My Life

My Life - Oswald Mosleytrenches in a bath-house behind the lines—'I never knew before the lower classeshave such white skins'—would be laboriously dissected, with the conclusion that itwas quite natural to note how remarkably clean these men had managed to keepthemselves in these filthy conditions, yet—in the case of someone who had beenhaunted from Oxford days by the epithet 'superior person'—it had to be twisted intothis absurdity.He was much misrepresented, which to some extent was the fault of his rigid andfrigid demeanour, though it was partly the result of shyness and partly due to aperpetual pain in his back for which he wore a support. He was almost always in pain,and anyone who knew him well must have felt sympathy for a man who sustained thisaffliction through incessant labour with gay good humour, only yielding occasionallyto the petulance evoked by fatigue and suffering. He combined a sense of public dutywith a zest for life, and though our conception both of the former and of the latter wasdeeply different, his apparent sympathy for me in our initial relationship may haverested on recognition of some corresponding motives. Cimmie said to me years laterthat my vitality took so much from life that I had a particular obligation to give muchback. Lord Curzon in a more material sense took much from the world, and hecertainly felt his obligation and laboured incessantly to repay it.At our first meeting he had obviously decided it was his duty to ask me all the usualfather-in-law questions, but found it embarrassing—too impolite; this basic shynesswas one of the things never understood about him. The intense emotionalism alsocould never be detected behind the icy demeanour presented to the world. His mannerand conduct in private life were more emotional than is usual in an Englishman. Hewas warm-hearted, and on all family occasions easily moved to tears. At thechristening of our first child he made a little speech—toasting the trophy, as he calledit—and then with tears on his cheeks embraced everybody. Margot Asquith gave thesame event a more practical reception, visiting Cimmie in bed soon after the arrival.'Dear child, you look very pale and must not have another baby for a long tune. Henryalways withdrew in time, such a noble man.' We were left pondering the effect of thisprivate exercise on public affairs.Lord Curzon could, of course, inadvertently be very intimidating to anyone outsidehis own circle. Billy Ormsby-Gore—later Lord Harlech—told me one of my favouritestories. He was on official duty at some meeting of a committee of the War Cabinet inCarlton House Terrace. Mr. Barnes, the estimable Labour member, the first to arrive,was clearly rather oppressed by the sombre pomp of the surroundings. Seeking relief,he pointed to an enormous photograph on the wall and enquired: 'Lord Curzon, whatis that picture?' The crisp, short a's were prominent in the patient explanation: 'That,Mr. Bames, is a photograph of myself and of my staff, riding upon elephants'. Thisray of vice-regal sunshine did little to relieve the imperial gloom which was liable tosettle on the Regency splendours of Carlton House Terrace on an occasion whenunsuitable company was present.The reaction to one of his own people who transgressed could be very sharp. The finerpoints of etiquette and dress were sustained with meticulous care when he gavedinners to the King and Queen at Carlton House Terrace. He had written, on the firstoccasion we were invited, a letter in his long flowing hand to the Palace, asking that Imight be permitted to wear trousers instead of knee breeches; my smashed leg, of96 of 424