Rosemary Essen-Scott, Lisba, Queen Rambai, Chula, Bira and Ceril together with Joannie the terrier and Hercules the bulldog. Lynham Farm, Rock, early 1940s.
Local people also called including the Vicar, the last being favoured with a dissertation on Buddhism and Christianity, somewhat biased in favour of the former, and leaving him in no doubt that his exotic new parishioners would not be numbered amongst his congregation. However, they did involve themselves in village activities, as Lisba and Ceril worked at the St. John’s and Red Cross centre, and willingly assisted at bazaars and fetes in aid of the war effort.
Since the Japanese occupation of Thailand and Thailand’s declaration of War on Britain and the United States, Chula and Bira were, strictly speaking, classed as enemy aliens. However, Chula had been assured that neither of them would be subject to restrictions on that score and that he was to retain his GCVO. Gratifying though this undoubtedly was, Chula, still frustrated at being unable to serve his own country, began to look around to find some way in which to ‘bear a share in the defence of England, the country of our refuge and our home’, and decided to apply for himself and Bira to become privates in the Home Guard. Their first application in December 1941 was turned down, but Chula persisted, and in February 1942 both were accepted. The Home Guard was an auxiliary force, a million strong in 1940, and provided a welcome chance of service to veterans of the First World War and younger men in reserved occupations such as farming.
The two Princes participated fully in the strenuous training of the Rock Platoon, which included night sentry duty and coast patrols, and as there were rumours of German landings on the Cornish coast, they slept with full equipment and a rifle beneath their beds. Their duties were most loyally carried out, and Chula, who had from quite a tender age worn immaculately tailored uniforms of no lower rank than second-lieutenant in King Chulalongkorn’s Own Bodyguard, the First Cavalry Regiment of the Guards, and Fifth Cavalry Regiment of Queen Saowabha, now wore only the rough dust-coloured khaki of an English private soldier.
Prince Bira and Chula in their Home Guard uniforms c. 1943.
Later in 1942, Chula moved on to join the Army Cadet Force, greatly expanded since the war – there were three battalions in Cornwall alone – with the rank of Second-Lieutenant and, after six months, was promoted Lieutenant, retaining his operational role in the Home Guard in case of emergency. Though enthusiastic about this new departure, he records rather ruefully that when required to carry a two-inch mortar up a hill, he could only walk. ‘Double, double’, cried a subaltern, years younger than himself, ‘You’ll have to assume I’m doubling’, the exhausted Prince replied.
There was dismay at Lynham when, in 1944, three months notice to leave was given them by the landlord, as they had all come to love Cornwall. In addition, Chula was reluctant to leave his Cadet Battalion, while Lisba, who had taken up work for St John’s Ambulance Brigade as war-work, found it of such absorbing interest that by 1964, in recognition of her twenty-five years of devoted service, she was to be created a Dame of the Order. Therefore, instead of planning a return to London, they searched for a property not to rent but to buy.
Their final choice fell on Tredethy near Bodmin, which became their lifelong home. Tredethy was a high-standing awkward-looking house, in a magnificent setting, facing south over a wide prospect of rolling wooded countryside. It was ill-designed with large draughty rooms, lofty ceilings, old-fashioned kitchen quarters, no mains electricity or water, and completely isolated except for a neighbouring farm. Also included in the property were two or three cottages, outbuildings and old stabling built around a courtyard. It was said to be haunted, and in time to come more than one nervous guest would describe the apparition of a grey lady on the stairs; what her story was and why her spirit was uneasy, no-one knew, though it was suggested that if she were grey, she might be grey with cold, for in common with so many English country houses, Tredethy was never really warm. Oddly enough, Chula, born and brought up in a tropical climate, never felt the cold and was inclined to look down on those who did.
Tredethy was however warmed by the great hospitality of its owners. They were always looking for and finding occasion for parties and amusement for their many friends, and Lisba was adept at never being at a loss to set another place or discover room for yet another guest in the large rambling house. There were delightful musical evenings when first-rate quartets came to play. There were dances, lavish Christmas parties, country walks and swimming.
Once again, though now on an even larger scale, their home resembled a court: quite strictly organised by its presiding spirit, who in a highly charged programme of activities, kept a vigilant eye on anyone bold enough to oppose opinions or prejudices beyond certain lines – lines which might be suddenly drawn and unexpectedly halt discussion on topics ruled out of court. Royal displeasure would chill speakers, reminding them implicitly that they might amuse, interest or entertain, but not challenge their autocratic host. He sometimes went to unusual lengths to signify exasperation and recounts himself, in one of his books, how he became so enraged by a hotel manager’s stupidity in Venice that ‘I could only throw myself down flat on my back!’
Tredethy, near Bodmin, Cornwall.
I have also seen him do this when overcome by helpless laughter and once when he was furious. This last was when he stayed overnight with my husband and me in London to attend an important dinner. He left our house, spruce and elegant in dark blue dress uniform and decorations, but returned later in a fearful rage. Something – I forget now what it was – had greatly displeased him during the evening, and giving an account of it, he flung himself at our feet and drumming with his heels till his medals shook and jingled, consigned his host and everyone at the dinner to unutterable perdition.
Although he may at times have taken himself a little too seriously, he also possessed a sly sense of humour at his own expense. For example, he stayed with us once during the 1950s, and it cannot have been for the coronation of the present Queen, as Lisba accompanied him to the ceremony in the Abbey and to the many receptions and banquets of that memorable event, and I am certain that on this occasion, Chula was on his own. In any case, it came about that, splendidly attired in scarlet uniform, glittering with medals, he returned to a very late lunch. We had no help at that time, so meals were below stairs, and I had just sat him down with hot chicken casserole, wine, salad and French bread, when two German maids arrived for an interview. I showed them round the house, and when we reached the kitchen they appeared rather unnerved by the sight of this magnificent figure, calmly eating at the kitchen table. Afterwards Chula remarked: ‘I bet they thought I was a cinema commissionaire!’
Christmas 1947 at Tredethy. Front, 2nd from left is Katya, Prince Chula: holding Joan, Lisba holding ‘Herc’ is flanked by Nan Rahm, Ceril holds her two West Highland Terriers. A Russian samovar is visible at bottom right.
When Katya and Hin visited Tredethy, their presence sometimes caused a certain tension for, however hard Hin strove to maintain ‘Mother’ in an equable frame of mind, there were days when the house rang with recrimination and the sound of sharply slammed doors, as a well-rehearsed old quarrel was run through, or a brand-new one worked up from the scantiest material. Even Lisba’s tact and ability to guard against giving offence sometimes failed, when the will to take it was as strong as it was in her mother-in-law. It angered her, for instance, when Lisba wore beautiful Thai jewellery because she herself had very little. And apparently obliterated from her mind was the incident long ago when she had flung in the face of King Vajiravudh’ s emissary the jewels the King had sent her as a personal gift. On the other hand, if Lisba wore no jewellery, she insisted obscurely that ‘Lisba wished to spite her’.