Maggie Sacks: Maggie’s War
Episode 1: Maggie’s War
I started playing bridge in the Common Room at Edinburgh University. To supplement funds, I got a holiday job teaching Greek to a 15 year old Eton boy who had asthma and was always being sent home to Scotland during term, thus missing a lot of school. My employer was Laura Ramsay, sister of Max Aitken, the Canadian newspaper baron, who subsequently became Lord Beaverbrook, Minister of Aircraft Production and one of the architects of the Allied victory, so I got to know Uncle Max...
Dinner was at 8 - Laura's maid made slight alterations to her cast-off French couture, so I was suitably attired. Bridge was the order at 9.15. Guests came from nearby mansions, castles, and estates. Laura was a very good player, but her husband was not and indeed wanted nothing more than to go to his study after dinner for port and cigars. So "my son's little tutor" was called in to play at a shilling a hundred, a colossal stake in the mid-thirties. I was told my losses would be paid, and I could keep our joint winnings so naturally I made sure we won a lot! This went on for four or five vacations (I was even once taken to the International Sportsman's Club in St. Moritz) but foolishly I killed the golden-egged goose by teaching young Alan golf at Galashiels in all weathers (red balls in the snow). This toughened him up so much that his asthma was all but cured and he didn't need any more coaching.
War broke out. I graduated and married my boy friend, a fellow student, who took a commission in the Royal Scots while I joined the Women's Land Army. It was dreadful. Run by the Minister of Agriculture and Fisheries (Ye Gods) without organization, discipline. or sense. I deluged them with letters and ideas, and since my dad had always insisted on "he who pays the piper" I sent copies of everything to the Chancellor of the Exchequer at the Treasury.
After some six months, I got a telegram to report to the Treasury in London. found myself in the company of Dame Evelyn Gwynne Vaughan the WRNS, magnificent in navy; Joan Trefusis Forbes of the WAAF, so pretty in air force blue; solid and godly Jean Knox of the ATS in khaki; and me in my hideous green jumper, ill-fitting dungarees, ugly shoes and no cap! In came a great Treasury panjandrum who announced that his fellow officials could not cope with female wrangling and problems; and that I, who had the suitable degree and ideas, should coordinate women's service requirements and save the gentlemen of the Treasury from the horrors of undie allowances, Tampax issues and yes or no to French letters and Marie Stopes.
I kept everyone happy and got into no trouble till Xmas 1943 when I ruled that since Brussels sprouts were in short supply and very expensive, the troops should have turkey and cabbage for Xmas dinner. I was summoned to the PRESENCE, asked if I wanted to lose the war by causing mutiny in the ranks and told to put things right P.D.Q.
At night, I was made leader of one of the Treasury Fire Squads. In my group were Sir Alan Barlow, a Permanent Under Secretary, and Dame Evelyn Sharp, the senior woman civil servant. Both loved bridge, but could not play together so I partnered Sir Alan V, Dame Evelyn and another through many long nights of blitz. Eventually the Treasury was bombed and some of the Home Guard killed. I opened my emergency orders and led my squad under the Air Ministry into the Downing Street underground shelter. In came Mr. C., in his siren suit and bare of feet. "Who are you people?" he growled. I told him the terrible news. All he said to me was, "Hrumph". He stalked off through a door at the back yelling..."Mary, bring me my slippers." Mary Churchill scampered into Daddy's den. Anyway, I once spoke with a very great man
In 1945, my husband, who had become Col. James Ewart C.B.E., Monty's chief I.O. was killed in Ger-many. I wanted to get out of Britain. The Colonial Office, short of young men, had decided to try a couple of women. I applied and with referees like Uncle Max, Sir Alan and Dame Evelyn I was soon on the short list. I attended the notorious weekend at the Country House in South England, failed all the maths tests but broke a couple of codes very speedily (thanks to years of Times crosswords). I was sure I'd be ok if my behaviour passed muster. Instead of going to the village pub after dinner with the men candidates, I stayed and played bridge with the Chief Examiner versus his deputy. I limited my alcohol consumption to two scotches with a little tap water and no ice! I knew that wowsers were no use in the service, but neither were over-indulgers.
So it was, "Trinidad or Tanganyika, which would you prefer?" In January, 1947 I sailed for the West Indies, little knowing that only a month or two before, my next life-partner had left Cape Town for the same destination.
Episode 2: Post War
I disembarked in Port-of-Spain, Trinidad, on a Friday in early 1947 and was taken to a large establishment where new arrivals were temporarily lodged. Not only was I installed in a large comfy bed-sitter but I encountered my first tarantula! I came downstairs and asked at the desk for a taxi. (It is important to sign on at Government House immediately on arrival in the colonies). Round the corner came a curly-haired bloke. "Please don't trouble with a taxi," he said. "I'd be delighted to take you there in my baby Austin." By Monday morning we were an 'item". Six years later we were honeymooning in Tobago, years before Princess Margaret honeymooned there. We lived in Trinidad for six years, but bridge did not feature greatly, just a regular Saturday night game with an Irish couple.
Like all British territories, Trinidad was being groomed for independence. There were elected 'ministers'. One was Chanka Maharaj, chosen for being the West Indies All-In Wrestling champion. Ajodasingh was voted in for his miraculous healing powers. (He permanently cured my golf-elbow). They and others soon realised that I was good at writing speeches. So, what with normal office hours and being chauffeured all over the island to minsters homes at night - to speech-write - I was working an 18 hour day. Don't worry about Robbie. He was off to the slums teaching maths to the poor. Two daughters somehow arrived (en passant, as they say in chess). I also represented Trinidad v Barbados in two golfing matches. So, hey!
I'm an international!
The Brits, wisely, don't leave their employees too long in one place. (They might become over-friendly with the natives). So in 1952 we were 'transferred on promotion' to the Gold Coast, the white man's grave. This was to be the first African colony to be granted independence.(Interestingly, it's where Obama went first in 2009). The nations of the world were keen to be there, watching. The Americans sent one of their top ambassadors and very important staff - all bridge players, hurrah! Israel sent Golda Meir's blue-eyed boy, a top bridge player. Ceylon (q.v. David Schokman) sent a High Commissioner with a gorgeous Carla Bruni-type French wife, both bridge players. She had a boudoir to die for and a bidet, the first I'd ever seen). In no time at all, it was fortnightly dinners and three tables of high-class duplicate. We got to know all sorts of interesting visitors. I remember asking Golda one evening why she was a bit scratched and bruised. "Nothing much," she said. "They tried to assassinate me yesterday."
One evening at our place the dinner was excellent, but there was too much noise coming from the back. When the sweet course had been served, I went to investigate and found a strange man in the Kitchen. "Who is this person?" I said, "Oh, Madam", said my steward, "dis be Governor General cook". I didn't know whether to curtsey, or say how do you do, but contented myself with an infinitesimal nod of the head and an instruction to serve coffee immediately we were seated in the card room.
Next day an invitation arrived for cocktails at Christiansborg Castle, where the Governor-General resided. When we arrived at about 6.00pm, there were only two cars in the park, so thinking I had mistaken the time, we drove up to Labadi Beach and back, but there were still only two cars. On entering we were immediately greeted by Lord Listowel who said he was so glad we could make it. "The thing is" ,he said, "You people give the most fantastic dinner and bridge parties. Your cook and my cook are friends, so on these occasions I'm left alone with a plate of cold meat and salad for comfort. I too can play bridge". Oh dear I don't think he was very good and he didn't have a partner). An embarrassment was avoided however. He went on leave soon after and returned with a Countess Lady Stephanie, whom he had met at a London nightclub.
Their first engagement was to honour with their presence the annual party at the "Ambassador" given by the three British professional institutions - RIBA (architects), RICS (surveyors) and the Engineering ones (RIE). As president of the local RICS, it was Robbie's turn to be host. As hostess, I was drawn aside by the aide-de-camp and instructed that. as there was only one 'Ladies' attached to the ballroom, must persuade Her Excellency to visit ASAP, since protocol demanded that no-one could 'go' till she had 'been'. She came along, and being there thought she might as well use the opportunity. She had a divine dress, with seven frilly petticoats, so I had to help!! I had only two petticoats, but she helped me too. We rejoined the party full of giggles, and definitely on Stevie and Maggy terms.
The Governor-General, by reason of his position, couldn't nightclub in Accra, so Stevie, incognito, used to join us on Saturday nights at the "Seaview" to do the Hi-Life from midnight to dawn. During all this, daughter No three appeared. No bother at all. We lived rent-free in a mansion with a steward, small boy, cook, nanny, washerwoman and gardener. Mild malaria now and then, but life was good.
Episode 3: The good life on the Gold Coast
It is now 1957, the year the Gold Coast was to become the first British colonv in Africa to gain independence. The Brits, who are marvellous at staging national celebrations, decided to throw the party of the decade if not the century. They asked the Queen, of course. She was truly sorry she couldn't be there. Prince Edward was on the way. However, she chose a brilliant substitute, the beautiful, stately Princess Marina. The US President sent his deputy
- one Richard Nixon! A fleet of six magnificent Bristol Siddeleys in British Racing Green was bought to display the new nation to the visiting dignitaries. When at midnight
the appointed day the Princess took the floor for the Independence Waltz with the now President Dr Kwame Nkrumah even a tough old Scotty like me had lumps in the throat.
Incidentally, the government had held a competition for words for a national anthem. I got £50 for two of my lines!
‘and over all, a golden band
the symbol of our fatherland.'
Not perhaps the greatest lyric poetry, but they are sung to this day and it sure beats 'with golden soil and wealth for toil.' They made the flag different though. It is now striped, red, gold and green, with the gold in the middle. Very odd!
Most of the senior Colonial servants decided to take early retirement, go home - wherever that was - and start a new career with a bit of a pension as backing. With the Empire shrinking yearly, there was nowhere equivalent for them to be employed. Robbie however, had become an expert at defining national boundaries. Where gold or oil is involved, a few yards this way or that can be worth millions. He was approached by Dr Nkrumah with a package too good to refuse - keep your job, your house and your pension and sign up for two 18 month contracts, handsomely remunerated, with three months paid leave after each and first-class travel. So, with our future assured for the next three years we left for end of service leave in South Africa
Walking down Eloff Street - it was lovely then remember morning coffee in John Orr's - I saw a notice advertising Pan African Bridge Congress. I learned that there were teams of four from the Cape, Transvaal, Orange Free State, Natal, SW Africa, Rhodesia (the Sheffields weren't in the team, don't know why; Answer: because we were in nappies, stupid!), N. Rhodesia, Kenya and Tanganyika. I pointed out that the Congress could not be termed Pan-African if no country north of the equator was represented. However, this might easily be remedied since 'my husband and I' would be pleased to represent Ghana. The organisers seemed very doubtful, but I dropped some famous Italian and French bridge names in my best Parisienne accent. (I am told I speak like Piaf, that is guttersnipe!) This caused an amazing change of atmosphere. There were, they said, two French speaking players from Cote D’Ivoire who had expressed an interest. If we were prepared to form a team with them, it would be convenient, number-wise. So hey!! I'm international at bridge as well as golf, even though Ghana never found out about it, I hope. Probably our club has others like me. I know that Charlie and Lily Lim represented Malaya in their youth.
At lunch break on day one of the Congress was in the loo when I heard two bitchy Johannesburgers saying
“Who are these people with the Frenchies?'
'No idea. He's not bad but she hasn’t got a clue.'
O dear! I had to stay inside till the ladies emptied, and slink back to the playing area, making a most solemn oath never ever to use a public facility again. This might have resulted in serious damage to bladder or kidney, but fortunately, playing next weekend in the Johannesburg Ladies Open, and having to break my vow after the first 18 holes I heard someone say
'Who is the little Scotty who shot a 79?
'Dunno. But I wish I could swing a club like her.'
So I pulled the chain emerged all smiles, broke my solemn vow and in answer to your concerned enquiries am glad to inform you that my plumbing is still in excellent condition.
We returned to Ghana but things had already changed. We were no longer the rulers. Ps and Qs had to be minded. The Captains and the Kings had departed. British ways had yielded popularity to American. For example, for the first anniversary of independence, the government bought a fleet of Chryslers and sold, for a song the Bristols to such heads of department as needed good cars for their job. We got this one that had been assigned to Tricky Nicky with only 200 miles on the clock. We loved it dearly, but clearly, we needed somewhere else to live when the contracts were up. Britain and Canada were too cold for me. South Africa still had apartheid. Ergo Australia it had to be. In May 1960 we drove to Takoradi, shipped our car to Fremantle and headed for my beloved Fife for our last paid leave. The girls went to the village school and fitted in perfectly. We golfed every day onn the lovely links of Earlsferry and at St Andrews, a mere bus ride away. We were at the edge of the 18th when Ken Nagle won the Centenary British Open and saw Peter Thompson run on to the green to hug him. I hugged the woman beside me too.
"Hello, I'm Tooey Wright,' she said 'Are you Australian?'
'Too right I am, we're going to be Australians in October.'
'Then you're one of us already. You must come to the party.'
So we did, in the Rusack's Hotel beside the Royal and Ancient Golf Club of St Andrews. We were made so welcome that I knew I would love the country before even setting foot on the Strathearn for our four week voyage via Suez to begin our next adventure.
Episode 4: Australia here I come
Apart from liking the Aussies I had met, I had no idea what awaited me. Two or three times per term at School Prayers we had sung:
God of our fathers
Beneath whose awesome power we hold
Dominion over palm and pine
I greatly doubted however, whether this new bit of palm and pine would welcome "domination" by the likes of me. What would I do for a living? Had I known that for the next ten years the answer would be cook, clean, chauffeur the kids, and live on one income - I would not have disembarked.
We landed in Australia on 1st October 1960 and were met at the docks by someone from UWA, (Robbie had got a job there). Fremantle at that time was grim. "Don't worry" said the someone, "She's a cow of a town, Perth is OK'. I was stunned to hear such language from an academic, but worse was to come. Soon we were driving along a more civilised road with some little shops on either side "This is Broadway" said the someone. Knowing Broadway USA, I was stunned again. We were delivered to Steve’s, where we had been booked in for 2 weeks. We had a huge room upstairs, quite nice, but the girls didn't much fancy the "sleep out". On the plus side, our car had arrived. We collected it next day and became mobile. By the end of week 2 the girls were attending Dalkeith Primary, I had joined the right golf club (sorry Cottesloe), met the then Club Champion, Justin Seward, who at that time was probably the leading Estate Agent in Perth. He promised to get us the right house in the right place, which he did, pronto. We moved in on 1st December - no furniture, but who cared? I live in it still very happily, though it's a bit battered with age - like its owner.
Next job was to find some bridge games. There was a group playing on Thursdays at Dr and Mrs Ferguson's house on Kings Park Road. We went there and I found to our amazement that although they were serious players, their bidding was appalling. They bid NT's with 12 points! And opened 4 card majors!! Naturally we "penalty doubled" all night, and caused no end of havoc. We were told firmly that if we wanted to come again we must learn a proper system i.e. ACOL. We did not revisit. However, on returning from a years’ Sabbatical overseas in 1968, 1 found that "the club" had relocated to Adelma Road, a mere 3 iron shot from our house. I dropped in one day when the door was open to find Hans Rosendorff on the stage and Vally Katz at the Directors room end, screaming obscenities at each other in what I took to be "low German". In spite of this inauspicious start, I joined. I was soon drafted into the job of Secretary of the Tournament Committee. BAWA did not yet exist, so this was the group who ran the show.
We met in each other's houses on Sunday mornings for, to say the least, very vociferous meetings, which increased in "vociferosity" when the beer started coming about 11 am. Hans was never elected a member. His volubility and volatility were phenomenal, but he was often invited to attend as expert witness or advisor. As he couldn't drive, and never even owned a car, I used to pick him up in my little yellow Fiat Bambino with a sunshine roof. He loved it, and we became great friends. I became friends with Valli, too. She was House Member and organised fantastic club parties, fuelled by a magic "cup" made in her baby bath, to a recipe known only to her. It had gin, champagne, ice and god knows what else. I was entrusted with it's maintenance, and as the evenings progressed I would call out –
"the bath's getting low, Valli, what shall I do?"
"Chuck in another couple of bottles of gin".
Great days.
Later I did various things. Edited Trumps Plus in the era of the DIABOLICAL DUPLICATOR, which only Helen and Mike George could control (sort of) with the assistance of John Ashworth, whose sorting and stapling expertise is, I assure you, as great as his bridge ability. I did Turf Farming at Wanneroo for 5 years with moderate success, and then edited the 1979 Who's Who, a very enjoyable interlude. People would call in most evenings about 5 - when we ritually downed pens and opened a large cask of red - to discuss their draft biographies. A party every night. I don't do much nowadays except play bridge and golf and the market. No snide comments, please.
About me - no wonder I'm odd. What follows is hearsay, rumour and some truth, but definitely not gospel. We are a very imaginative family.
Granny 1 was Maggy McKinley. Her eldest brother, much older than she, emigrated to USA and sired Wil McKinley, who became President. He was assassinated in 1902. He was BOLSHY, I'm told, so serve him right.
Granny 2 was Maggy Fraser of the Black Isle, wherever that may be. She was clearly "in" with the Fraser Clan, as my brother was immediately commissioned into “Sheemie Frasers Lovat Scouts”, in 1939. They were all wild Highlanders and became crack Commando's.
Grandpa 1 was an Armstrong, scion of the notorious Johnny Armstrong, the Border Reiver (i.e. he stole the Englishmen's cattle, and quite right too). They hanged him from the window of his own keep (i.e. tower) and left him there till the crows picked his bones bare. Armstrong is my middle name. So, if I'm a bit wary of POMs, you know why.
Grandpa 2 had some connection with William and Robert Chambers, who peddled books from a barrow in the Lawn Market, Edinburgh, in the 1700's. William was a good businessman and Robert a reader and writer. They prospered and established themselves as publishers in Thistle St, just behind Princes St. They started Chambers Journal, followed, as the centuries moved on, by Chambers Encyclopaedia and Chambers Dictionary. My Dad was Managing Director when I was growing up. I often used to go to Thistle St after school to check the entries for "a penny a definition". Nice pocket money. But best of all was to be trusted. It makes one self-reliant, confident, and able to face whatever comes up next.
So shuffle the cards. Lots hope the next deal is a Grand Slam!
Published in June 2009, September 2009, December 2009 and March 2010 Edition of Trumps Plus
