Kick Kennedy: The Charmed Life and Tragic Death of the Favorite Kennedy Daughter by Barbara Leaming Page B
Authors: Barbara Leaming
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deadline loomed, along with the possibility that by the time of their anticipated reunion, London might already be in flames. Chamberlain, who had encountered staunch opposition from within his cabinet, had been left with little choice but to notify Hitler that should France, in keeping with her treaty obligations to the Czechs, enter into hostilities with Germany, Britain would feel obliged to support her.
Finally, Kick set off, rather gloomily, to spend a few more days in another Scottish household, where, the following night, she listened to a despairing radio address by the prime minister. In a weary-sounding voice, Chamberlain well nigh confessed to having failed in his peacemaking efforts, though he stressed that he would not hesitate to make a third trip to Germany if he believed it would do any good.
In London, meanwhile, trenches were being dug, antiaircraft guns deployed, and gas masks handed out in anticipation of a feared aerial assault, to take place as early as the twenty-eighth, which had come to be known popularly as Black Wednesday. That morning, Ambassador Joseph P. Kennedy called his wife, who was on a golf holiday in Scotland at the Gleneagles Hotel. Old Joe instructed Rose to return to Prince’s Gate at once in anticipation of preparing to return to the U.S. with the children in the event of war.
As it happened, that same day Kick went to the Perth races, where she met up again with Jean Ogilvy, who was now accompanied by a second wave of Cortachy houseguests, including Andrew Cavendish, Tony Loughborough, and Charlie Lansdowne, as well as Debo Mitford and Robert Cecil, who had stayed on from the previous week. Suddenly, an unexpected shaft of light pierced through the general foreboding, when Chamberlain, in the midst of an address to the House of Commons, reported that he had just had a message from Hitler, agreeing to postpone his mobilization for twenty-four hours, and proposing to meet with the leaders of Britain, France, and Italy the next day. In the House, Chamberlain’s announcement was met with silence at first, then a roar of cheers. So, too, at Perth, the young people in Kick’s group were jubilant, leading her to write in her diary: “I have never seen such happiness.” Following the races Kick and her friends went on to a cocktail party, where, Jean remembered, Munich and the war were the only topics of conversation.
That night, Kick boarded a train for London, uncertain about what the morrow might bring—would there be peace or war? She arrived in London “to find peace and everyone deliriously happy.” In the wake of Chamberlain’s triumphant declaration to the British people that he had brought back with him from Munich “peace with honor” and “peace for our time,” Kick and Billy went off for an evening of theater and further celebrations at the Café de Paris with David Ormsby-Gore and other friends.
For Billy and his circle, however, as for many others, the euphoria did not last long. Three days hence, Billy and Kick, along with David Ormsby-Gore and Tom Egerton, went to stay at Churchdale Hall, the duke’s house in Ashford-in-the-Water, which they planned to use as a base for expeditions to the Nottingham races. Andrew Cavendish, accompanied by Debo Mitford, was already in residence at Churchdale, where the duchess was to serve as the young people’s chaperone, the duke being in London at the time in connection with his governmental duties. Kick was soon noting in her diary that she and Billy talked for hours every night. And no wonder: Her October 3, 1938, arrival at Billy’s childhood home coincided with the opening, at the Palace of Westminster in London, of a furious debate about the wisdom of the prime minister’s deal with Hitler. Duff Cooper, Winston Churchill, Anthony Eden—all denounced what they saw as Chamberlain’s betrayal of the Czechs, as well as his wishful thinking that Hitler would keep his word about this being the last of his territorial
Finally, Kick set off, rather gloomily, to spend a few more days in another Scottish household, where, the following night, she listened to a despairing radio address by the prime minister. In a weary-sounding voice, Chamberlain well nigh confessed to having failed in his peacemaking efforts, though he stressed that he would not hesitate to make a third trip to Germany if he believed it would do any good.
In London, meanwhile, trenches were being dug, antiaircraft guns deployed, and gas masks handed out in anticipation of a feared aerial assault, to take place as early as the twenty-eighth, which had come to be known popularly as Black Wednesday. That morning, Ambassador Joseph P. Kennedy called his wife, who was on a golf holiday in Scotland at the Gleneagles Hotel. Old Joe instructed Rose to return to Prince’s Gate at once in anticipation of preparing to return to the U.S. with the children in the event of war.
As it happened, that same day Kick went to the Perth races, where she met up again with Jean Ogilvy, who was now accompanied by a second wave of Cortachy houseguests, including Andrew Cavendish, Tony Loughborough, and Charlie Lansdowne, as well as Debo Mitford and Robert Cecil, who had stayed on from the previous week. Suddenly, an unexpected shaft of light pierced through the general foreboding, when Chamberlain, in the midst of an address to the House of Commons, reported that he had just had a message from Hitler, agreeing to postpone his mobilization for twenty-four hours, and proposing to meet with the leaders of Britain, France, and Italy the next day. In the House, Chamberlain’s announcement was met with silence at first, then a roar of cheers. So, too, at Perth, the young people in Kick’s group were jubilant, leading her to write in her diary: “I have never seen such happiness.” Following the races Kick and her friends went on to a cocktail party, where, Jean remembered, Munich and the war were the only topics of conversation.
That night, Kick boarded a train for London, uncertain about what the morrow might bring—would there be peace or war? She arrived in London “to find peace and everyone deliriously happy.” In the wake of Chamberlain’s triumphant declaration to the British people that he had brought back with him from Munich “peace with honor” and “peace for our time,” Kick and Billy went off for an evening of theater and further celebrations at the Café de Paris with David Ormsby-Gore and other friends.
For Billy and his circle, however, as for many others, the euphoria did not last long. Three days hence, Billy and Kick, along with David Ormsby-Gore and Tom Egerton, went to stay at Churchdale Hall, the duke’s house in Ashford-in-the-Water, which they planned to use as a base for expeditions to the Nottingham races. Andrew Cavendish, accompanied by Debo Mitford, was already in residence at Churchdale, where the duchess was to serve as the young people’s chaperone, the duke being in London at the time in connection with his governmental duties. Kick was soon noting in her diary that she and Billy talked for hours every night. And no wonder: Her October 3, 1938, arrival at Billy’s childhood home coincided with the opening, at the Palace of Westminster in London, of a furious debate about the wisdom of the prime minister’s deal with Hitler. Duff Cooper, Winston Churchill, Anthony Eden—all denounced what they saw as Chamberlain’s betrayal of the Czechs, as well as his wishful thinking that Hitler would keep his word about this being the last of his territorial
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