caused some consternation by once bringing Alger Hiss to lunch.) When Lord Longford was telling the lunch table how well he had got on with the Kray twins when he visited them in jail, Jeffrey Bernard made a memorable interruption. 'Don't be bloody naive,' he said dismissively. 'They're f—ing social climbers.'
One day an attache from the Soviet Embassy was a guest. He was talking of having spent some time in Mongolia, while Jennifer Paterson, The Spectator's magnifi- cent cook, now cookery writer and soon- to-be television star, was clearing the plates.
'Did you see much of my brother?' Jen- nifer asked him, in her endearingly loud and jolly way. One could see the attache's brow furrow; he was irritated and uncom- fortable, his expression seeming to say, 'Why this cook speak with me?' Brother of cook? Was this some coded message? The attache could scarcely be blamed for not knowing that Jennifer's brother, at the rel- evant time, had been British Ambassador in Ulan Bator.
Unfortunately, Jennifer was not present at the most entertaining Spectator lunch of those times, which was attended by the former US vice-president, Spiro Agnew, who died last week. It must have been almost 20 years ago: Agnew had been forced to resign in 1973 because of tax evasion charges, and he was in London to promote his book (a 'novel' about a vice- president). The editor, Alexander Chan- cellor, put together a lunch party consisting of Agnew, Barry Humphries, Kingsley Amis, Peter Ackroyd, then The Spectator's literary editor, and myself. It was certainly a heterogeneous gathering.
No one can remember whether Kingsley Amis was on good, combative form, which probably means that he wasn't. Perhaps he was in one of his brooding moods, nodding his head at Agnew's more reactionary remarks, and enjoying his whisky. (As I recall, in Alexander's day only wine was offered before and during lunch, to which three exceptions were permitted: Kingsley Amis [whisky], Jeffrey Bernard [vodka] and Sam White [pink gin]. One day the gin bot- tle was not on the tray when Sam arrived, and he was heard to growl, 'No gin — no lunch.') Barry Humphries, soberly dressed in a dark, pin-striped suit, conversed seriously with Agnew on such subjects as the future of Nato and Australia's involvement in the Vietnam war. Presumably, the ex-vice-pres- ident had been briefed on the other guests — he would at least have known that Humphries was a comedian — but he can- not have been prepared for what happened next.
Alexander knew that a change of clothes for Barry Humphries had been delivered to the office, because he was due to go on somewhere straight after lunch, where he was to appear as Dame Edna Everage. Under pressure from Alexander, he agreed to leave the dining-room during lunch and, having changed, return as the housewife superstar.
Peter Ackroyd took him into his office, where, having just published one of his first books, on the history of transvestism, he was fascinated to observe the metamorpho- sis taking place. When Dame Edna appeared in the dining-room, we were on to the cheese, but from that moment Agnew lost his appetite. We could see that he was inwardly troubled: who is this woman? What's happened to the Aus- tralian guy sitting here just now? Yet this woman seems somehow to be the Aus- tralian guy. Yet how could she be? 'We should be having a glass of ouzo together, Spiro,' Dame Edna cooed at the Greek immigrant greengrocer's son, putting a bare arm round his shoulder. The former vice-president was nonplussed and not enjoying himself. 'I would like to describe our meeting today as the Agnew and the Ecstasy,' she went on, as the rest of us just went on laughing.
A message then came from reception that an Evening Standard photographer was outside, hoping to get a picture of Agnew and Dame Edna together. The great tax- evader knew it was time to take evasive action. He mumbled his thanks and made off down the stairs at an impressive pace (our dining-room is on the third floor). Dame Edna followed, waving her handbag and calling lustily for Spiro to wait for her; but he managed to get out of the building and into his car, unmolested by Edna and unphotographed by the Evening Standard. It, was a pity about the picture, but we agreed it had been a very good lunch.
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