Christmas with Chips III

Chips (Channon) records Christmas Day in his diary: 1940 – 1944.

Christmas Day, Wednesday 25th December, 1940.
HMS Edinburgh Castle, Freetown, Sierra Leone.

Of all the Christmases this is the most exhausting and unpleasant. I didn’t sleep last night for the noise of the lizards at Bathurst racing in my room . . . and I thought tenderly of my Paul hanging up his stocking – hung up by someone else. Oh! my sweet and faraway child, how I love and ache for you. Then I thought of his wayward mother – where is she? Hidden in some Hogarthian pub with her labourer? I wept and wept . . .
At nine o’clock we took off and flew in great heat to Freetown, where we were met by more Empire builders and ‘n- -s’. The harbour was crowded with ships and the might, the seafaring force of our great Empire impressed me. We are staying the night aboard the Edinburgh Castle – the most unexpected night of my life. It is a depot ship, used for everything, and is crowded with handsome, bronzed drunken officers in white shorts – all lonely, no doubt, but all enjoying themselves. I contrived to get a cabin to myself and slept away the afternoon, thus missing the drive to bathe at the famous Lumley Beach. Meanwhile I had made friends with Commander Pelly who, curiously enough, lives at Ingatestone, only a few miles from Kelvedon; and I dined with him and another Essex man named Burton who is one of Rab’s constituents! Turkey and Xmas pudding, all very English. I heard that the Essex regiment are stationed here and obviously I ought to go ashore and call upon them at the mess, and perhaps come across some of my constituents and George Judd (Channon’s land agent at Kelvedon) !! However I remained and had to listen to Pelly tell a much-garbled version of the drama at Kelvedon – how some smart and rich people had taken a place in Essex and the wife had run away with a groom! His wife had written him the story which he in no way associated with me.

Thursday, 25th December, 1941.

A year ago I was flying between Bathurst and Freetown on my famous flight into Egypt.
Got up late exchanged presents – Alan gave me a handsome blood-stone seal – and went to church with him, the Iveaghs and Elizabeth Elveden. A crowd of gay officers, stationed at ‘The Big House’, dropped in for drinks, all gay and attractive and I, feeling well for the first time in months, went all out to amuse them.
Arthur (Elveden) came home rather unexpectedly from Felixstowe where he is stationed in acute discomfort. We dined with the Iveaghs in their tiny cottage and drank some champagne which Honor had sent them. I unpacked the box, the Iveaghs are firm and fixed in their attitude towards her.

Friday, 25th December, 1942.
The Gardener’s Cottage, Elveden.

My tiny car, crowded with parcels, was ready at ten, and Alan and I started forth for Elveden via Henlow. We were delayed by a thick fog. Mrs Lennox-Boyd and her other sons, rather zany both (Francis and George) received us warmly and gave us presents and chocolate. Then we came on here and lunched at the Old Rectory with the Iveaghs. Elizabeth Elveden and her mundane petite mother, Freda, Lady Listowel. Patsy, very pregnant, was more lethargic than ever . . . The Iveaghs gave me a seicento tazza. The Elveden children made me nostalgic for my own lad so far away in America. I am profoundly unhappy and lonely, really. My life is a mess . . . The Iveaghs are gentle, affectionate, but self-contained and fundamentally indifferent to everything except themselves – only little Simon Lennox-Boyd, a most independent, red-headed child of 3, seems to have caught their affections. The more beautiful, gentle, engaging, aristocratic Elveden children leave them fairly cold.
Some American officers, shy and hideous, came for cocktails. There are 500 of them living at Elveden. They are untidy, ignorant and unattractive, but their friendliness equals their slovenliness.

Saturday, 25th December, 1943.

Woke early and felt depressed, as I miss my absent son, and my faraway Pierrot (Coats). Dressed, wrapped up presents and delivered them – sherry and wine to Mr and Mrs Amery (who don’t drink!); the same to Lady Colefax; and then called on Ti Cholmondeley whom I found in bed with bronchitis. She was surrounded by friends and parcels . . . I brought her £5, a bottle of whisky, some holly and a string of sham pearls. Then to lunch at Londonderry House. Laura Corrigan, Margaret Stewart . . . . and Lord and Lady Chaplin. Mairi and Derek Bury lunched in their bedroom as she is still not well – the baby is a fortnight old today and is to be called ‘Rose”. Many jokes and Charlie Londonderry saying it should be known as ‘Rose and Chips’ . . . Too much rich food at luncheon; turkey and champagne; I felt bloated. We listened to the King’s broadcast which is always a torture as he is so halting, faltering and flat. Today he was less uninspiring than usual and tears came into Circe Londonderry’s eyes . . . .
Later I called at the Clinic where I had tea with Joan Astley whose infant daughter Diana is eight days old. A quiet baby, she doesn’t yet look like the Viceroy. Joan is an enchantment . . .
I shall spend Xmas in London, pleasant, cosy, effortless and peaceful.

Monday 25th December, 1944.
The Old Rectory, Elveden, Suffolk.

A day too ghastly and cold almost to chronicle! Paul and I started out in the very cold for Henlow at 11.15: thick fog overtook us as we crept the whole way – warm welcome from only Mrs Lennox-Boyd, who seemed a benevolent Lady Macbeth, grieving for her sons – a sort of mild Hecuba! Alan was nervy and ill at ease; Patsy simply impossible; and worse, the Boyd brood, boring, unattractive and plain. We had oysters, turkey, Xmas pudding and Paul gulped two glasses of champagne; then we fled to Elveden – or tried to: the journey took three hours and at various times I nearly gave it up. Que faire? Paul chattered of Charlemagne, intelligent child, half-frozen, he fell asleep. I was wretched and feared he would get pneumonia! He behaved beautifully. At long last we arrived – the Old Rectory is freezing. It is the coldest day of the year! I shiver and shake and wish I was back in Belgrave Square. Paul is miserable and didn’t want to come. The usual exchange of ridiculous presents! The Iveaghs will give me a million but not a present we could use or want! They enraged me their presents. There is an absence of all graciousness in the Guinness family, at least in the Iveagh family, which chills and frightens. I suspect that my mother-in-law is really a man! Has a male brain and masculine characteristics . . . we all dined cosily in the little cottage where they live a picnic existence since the Big House, which we always call ‘Haemorrhoids’ is still occupied by Americans. Turkey and hock.
I am very sorry that I came: the cold, fog, risk of exposure . . .

(Part of this page is cut out of the diary, so the end of the entry is missing.)

(To be continued)