WALTZING ON THE EDGE OF A CLIFF

Rosamund made her curtsy look effortless, as she did with everything in her life. She was petite, with a heart shaped face framed by brown wavy hair. She was born knowing how to cock a hat at the right angle so that her bright green eyes would derail her companion’s train of thought. She put her horses through the highest jumps and smoked gold tipped Black Russian cigarettes from a long mother of pearl holder.

As she entered the gold and white Throne Room, Rosamund glanced downwards and spied a small gold crown embroidered on the spot where she was to curtsy to King George VI. Holding her bouquet in front of her, she sank down, her left knee locked behind her right, bowing her head at the lowest point of her curtsy. Smiling as she rose, she made three steps to the right and curtsied to Queen Elizabeth. Without turning her back to the King and Queen, she moved to a door on the far side of the room.

She joined her father. Arm in arm, they later watched the Royal Procession proceed down the line of debutantes and dowagers as they curtsied, like wind running through anemones. During supper, the paper liners around the iced cakes had the Royal Arms on them.[i]

Her father knew most of the men in the room. England was ruled by men who went to same schools, the same two universities and belonged to same clubs. Members of the upper class were aristocrats, landed gentry or at the very least had families that were wealthy and established for two generations.

Rosamund basked in the attention she received that evening and looked forward to the rest of the season. Most eighteen-year-old girls from upper class families came out in the spring of 1939, signalling that they were available to marry. During the initial lunches, the girls got to know one another and their mothers desperately hunted for names of eligible escorts and dance partners. Then came an exhausting calendar of afternoon teas, cocktail parties and dances in London’s most elegant locations. For girls like Rosamund, it was a glorious amalgam of champagne and flowers, strawberries and cream, silk and satin. For girls whose families’ new wealth was created by the Industrial Revolution,dozens of social potholes pitted their path to social acceptance.

The news of Hitler’s invasion of Czechoslovakia during the morning of March 15, 1939 bumped the description of the Royal Presentation from the front pages.

‘Domestic Situations Required: Young Jewish married couple urgently desire position as Handyman and Cook in English country. Write Box A455, The Times, E.C.4.’ 16 March 1939:[ii]

‘Play ‘Night and Day’ again, Dinah. ‘

Rosamund and Dinah sat in one of the warmly lit booths in Keith Prowse’s record store on Bond Street. Girls could spend an entire afternoon listening to the newest releases, and the staff didn’t seem to mind.

‘One more time and that’s it, angel.’ Rosamund had dreamt of her beloved brother again last night, who’d passed five years earlier from scarlet fever. Dinah, being the motherly sort, knew a trip to Keith’s would dissipate her blue funk. Dinah was tall, had an aquiline nose and blue eyes framed with eyebrows shaped to perfect half circles. As she knew she was to marry Hugh ‘Cubby’ Fraser practically from their time together in nursery, her self-confidence never faltered. She was so calm she appeared in repose even whilst riding or playing tennis.

Their audio tube suddenly picked up a conversation from a neighbouring booth.

‘And that woman is so vain, she’ll be buried in a Bakelite coffin. And pushy.’

‘Her daughter is so pretty.’

‘She is. Guinevere Gould, or I guess it’s Guinevere Brodrick now. The mother was supposedly a show girl, of all things, until she married an American, George J. Gould, who had oodles of money. Oodles and oodles of it, she could bathe daily in champagne. They had Guinevere and two other kids. One day, the mother decides she wants a title, so she scooped up poor old Georgie’s cash and quickly married Lord Dunsford. True love, I guess. She promptly changed the kids’ last names to Lord D.’s family name of Brodrick, burying their father’s religion under the rug, and even had the cheek to make them ‘Honorables’, which of course they have no right to.[iii] Now she won’t rest until she’s second only to Queen Elizabeth in society.’

‘But how on earth was Guinevere eligible for the Royal Presentation?’

‘She’s a Blet, of course. And she made a fool of herself there.’ [iv]

‘What happened?’ ‘Well, you know a curtsy requires the exact placing of the knees and the feet. As Guinevere made her curtsy to the Queen, she lost her balance. She dropped her bouquet, threw her hand out to steady herself and nearly wound up a puddle of limbs on the floor.’

‘In today’s news, the UK government announced plans today for a Compulsory Military Training Bill. Under the new scheme, all men aged twenty and twenty-one must undertake six months of military training.’ [v]When the five o’clock news came on the radio, Rosamund and Dinah lost the audio feed from the neighbouring booth.

‘Rosamund, that look in your eyes makes me nervous.’ Dinah knew Rosamund as well as she knew herself.

‘I know that Guinevere girl. She monopolised Charles, practically dragged him out for every dance the other night.’ Charles Manners, Marquess of Granby, was destined to inherit Belvoir Castle in Leicestershire[vi] and was one of the handsomest men of the season. He was tall, broad shouldered, with a square face, symmetrical features and deep-set brown eyes.

‘You behave yourself. Charles shines plenty of light your way.’

‘I am as innocent as a fluffy white kitten.’

Later that evening, Rosamund placed a call. ‘Vally! It’s Rosamund. I came across a juicy little morsel for you to snack on.’ Valentine Castlerosse, a man of prodigious appetites for all things decadent, was the leading gossip columnist in ‘Londoner’s Log’ in the Sunday Express. [vii]

‘Domestic Situations Required: Austrian Jewish Couple with well-behaved boy of 13 seeks post in England; woman a good cook and dressmaker; gentlemen can drive car.

S.Fuerst. Vienna VII. Neubausse 38 IV, Stock-Tur 7.’ April 21, 1939 [viii]

‘Mother, please call off my dance! I can’t possibly have it after everyone has read Valentine’s column’, Guinevere begged.

‘Nonsense. I’ll do nothing of the kind. It doesn’t even mention your name.’

‘Mother, it says ‘a certain golden girl.’ Gold/Gould? Everyone knows it’s me.’

‘A little publicity now and then makes people take notice of you. I want your name on everyone’s lips.’

After Guinevere capitulated, her mother, Lady Dunsford, gave a dance on May 1, 1939 at 6 Stanhope Gate for her daughter. Lady Dunsford spared no expense creating her desired atmosphere. Chestnut trees in full blossom decorated the reception room. The ballroom had many bay and lime trees and stephanotis plants with rows of little white flowers. Huge, fragrant apple trees populated the two supper rooms. [ix]

Guinevere wore a slinky black satin dress. She had a shiny blonde bob, large blue eyes and a sweet smile. Her long, thin limbs meant she looked attractive in a myriad of dress styles. Her stepfather often said she was lit from within, as Guinevere was kind to her siblings and obedient to her parents. She was also prone to social blunders and bouts of anxiety, no one knowing which factor preceded the other.

Guinevere had pored over DeBretts to learn families’ lineage, information that the other girls knew from their parents’ gossip at their breakfast tables. They also had years of exposure to social rituals in nursery, dance classes and finishing school. Fitting in came easily to these girls. Guinevere still felt like her face was pressed against a window, only able to observe but never to enter.

Rosamund, accompanied by Charles Manners, and Dinah, accompanied by Cubby, arrived at the party after having dined at Claridge’s. Full skirted dresses with off-the-shoulder bodices and white kid gloves ending at the upper arm were the popular fashion. Rosamund, however, wore a close-fitting white satin dress with lily-of-the-valley gold sequin embroidery. Dinah wore a pink tulle gown with bees chasing one another throughout the bodice.

‘I’m so delighted you could come tonight.’ Guinevere smiled and looked at Rosamund expectantly.

Rosamund looked at her, remained expressionless and then her eyes moved on. Guievere’s social ambition bored Rosamund, who despised being bored. Save Dinah, Rosamund had few female friends and preferred the company of men.

‘Guinevere, enjoy your evening,’ Charles said, then sped off to catch up with Rosamund.

Jack Harris and his band led the debutantes and their partners in a whooping conga line up one side of the double staircase and down the other. Popular girls like Rosamund already had their dance cards completely filled. At every dance, white dance cards with little blue pencils attached were handed out to each girl, and partners’ names written beside the number of each dance. Girls with bad skin, poor dress sense, or two left feet had glaring gaps on their dance cards and often cried in the Ladies room. They had to learn to manage being snubbed.

Extra consideration was given to the identity of the eighth dance partner, for a girl would attend supper with him. At midnight, it was served: mousse of sole, lobster, salmon, strawberries and ices, all downed with champagne.

Cubby approached Rosamund’s father, who was smoking on the terrace outside.

‘Anything wrong, sir?’

‘No, nothing at all. A fine party. An amusing girl.’ He knew dark days were ahead. Having lost one son, he despaired thinking about his only remaining son’s future. He knew that his son, Cubby and most men of their age would soon be off to fight. The scars of the previous war: the losses, the gore, the stench: still haunted him at night. The two hundred young people dancing inside knew nothing of these horrors. Let sleeping children sleep, he reckoned. He knew that some of men needed only one hand to count the number of parties remaining for the rest of their short lives.

By 3AM, a few of the chaperones seated around the circumference of the dance floor had fallen asleep, their lorgnettes resting on their bosoms. Most, however, remained vigilant, as a girl’s virtue and thus reputation were precious.

Guinevere’s last dance of the evening was with Karl Lambert, who was training to be a doctor. While not of the same background as the other escorts, doctors often came to the dances for a good meal.

‘What did you think of last night’s match?’ she asked. Girls were expected to lead the conversation. Given their limited education, they were advised to stick to sports or the royal family.

‘Aah, I have no time for small talk. Tell me about the last book you read.’

Over the next two hours, they chatted effortlessly, forgetting about the time and their tired feet.

Domestic Positions Wanted: German Jewess, age 55, still in Berlin, seeks home in England: good appearance: extremely capable in all domestic duties and care of children. Write Miss A.M. Elze, 33, Warrender Road. N.19. 15 April 1939[x]

In the middle of the fifth dance held during the following week, Guinevere and a girlfriend snuck off to the Old Florida Room to hear Ken ‘Snakehips’ Johnson. The club had a glass floor, a revolving dance floor and was very dimly lit.

Guinevere left their small round table to find the loo. Never graceful in broad daylight, she bumbled along, trying several doors in transit.

She opened the final door at the end of the hall and gasped.

Rosamund stood in the arms of Captain Gordon Halsey, the club’s brash owner and a reputed womanizer. From the state of her hair and lipstick, she had been there for quite some time. Rosamund’s pupils narrowed with fear.

Guinevere stood there a moment, then closed the door.

Domestic Positions Wanted: Jewish parents seek home for their children, son 16, clever, healthy, well mannered, good education, eight months in an automobile workshop: daughter 9, bright. -Schafer Prieni 4A, Brennan,Czecho-Slovakia. April 28, 1939[xi]

Early the next morning, Rosamund placed a call. ‘Vally, I heard our Golden Girl was looking for some man in the dark corridors of the Old Florida Room. Whatever could she be up to?’ No social climber would block Rosamund’s path to Charles’ Belvoir Castle.

After her second damning mention in Valentine’s column, Guinevere’s mood pivoted between shamed despair and angry determination to stop Rosamund’s antics.

To boost her confidence, she purchased a cream silk Lanvin frock cut on a bias to wear at an upcoming dance. The dance’s surroundings were sophisticated: lying-down chairs with white satin cushions, gardens floodlit, masses of Beluga caviar and iced fruit on the tables.

‘Guinevere, you look like an angel!’ Charles held her at arm’s length and smiled. Guinevere tensed as she spotted Rosamund behind him. Rosamund leaned in to hug her, just long enough that the pollen on her lily corsage irretrievably stained Guinevere’s dress. Rosamund smiled.

Guinevere retreated, but not before seeing the pity in Charles’ eyes.

Charles was on Guinevere’s dance card after supper. They had an easy rapport and a mutual trust. Guinevere knew she would destroy Rosamund’s chances of a life with Charles by telling him what she saw in the Old Florida Room. His conservative family had no appetite for scandal.

The band played ‘And the Angels Sing’[xii] as Charles led Guinevere to the floor.

‘Charles, I want to tell you…’ Guinevere was determined to tell him but worried that she would choose the wrong words.

‘What’s that? Are my two left feet hopelessly behind the beat?’

‘No, it’s not that at all. You’re a good dancer. It’s about Rosamund.’ Charles deserved someone who would be true to him.

‘About staining your dress tonight? She can be careless sometimes. But you’d be pretty in a potato sack.’

‘No, it’s more than that, much more. I saw her...’ Charles looked concerned.

But Guinevere couldn’t hurt him. And she didn’t want to be responsible for wrecking Rosamund’s future. Yet she could take no more insults from Rosamund. She fled the dance floor before her eyes welled up with tears.

Fortunately, the ante room to the Ladies was empty, given the hour. She plopped down on a velvet sofa and dissolved into a flood of tears, which did her beauty no favours. She sobbed so much that she began to feel sick.

‘Guinevere, Guinevere, what’s all this?’ Dinah’s eyes were kind and her voice sounded worried.

Guinevere could not bear any more of Rosamund’s cruelty. She told Dinah exactly what she saw at The Old Florida Room. As Guinevere spoke, Dinah sat up straighter and grew sombre.

‘Rosamund, come here.’ The last dance had ended and a few girls had wandered in.

‘I’ve been dancing for hours. I need to fix my face.’ Rosamund’s voice was carefree.

‘You’ll come here at once.’ Dinah was slow to anger but formidable when provoked.

‘What’s this all about?’ Rosamund looked at Guinevere, who was cowering behind Dinah.

‘Guinevere’s told me everything about your interlude with a certain club owner. And you have been absolutely vile to her. Snubbing her at her own dance. Ruining her frock tonight. And I know full well that you told Valentine all those things.’ Dinah’s voice was rising.

‘Oooh that’s just a little fun. I didn’t mean anything. Anyway, what’s done can’t be undone.’ Rosamund refreshed her lipstick.

‘I’ll tell you exactly what can be done. At your charity ball next week, you will have Guinevere as your co-host.’ The association with Rosamund’s family would wipe away Guinevere’s stains from Valentine’s column and elevate her social standing.

‘I most certainly will not.’ Rosamund was horrified with the prospect of sharing her spotlight with an arriviste.

‘You will do, and you will agree to it this instant. Or I will go upstairs and tell Charles all about your dalliance at the Old Florida Room.’ Years of Rosamund’s casual cruelty had worn out Dinah’s benevolence.

‘Dinah, you wouldn’t!’

Dinah rose and headed toward the door.

‘Dinah! Please. Charles means something to me.’ Rosamund’s eyes grew shiny.

Dinah’s hand was on the doorknob. ‘You agree this instant, and a notice of the change goes in The Times tomorrow.’

Rosamund had done enough hunting to know when a fox is cornered. ‘Alright, Dinah. I will do it. But only to make you happy.’

For the first time that evening, Guinevere smiled. She vowed that, after she left her mother’s home, she would not play games to win others’ acceptance.

‘I am Marina, 29, and I live in Kyiv. I’m looking for a sponsor. I wanted to stay in my country...but after the recent rocket attacks when fragments of rock fell onto a nearby street and this was the last straw. I’m scared...I just want to go to bed and not be afraid for my life...’ 22 January 2024[xiii]

In June 2025, Guinevere and Karl’s great granddaughter donned the slinky black satin dress that Guinevere wore to her dance. She captioned her Instagram post ‘Off to the Royal Enclosure at Ascot to meet friends that I’ve known since nursery school. To a day full of laughter and champagne! No one is better than us!’

[i] Christopher Long, ‘1939-That Was the Season That Was’, London Portrait Magazine, 4/1984, www.christopherlong.co.uk [accessed 17 March 2024].

[ii] ‘Domestic Situations Required’, The Times, page 4, March 16, 1939 <
https://www.thetimes.co.uk/tto/archive/article/1939-03-16/4/1.html#start%3D1939-03-16%26end%3D1939-03-17%26terms%3Dhousekeeping%20positions%20required%20%26back%3D/tto/archive/find/housekeeping+positions+required+/w:1939-03-16%7E1939-03-17/1%26next%3D/tto/archive/frame/goto/housekeeping+positions+required+/w:1939-03-16%7E1939-03-17/2.> [accessed February 27, 2024].

[iii] Angela Lambert, 1939: The Last Season of Peace (Bloomsbury Reader, 2012), p.110.

[iv] In order to be presented, a girl’s mother or close family friend had to be presented when she was eighteen. A very rich father and socially ambitious mother who did not have the required social criteria or circle of friends could pay two thousand pounds to Lady St John of Bletsoe to bring a girl out. Anne De Courcy, 1939 The Last Season (Thames and Hudson,1989), p.25.

[v] [v] ‘Compulsory Military Training’, The Times, 27 April 1939 <
https://www.thetimes.co.uk/tto/archive/article/1939-04-27/16/1.html#start=1939-04-27&end=1939-04-28&terms=compulsory military training bill&back=/tto/archive/find/compulsory+military+training+bill/w:1939-04-27~1939-04-28>[accessed March 10, 2024].

[vi] Richard Webster, The Duke of Rutland obituary, 5 January 1999, The Guardian, <https://www.theguardian.com/news/1999/jan/05/guardianobituaries3> [accessed 24 February 2024.

[vii] Anne De Courcy, 1939 The Last Season (Thames and Hudson,1989), p.8.

[viii] ‘Domestic Situations Required’, The Times, 21 April, 1939
<https://www.thetimes.co.uk/tto/archive/article/1939-04-21/3/1.html#start=1939-04-21&end=1939-04-22&terms=domestic positions required&back=/tto/archive/find/domestic+positions+required/w:1939-021~1939-04-22/1&prev=/tto/archive/frame/goto/domestic+positions+required/w:1939-04-21~1939-04-22/1&next=/tto/archive/frame/goto/domestic+positions+required/w:1939-04-21~1939-04-22/3. [12 March 2024].

[ix] [ix] ‘Dance: Lady Dunsford’,The Times, 2 May 1939, page 17, <
https://www.thetimes.co.uk/tto/archive/article/1939-05-02/17/10.html#start=1939-05-01&end=1939-05-08&terms=viscountess dunsford&back=/tto/archive/find/viscountess+dunsford/w:1939-05-01~1939-05-08/1&next=/tto/archive/frame/goto/viscountess+dunsford/w:1939-05-01~1939-05-08/2> [accessed 21 February 2024].

[x] Domestic Situations Required’, The Times, 15 April, 1939 <https://www.thetimes.co.uk/tto/archive/article/1939-04-15/3/2.html#start=1939-03-16&end=1939-04-17&terms=german jewess&back=/tto/archive/find/german+jewess/w:1939-03-16~1939-04-17/1&next=/tto/archive/frame/goto/german+jewess/w:1939-03-16~1939-04-17/2> [13 March 2024].

[xi] Domestic Situations Required (Au Pair)’, The Times, 28 April, 1939 <https://www.thetimes.co.uk/tto/archive/article/1939-04-28/3/1.html#start=1939-04-28&end=1939-04-29&terms=domestic positions required&back=/tto/archive/find/domestic+positions+required/w:1939-04-28~1939-04-29/1&prev=/tto/archive/frame/goto/domestic+positions+required/w:1939-04-28~1939-04-29/1&next=/tto/archive/frame/goto/domestic+positions+required/w:1939-04-28~1939-04-29/3> [11 March 2024].

[xii] Kate Caffrey, ’37-‘39 Last Look Around (Gordon & Cremonesi Publishers, 1978), p.126.

[xiii] Marina Petryk, ‘Support Ukrainians, Support Ukraine’, Facebook, 22 January 2024 <https://www.facebook.com/groups/1015735795698903> [accessed March 15, 2024]

Jean Dornhofer is a former research director for a financial services firm and a recent recipient of a MA in Creative Writing. She is just embarking on her fiction writing career. She lives in London, UK between Battersea Park, a two-hundred-acre site, and Battersea Power Station, the scene of Pink Floyd’s Animals album.