Jean Trumpington - Coming Up Trumps: A Memoir

Contents

A few months ago, I was doing my weekly shop in Waitrose, and a rather beautiful, rather elegant, little white-haired lady kept bumping into me, and I kept bumping into her. Eventually, I said, Look here, my name is Baroness Trumpington, and I am blind and I cant see you and I was at Bletchley. The little white-haired lady, who was wearing a pink trouser suit and a string of pearls, said, I am Princess Radziwill and I worked at Baker Street. Lor! I said. Thats very posh. I knew exactly what Baker Street was: that was the Secret Operations Executive, where all the 007s were briefed before they were sent off to France during the war. Im eighty-nine, said the Princess. Im ninety, said I. And we two ancient ladies, who had never met before, congratulated each other on our war effort, and on the coincidence of our meeting in Waitrose in Knightsbridge, and on our still being alive.

I was thrilled, and charmed. But the truth is, this kind of thing happens to me all the time. I have had the most extraordinary life, full of kindness, and incredible good luck, and naughtiness and jolly good fun.

I have met David Lloyd George, Max Beaverbrook, Jackie Kennedy, Bette Davis, Senator McCarthy, Stanley Spencer. Come to think of it, I have in fact met every single post-war prime minister, from Clement Attlee (who I met at the theatre) to David Cameron, and practically every world leader from Her Majesty the Queen to the Assads, Fidel Castro and Robert Mugabe. I was in Manhattan in the fifties, at Cliveden in the sixties, and on Concordes first and last flights. I seem to have stumbled into fascinating events without really trying, and to have met formidable and extraordinarily interesting people, despite being rather dull myself.

Thats one piece of luck. I have also been lucky in my family life. Without a doubt the happiest years of my life were the years I lived with my husband Alan, always known as Barker, and our son Adam at The Leys School in Cambridge. I dont think anybody could have been happier.

I also feel enormously lucky to have had such terribly interesting jobs, despite having never taken an exam in my life not even a driving test. (I learnt to drive during the war, when we were all given licences without having to take a test.) It started with Bletchley, and my postwar job in Paris, which were both marvellous in their own way. Many years later it was largely through luck that I became a councillor in Cambridge.

My final piece of luck has been finding a second life, and a second family, in the House of Lords. I adored being a minister and learning about this country. I feel honoured to be part of the very special, kind and fun-loving institution that is the House of Lords.

Some would say that people make their own luck. I dont agree. I believe more in fate. Some say that fortune favours the well-prepared. Well, I certainly wasnt well-prepared. There has been no design to my life at all: no plot, no plan. Ive lived by the skin of my teeth and taking chances at village dances.

In some ways though, I suppose I have made a small contribution to my good luck.

I have been brave: going to Paris at fifteen, Bletchley at eighteen and New York at twenty-nine, each time on my own and knowing no one; learning to ski, and water ski and goodness knows what else, just to impress a man I was keen on; daring to mix with very grand people on a shoestring; and being prepared to ask for things that others wouldnt have dreamed of mentioning. I was often frightened, but I did it anyway. It is surprising how far that approach has taken me over the years.

I seem to have made people laugh too, from a society doctor in New York, to members of the House of Lords. If you do things with no humour, you lose. If you can be funny and charming, you can get away with all kinds of things sometimes without even meaning to. If you can make people laugh, you can probably make them like you, and sometimes you can even make them listen to you.

And I have worked hard: I have done what I have been asked to do and tried my best to do it well. The phrase I have always wanted to avoid above all others is, shes not up to the job.

Above all, I have always tried to make the effort to make friends, and to find the fun in whatever situation I find myself in. That has got me into trouble at times, but it has also served me well.

I have had a lucky life, and I think I am still lucky now. I have had to give up some of the things that give me the most pleasure: smoking cigarettes; needlepoint and reading more recently when my eyes went; and dancing on tables now that I like to be in bed by ten. And I have been quite ill, which has taken away the great pleasure of eating. But even being ill has its upside, with all kinds of people, including lords from both sides of the House, showing me great warmth and kindness. And despite all of this, I am still having tremendous fun. I still get great pleasure from rattling around antique shops for bargains, and playing bridge with my old friends and going to the races. I rather enjoy my chocolate milkshake medicine. And secretly I am still hoping for one last stately little tap-dance in top hat and tails up on a table.

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I want to use this opportunity to say thank you to some people who are very important to me. My years as Barkers wife were the happiest of my life and I am eternally grateful to him for giving me the love and affection I had craved since childhood.

The person to whom I owe the most in my professional life is the late Baroness Thatcher. It was Mrs Thatcher who put me in the Lords, and gave me my jobs. I will always be grateful for that.

I want to thank the many people in my life who continue to show me kindness: my hairdresser Bobby, my two lovely ladies who help me every week at Waitrose, my cleaner Lucy, the taxi drivers from Atlas who take me absolutely everywhere I need to go, my upstairs neighbours the Plaistows, and my great friends without whom I would be pushing up the daisies, the ever-helpful caretaker Garnet, assistant caretaker Val and plumber Len at my block of flats; at the House of Lords, I want to particularly thank the attendants to the chamber, the very helpful people who work at the post office in Central Lobby and in the finance office, the chefs and the wonderful Mary Rose in the dining room, and, of course, Black Rod. These people are near and dear to me: they make my life better every day through the kindness they show me. I want to acknowledge my huge debt of gratitude to every one of them.

Several people have been kind to me in helping me to write this book, principally Georgina Morley at Pan Macmillan and Deborah Crewe. It was Georgina who first suggested I should write a memoir. My first instinct was to ask, Could any sense ever be made of me? followed by, And why on earth would anyone be interested in my doings? However the redoubtable Ms Morley assured me all would be well on both fronts and then wonderfully produced Deborah Crewe who did her utmost to prove Georgina right and as if that wasnt enough brought homemade soup with her on every visit to Battersea, which kept me going over a difficult summer. If you ever need a silk purse making out of a sows ear I suggest you ask Georgina and Deborah.

Finally, I want to thank Adam. I imagine I am a most irritating mother, but he is the most wonderful son. He has always had guts and get-up-and-go and independence and courage, and I admire him enormously for it. He has shown great character in becoming what he has become. I am very touched by the trouble he takes over me now, and full of love and gratitude towards him. My love and gratitude are also due to my daughter-in-law Elizabeth and my grandchildren Virginia and Christopher. I hope that this book will always remind them of me, and of the love that I have for them all.