A small moth in the carefree sunlight
Hugo Vickers
EDITH OLIVIER FROM HER JOURNALS 1924-48 edited by Penelope Middelboe Weidenfeld & Nicolson, £19.95, pp.334 In Night Thoughts of a Country Land- lady (a book which some enterprising publisher should consider re-publishing), Edith Olivier brushes off her diary as follows:
When she went to bed, she always put down in as few words as possible the actual events of the past day. She made no comments. Who would read this, she never thought. The existence of her diary was well known to her friends, for it often came in useful when there was a disagreement in committee as to which evening in the previous February the Girls' Friendly had begun their Lenten working-parties. Except for such utilitarian purposes, the growing pile of books was never disturbed.
Too modest by far. This diary is immensely informative about Edith herself, the Wilt- shire life around her, the Bright Young Things to whom she was an intelligent and perceptive agony aunt, and her civic life. Anyone who has enjoyed the books of A. G. Street, or the work of Rex Whistler or who wishes for more on the lives of Cecil Beaton, Stephen Tennant, the Sit- wells and William Walton, will find this invaluable. Above all, Edith's sharp wis- dom permeates every page, putting bal- ance on the excessive and often misguided enthusiasm of that energetic group of friends. No Wiltshire home should be without a copy of Edith's journals. Edith Olivier was the daughter of the Rector of Wilton, and one of a family of ten. She was brought up in the shadow of Wilton House — and lived her later life in the Daye House, the estate's former dairy house. She went to St Hugh's College, Oxford, and was a friend of the Reverend Charles Dodgson. Neither she nor her sister Mildred felt they could desert their old father (or each other) for marriage, and later they lived together until Mil- dred's death in 1924. Suddenly she was left alone. Faced with an empty future, she became what Laurence Whistler described as 'a small moth expanding into the care- free sunlight of the Twenties'. She was swept into the world of the Pembroke children and .of Stephen Tennant and she met Rex Whistler. Very soon she adopted a new hairstyle, 'somewhere between shing- led and a bob'. One niece thought she was going mad, while Stephen and Rex nodded their heads in shared approval. It occurs to me that there is a possible inspiration for Nancy Mitford's Lady Montdore in all this.
How lucky those young were to have Edith Olivier in their midst. I know how important she was to Cecil Beaton, not only finding Ashcombe and Reddish for him, but helping him with the text for his Book of Beauty and other works. When I was chosen to write his biography, one of my first reactions was: 'Oh good. Edith Olivier'. I had been introduced to her books by a Wiltshire neighbour of my aunt's, had read The Love Child (her fantasy about a pretend friend), and visited the Daye House (then the home of Miss Rosemary Olivier). I now learn from this book how Cecil came to take his first royal portrait. In March 1927 Princess Louise, Duchess of Argyll came to lunch at Pamela Grey's village on Cap Ferrat. (Presumably she was staying with her brother, the Duke of Connaught). Cecil wanted to photo- graph her then, but she refused. Later she went to Sussex Gardens, which showed Bohemian enterprise on her side and no doubt some persistence on his.
It was Edith who advised A. G. Street not to write about Monte Carlo (a place he had never even visited) but to tackle the world he knew. A successful career fol- lowed. 'Her loving friendship with Rex Whistler is already well chronicled, but is nicely retold through these pages. Stephen Tennant (once an almost unknown recluse — but next year to be the subject of a full-length biography of his own) comes sharply into focus, an intriguing mixture of charm and selfish cruelty. Another curious -character who emerges is Princess Imma of Erbach-Schonberg (Baroness Doernberg, and a cousin of Princess Alice, Countess of Athlone), whose troubled life of ill health included being the girlfriend of William Walton, whilst he was writing Belshazzar's Feast.
The book is beautifully presented, though a photograph of Cecil in his bath- room has been printed back to front, evidenced by the parting of his hair and the signatures on the hands on the wall (I proved this by holding it up to a mirror are there no depths to which reviewers will not sink?).
I also found myself drawn to reading 'Good boy, say "nevermore" or Edgar' Night Thoughts of a Country Landlady (part of which is quoted in the journals). Edith described the noises her male lodg- ers made at night, snoring, sneezing, throwing their weight about, opening and shutting drawers:
Over and above these general male tricks, each man has his own idiosyncracies; and these are magnified at night, when every- body, man or woman, thinks that solitude sets him free to behave as he likes.. .
In these fascinating and enchanting jour- nals there is sadness too — the war years, the death of so many friends (above all Rex Whistler) and the end of what appeared to so many to be a carefree life. But saddest of all was that repeatedly Edith would announce: `So ends this year, a hard and frightening one for me'. She was beset by money worries, and though she was occa- sionally rescued by friends and by earning a little money from her writing, I wonder how many of those young people gave a thought to her plight.
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