Heywood Hill is where Posh Folk buy their books, though more often than not they buy mail order. Owned by the Duke of Devonshire and managed by his son-in-law it is the grandest shop in London but doesn’t swank. As it’s next door to Geo. Trumper I go when I’m having a haircut and never leave empty handed.
In March this year Christopher Balfour was there to sign his memoir. He was astonished but delighted when the Queen came in for her signed copy – that’s the sort of bookshop it is and that’s the sort of book it is. The Heywood Hill blurb slightly over-eggs it but gives some idea of the book and why it appeals to the Queen (and me).
“Christopher Balfour has written a sparkling memoir: gossipy, funny and riveting. Born into a Scottish merchant family, he enjoyed an idyllic childhood in 1940s Peru. Wrenched from the comforts of Lima to attend a chilly, spartan Ampleforth under the watchful eye of Basil Hume, he realised he was gay at 16. Upon arriving at Oxford, he met Nichol, the charismatic son of Celia Johnson and Peter Fleming, and nephew of Ian Fleming. They became lovers, hiding, as it were, in plain sight, at a time when being gay risked imprisonment. ‘The very social class we moved in had become our camouflage’: as had Christopher’s passion for shooting and his many female friends.
Christopher’s social circle grew exponentially: he adored people, and they loved him in return. Always in demand as a ‘spare man’ by royalty – and indeed the entire spectrum of British aristocracy – his time at Hambros in London and New York, and later his chairmanship of Christie’s, only expanded his connections to international proportions.
Longstanding friendships with the King and Queen, the Dukes of Devonshire and Wellington, and frequent stays at Windsor Castle, Chatsworth, and other great houses became part and parcel of his life. White-tie debutante balls, difficult moments with Princess Margaret, cheering up an unhappy Princess Diana, and organising the sale of her dresses for charity are recorded with sensitivity and kindly wit. A fascinating and touching account from a man who truly knew everyone – and made everyone feel known.” (Heywood Hill)
In the glory days of HH, one might stroll in and receive an unexpected book recommendation from John Saumarez-Smith (though I suppose the real glory days might have been when Nancy Mitford was holding court behind the desk). While the shop has been modernized and seems to be rather more focused on making money, they do still manage to find and celebrate interesting books like this privately published Balfour memoir that one might otherwise miss. (Though, there are a few other good sources for such things, as you know well.) It is still a great pleasure to drop in, as you say, and mail order is helpful for someone living on the far edge of the American continent.
Adding to the sense of the Balfour being something of an “inside job,” the “Foreword” is I believe by someone who writes for the “Speccie” and who shares a name with the street on which the shop and Trumper’s sit.