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beloved infidel
the education of a woman
the education of a woman
SHEILAH GRAHAM
Woman against the World
Woman against the World
the story of the girl who by her own courage created a new life
Sheilah Graham Elegant, poised, the darling of society is presented at Court. The orphan from London's slum had come a long way
My Moment of Triumph
In the world of society I wore my smile like a mask. I was there to be decorative and I was grateful
by Sheilah Graham AND GEROLD FRANK
BACK in London after my wonderful holiday in Switzerland the fairy tale continued. As the protegee of the aristocratic Mitford family I was now accepted by society- not only by the British aristocracy but by the international 'Top Set.'
It was all wonderfully exciting, and a far cry from my childhood, only a few short years before, in the slums of London. None of my new friends guessed that I had been brought up in an East End orphanage, or that at the age of 16 I had been a housemaid.
For, at the age of 17, I had become a sales representative in the fancy goods business run by Major John Gillam, DSO, whom I had met while I was working in a West End store. And Major Gillam had helped me to improve my manners, my accent, and my appearance. For the first time in my life I was treated with kindness. Although Major Gillam was 25 years older than I was, I had become more and more fond of him, and, after an unhappy engagement to a millionaire, I eventually married him.
Incredibly, the ex-slum child had become a woman of position.
At first we were very happy, and although we did not have much money Johnny sent me to the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art, and encouraged me to go on the stage. I enjoyed a brief success in musical comedy-and even more success with the 'stage-door Johnnies' of the day. HOWEVER, the strain of hiding my marriage from my theatrical friends-which Johnny had advised-and leading an exhausting life of rehearsals, performances and supper parties, began to tell.
I decided to forget my career- especially since I had meanwhile made many friends in. society through the girl who lived in the flat above me and Johnny, Judith Hurt.
Now I was invited 'with Johnny to spend week-ends in country houses, to ride, to play tennis, to swim or to lie on the grass, and, in the evening, to dress for dinner and to play billiards.
I felt my way carefully in this enchanted world. I had been taken up: I had been accepted. But there was danger of exposure at every turn.
I never doubted that these people were better than I was. They were better by right of birth, by right of environment, by right of education, by right of their calm acceptance of themselves as 'belonging.' They had no secrets to hide, no pretences to maintain-no ignoble impulses, stemming from fear or necessity, to crush.
This, I believed, was why, were they to know the truth about me, they would have been shocked, felt hoodwinked, and have had no alternative but to cast me out.
It meant always being on guard. When other women spoke of their schools, their presentation at Court, I trembled. I dreaded to hear talk of cousins and relatives. No one had ever met a cousin or uncle or aunt of Mrs. Gillam, or even a schoolmate.
I recalled a terrible moment at St. Moritz when I had gone skating with Lord Long of Wraxall and his mother. They introduced me to a lovely, dark-eyed woman. I had seen her at the bobsleigh runs and the fancy-dress parties at the Palace Hotel.
"Let's skate together, shall we?" she suggested with a smile. Arm in arm we moved rhythmically across the ice. We were quite alone.
WITHOUT slackening her pace she said: "You're an adventuress, aren't you?"
It was as though the ice had suddenly yawned open before me. Skating along with her, arm in arm, I thought, How shall I answer?
After a little pause I said: "Yes."
And having said that, I felt calm again. She knew the false from the real coin. She could expose me if she wished. Yet I knew she would not. When I saw her again she smiled courteously. She said nothing to anyone.
I was fortunate. For the people about me were gentlefolk and the mark of gentlefolk is that they rarely embarrass you.
The story I allowed to get about was that I was the daughter of John Lawrence and Veronica Roslyn Graham-both solid-sounding names. We had lived in Chelsea, a fashionable yet Bohemian section of London.
My father, who owned considerable property in the City. died on a business trip to Germany when I was little. I had had tutors, then gone to finishing school in Paris.
My mother died when I was 17. I had married Major Gillam, DSO. almost immediately after her death.
It was a good story, for this slightly unconventional background could account for any oddness, any slips, in my social behaviour. It lacked only one essential. I had not been presented at Court, and every woman in the circle in which I now moved so delightedly, yet fearfully, had made her curtsey, at 18, before Their Majesties.
"If only," I said to Johnny, "we could have managed that, too."
As I spoke, I could see another outrageous Gillam project in his eyes.. "Do you know," he said thoughtfully, "you can be presented even now? Even though you're not a debutante? "
HE explained that debutantes were often re-presented when they married. It was necessary only to be presented by Someone who had, herself, made her debut at Buckingham. Palace.
I had no such relative, to be sure, but Johnny recalled a most charming woman, the wife of Colonel Arthur Saxe, who had been at Gallipoli with him. Mrs. Saxe, who had been a debutante, now lived modestly outside London. She might welcome an opportunity to go to Court again. . . .
He wrote to her. To my utter delight, Mrs. Saxe indicated that she would be happy to present Major Gillam's wife, if he could arrange for her to have a gown from Norman Hartnell (the Queen's dressmaker) appropriate for such an occasion.
And so it was done. My name was duly forwarded to the Lord Chamberlain. In return we received an imposing invitation.
On presentation night our hired Daimler with its chauffeur and footman turned into the Mall and joined the long queue of cars waiting to be admitted within the Palace gates.
The Palace itself was ablaze with lights. Everywhere crowds milled about - hundreds of home-bound clerks, office workers, typists and salesgirls - many dashing excitedly from car to car to peer inside and exclaim at what they saw.
Dressed in an ivory court gown, with three white ostrich plumes in my hair, I sat regally between Mrs. Saxe, wearing a tiara and feathers, and Johnny, resplendent in his court dress.
"Coo-er! Look't those diamonds! " "Look't 'er! Wonder 'oo she is!" "Lumme! Ain't she beautiful!"
THE exclamations of the crowd, the rapturous look on their faces, the expressions of awe and envy filled me with excitement. Who can imagine how I felt?
Then our car rolled noiselessly forward and came to a halt before the Palace steps. Footmen in Royal livery sprang to help us out; we mounted an enormous curved staircase and waited in double file outside the throne room with pale, nervous debutantes and those who were to present them.
The procedure was to enter, have our names announced, proceed to a point in front of Their Majesties, curtsey, then slowly back out.
Now my stage experience came to my aid. I knew how to walk across a room, how to keep my head up, how to make an appearance before an audience. As I entered the throne room and the full scene burst upon my eyes, it was all I could do not to gasp.
There, in magnificent robes of state, sat King George V and Queen Mary. Behind Their Majesties stood the Prince of Wales, and at his side the Duke of Gloucester, Prince George, Princess Mary, Princess Alice, the Dowager Marchioness of Milford Haven-I could not name them all.
I thought for a frantic moment will I trip over my train? Will my feathers tumble to the floor? Will I be sick?
I heard the Lord Chamberlain's voice boom out: "Mrs. Arthur Saxe presenting Mrs. John Gillam."
Mrs. Saxe walked slowly forward and curtsied. Someone touched me on the arm and I followed her, at train's length behind. I found myself directly in front of the King and Queen and curtsied slowly and deeply.
I RAISED my eyes and looked directly at Their Majesties, The King gave me, I thought, a pierc- ing :kooI but behind them the Prince of Wales winked--or seemed to wink- at me! There was an amused query in his eyes as if to say: "Haven't I seen you before?"
Then I rose and, sweeping my train behind me, gracefully backed out.
Later, downstairs, we ate little cakes and sandwiches off plates of gold and drank champagne from priceless crystal, and then Johnny took us to London's most fashionable restaurant.
I was flushed with triumph as we danced. We had brought it off!
Some months later I was with Tom Mitford in the same London restaurant when he introduced me to his cousin, Randolph Churchill.
"How do you do," I said, remembering to choose my words carefully. Gracefully I gave my hand to the dazzlingly handsome young man who bowed over it.
I had heard, from Tom and Jock and others, a great deal about Winston Churchill's brilliant son. Now in his early twenties, he was already a legend. But at this moment, as he joined us for a drink, I saw only charm in this extraordinarily attractive young man.
He and Tom had fun at my expense. Tom said: "Actually, I've always rather wondered about Mr. Gillam. He seems to be something of a mystery. I don't believe there is a, Mr. Gillam- is there, Sheilah?"
I smiled prettily and said nothing.
I watched Randolph with awe then, and even more later, when I grew to know him better. For all my admiration of the elite, I realized that those I had known were not intellectuals, nor had any desire to be.
RANDOLPH represented my first brush with brains among the upper classes-and it was disconcerting, for I discovered that he had nothing but contempt for most of the things I revered.
Randolph began taking me out to dinner. One evening his guests included Charles Chaplin.
"Of course, you've always had the advantages," Chaplin was saying. "I haven't, I've had to fight for everything I have." He told of his childhood, his early poverty, his struggles as a music-hall entertainer.
"How lucky you are to have been born with the name Churchill," he went on. "To be born to wealth and position." These were my sentiments, too.
"Qh, well, you've worked hard to get where you are-I wouldn't think my way of life is any better," replied Randolph.
Chaplin then spoke brilliantly about the film colony in America, and I began to think how wonderful it must be to live where people take you at face value. Americans don't think about your birth or upbringing. Indeed, they admire you if you dare climb upward, if you aspire to be rich, important, and successful.
I went home to Johnny. "You met Charles Chaplin!" he exclaimed. "Fancy that!"
TOM MITFORD, back from Munich, could talk of only one subject.
"I've met the most fascinating man!" he exclaimed. "Absolutely amazing. Sweeps you off your feet when he speaks! The most persuasive man I've ever met!" It was Adolf Hitler.
Randolph said scornfully: "That little man with a moustache-don't be ridiculous, Tom."
But Tom spoke on. His sister Unity, fervent with admiration, had introduced him to Hitler - all Germany would follow him, and very soon, she had insisted. They had both been invited to Hitler's home. It had been a remarkable experience.
Of course, some of Hitler's ideas were shocking, and yet. . . Tom and Randolph began a long debate about the historical role of democracy and fascism.
I had no idea what they were talking about, although I had read about Hitler, too. When they discussed such matters, or went on to argue about the Japanese march into Manchuria, or other affairs of which I was completely ignorant, I smiled and listened and smiled.
No one deigned to ask my opinion, nor did I venture one. I was there to be decorative. I wore my smile like a mask to hide my inadequacy, and was grateful that they expected nothing from me.
Yet I returned from such luncheons fuming at myself. I would hurry to the squash court and play furiously, practise furiously.
Sometimes Jock or Judith would say: "Sheilah, why do you play so hard? It's only a game." But they could not understand that when I played squash, it was one of the few times I was not engaged in pretence.
Smashing that little black ball I felt free. I felt co-ordinated and superior, I felt whole and honest.
DAY after day, when I practised, I noticed the captain of the men's team practising with equal diligence. He was the Marquess of Donegall.
I admired the marquess from afar. He lived in a world of fun, titles, and motley, travelling constantly, staying in France, Italy, and Spain with the Duc de this and the Earl of that.
Now and then I saw him come into a restaurant with a party of friends, the waiters bowing before him as he made his way to his table.
One day we both finished our practice simultaneously, and met as we emerged.
"Well," he said. ."I've been watching you. You play a good game." He invited me for a cocktail. "How is it that (haven't met you before?"
"Oh, I travel quite a bit," I said vaguely Donegall had reason to ask, for he knew everyone. He was about 27, a slender, attractive man, delicately turned out, impeccably groomed, with dark brown hair, large, enormously sympathetic brown eyes, and small, gentle hands. He was boyish and he laughed readily.
I set my cap at Lord Donegall. Following a squash tournament a week later, a small party was given for members of the ladies' and men's teams. I wore a pretty little skirt and red sweater.
Lord Donegall entered the room and looked round. Our eyes met: I smiled at him. He made his way over and perched on the arm of my chair. How had I come out with my game?
"Oh, I won.
"Excellent!" he said. He had won his match, too. .
I said: "You know, you're a friend of a friend of mine-Tom Mitford." We talked about Tom.
I went on: "Do you know Dennis Bradley?" naming another of Jock's Oxford friends. He nodded.
"Are you going to Dennis's cocktail party next week?" I asked.
He looked down at me. "Are you?"
"Yes."
"Then I am," he said, with a smile. I went to Dennis Bradley's party alone. Johnny had gone that night to one of his regimental dinners; he would feel middle-aged, he complained, in a group of dashing young people. ,
LORD DONEGALL accompanied me home, and we arranged to lunch the next day. That was the start of our friendship. I told him enough about myself to make it clear that I was a young society matron with time on my hands, although, had I been Miss Graham and not Mrs. Gillam, Donegall would have wanted to know about my family, my schooling and other details.
We got along famously. In the months that followed, he escorted me to many social events.
We spent hours driving through the countryside; and one day Donegall said: "I'm in love with you, Sheilah. I want to marry you."
"Oh, Don!" I said. I took it as a joke. I was not in love with him. :
And who could conceive it-the East End orphan born Lily Sheil becoming the Marchioness of Donegall? My son would be the Earl of Belfast, my daughter, Lady Wendy Chichester!
No, I'd never be able to carry off anything like that. I said: "I already have a husband, you know."
He said: "You have heard of divorce-" '
I laughed. "Don, you don't really mean it. Besides, your mother wouldn't approve."
It was well known that the Marchioness of Donegall was most unapproachable where her son was concerned.
He said gloomily: "You may be right." Then he smiled. "But don't forget I asked you."
Perhaps it was the stimulation of Randolph Churchill's dinners which led me to try writing, to reassure myself there was more to-me than a smile. Or perhaps Lord Donegall’s proposal, far-fetched as it was, had made me question again my marriage to Johnny.
But one afternoon I sat down and, without a thought for the rules of composition, I dashed off an article entitled I Married a Man 25 Years Older, by a Young Wife. I sent it to a Sunday paper. They bought it.
I thought, this is my real career. A newspaper woman. This is how I shall become rich and famous.
On an impulse I sent a letter to America's most popular magazine, asking if there were any articles I might send them from England. I . enclosed copies of my articles.
While I waited, a morning paper bought a second piece of mine: Baby or a car? by a New Bride. I said car, knowing this would cause the greatest comment.
My enquiry to America brought a tentative assignment to interview Lord Beaverbrook for his comments on J. B. Priestley, who had written a scathing attack on America.
WHEN I presented myself at Lord Beaverbrook's town house, I was ushered into a huge reception room. Suddenly a door opened and a little, gnome-like figure bounded into the room.
I was conscious of a big head, sharp eyes, and an enormously wide,expressive mouth. It was Lord Beaverbrook.
In the presence of that compressed, springlike energy, I felt drained of my own strength. Lord Beaverbrook appeared ready to explode any moment from sheer vitality.
Without preface he said emphatically: "No, Miss Graham. I won't give you the interview you want. Priestley writes for me and I'll not speak against my own writers. If he doesn't like America, that's his business."
A few days later, a hearty voice rumbled over my telephone. It was Lord Castlerosse, one of Beaverbrook's popular columnists. "I've heard about you meeting Max. Very clever! I'd like to meet you. Will you have lunch with me?"
Over lunch Lord Castlerosse said: "I have an idea for you." His suggestion was for me to do a story on the four 'newspaper lords' of England.
"You can sell that to any American magazine, and make a name for yourself," he assured me. "I’ll help you." He would go so far as to write the section dealing with Beaverbrook for me, and tell me where to obtain information on the others.
This was a major article compared with the flippant pieces I had written up to now. I jumped at the chance.
LORD CASTLEROSSE kept his promise. His section on Beaverbrook was witty and sardonic. I toiled over the remainder of the piece. It sold for 25 guineas (about $73.76)? and created a considerable stir. I saw a magazine writer.
Now I haunted libraries researching for articles. I studied American newspapers and to my astonishment often came upon the same article in a dozen different papers.
I asked Lord Castlerosse how this was possible.
"Syndication," he explained. " America has hundreds of newspapers, each serving its own locality. Instead of selling your article to one newspaper, you sold it to fifty or a hundred your payment increased proportionately."
I thought, this is wonderful; this is the answer to everything. I must go to America. I won't have to carry the burden of my past so consciously there; I can support myself and stand on my own feet.
At least, I could try.
The more I thought about it, the more attractive the idea seemed. I could go to the United States as an English authoress who had given up the boredom of high society for a career. I would sell a woman's column to American newspapers.
Obviously I had a flair for writing on subjects of interest to women -love, marriage, men. I knew a great deal about men. I had studied them almost to the exclusion of women. I believed I had gained a great knowledge of human motives and of life.
When I broached it to Johnny, he was enthusiastic, too.
"You go first and then I'll' join you," he Said. He had his job to keep.
HE also knew I could do better alone, for I was young and pretty, and there would be many helping hands.
If my middle-aged husband came along, nobody would want to help me.
And so it was agreed.
But I realized, even if Johnny did not, that this marked the end of our marriage. I knew I could never really give up Johnny, any more than someone else could give up their parents; he would always be my family. But I knew, too, that I could not remain Mrs. Gillam much longer. Somewhere I must find love again.
*So Sheilah sets off to conquer the New World as she conquered the Old. Read next week of her success in New York and Hollywood - and her engagement to Lord Donegall.
© 1959 by Sheilah Graham and Gerold Frank
Plus with the loss of your Homemaker Spouse, and with your family debit increasing, your family is at risk!
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