Free Daughter of Empire by Pamela Hicks Page A

Deering
Howe was so disturbed by our appearance that within a few days several new dresses arrived. Patricia was disapproving – not only was there a war on and we shouldn’t be concerned with
such trivialities, but she knew at once that our mother would in no way wish us to accept these gifts. I thought they were divinely pretty and desperately wanted to keep them. But it was not to be.
We had to decline the offer and wait for some money to come through from our parents.
    I wrote copious letters from Mrs Vanderbilt’s villa-style residence in Belleview Avenue, Newport, Rhode Island. I wrote to my mother and to my father, who insisted that all letters be
numbered in case some of them arrived out of sequence or were lost at sea, and also that I should write alternately to him and my mother. This made it difficult sometimes when I was in the mood to
tell my news to one before the other, only to find it wasn’t their turn. I also wrote to Grandmama and Hanky.
    As the war progressed, I felt guilty being so safe when our parents were not. My mother’s job involved driving around at night after bombs had dropped, helping people in the shelters as
well as improving the facilities available to the emergency services. She wrote that we were not to worry about her as she had become quite ‘nippy’ at avoiding danger. She actually
seemed to be enjoying herself.
    I couldn’t unburden my feelings of homesickness to my mother because she was so easily upset and it was always, as in our home life, more straightforward to share our worries with our
father. I drew a picture for him and posted it with letter number 14, showing ‘Pamela Carmen Louise’ stranded on a raft – ‘floating to you!’ There were three flags on
this vessel: one simply had the word ‘Help’, the second displayed the Union Jack and the third, quite obviously, was a pair of billowing bloomers labelled ‘white pants’. The
jolliness was a poor attempt to hide the slight but ever-present feeling that I missed home.
    In turn we received letters from our father and Hanky and Bunny. The King of the Moon was in fine form, lacing his letters with stories and sweet sentiments. As she dashed around our mother sent
us several cables with news of her war effort. I was especially pleased to hear from Hanky, who gave us longed-for news of the dogs. I was still feeling guilty that during one of our goodbyes, I
had pulled away from her, suddenly unwilling to be kissed by the prickly, almost invisible moustache on her top lip. She had always been so warm and giving, and sometimes before I went to sleep I
imagined her back at Broadlands, upset and mystified by my rudeness. I made sure that I wrote to her with a lot of affection in my letters, telling her that I couldn’t wait to see her
again.
    The best news came in the form of a cable announcing Zelle’s imminent arrival. Until now, we had been under the care of a Mrs Gertrude Pugh, a thoroughly English, unsympathetic woman who
wore long pink boudoir knickers that came down to her knees (hiding from her one afternoon, Patricia and I spotted these under her skirt from our refuge under the bed). It was such a relief when
Zelle replaced Miss Pugh, bringing with her news, letters and presents from the family. Being with Zelle did also have its downside – I was allowed to speak to her and Patricia only in French
during the day. If I hadn’t spoken any English by nightfall, I was given a cent.
    When the summer came to an end, we returned to Manhattan with Mrs Vanderbilt. While, of course, we lived a privileged life at Broadlands, I wasn’t quite prepared for the relentless
grandeur and ostentation of Mrs Vanderbilt’s lifestyle, this manifestation of the excesses of New York ‘society’. There was nothing she liked more than to talk of the British
aristocracy, and I think our link to the royal family really thrilled her. One morning, when we had just started school, she pulled us both out of lessons