On Duty With the Queen: My Time as a Buckingham Palace Press Secretary by Dickie Arbiter Page A
Authors: Dickie Arbiter
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being that dancing replaced sunbathing. As we neared Cape Town, the end of the line for some, there was a final flurry of excitement when it was announced that there would be a last night fancy dress party.
In contrast to the generally low-key approach to leisure time, which had prevailed up until that point, there was suddenly an outpouring of competitive creative genius. Everyone was keen to impress, and the talk turned to whom would come dressed as what.
My mother had made several firm friends while onboard, not difficult to do as a glamorous single woman, and certainly not within the close confines of a ship at sea. She had chosen her friendships wisely, for on the evening of the party three imaginative young men in her groupappeared with some handy props in the form of what was apparently the ship’s entire stock of black crepe paper with which they fashioned some show-stopping costumes. The three men dressed as nuns; I borrowed a cabin steward’s tunic, and my mother appeared in a short negligee, a bra and five pairs of panties.
There was a method to this madness. As a steward I carried a tray on which were set bottles of gin and tonic and a propped-up envelope reading ‘ship’s issue’. Together we had entered the competition as ‘the captain’s nightcap,’ and although we didn’t win first prize, we certainly raised a few laughs – not least from the captain, who was one of the judges.
That night wasn’t just an introduction into the ways in which adults make their own entertainment at sea. It was also the occasion of my first proper drink. At 16½ I had tried a thimbleful of watered-down wine many times, but I had never had a proper adult-sized drink. Bobbing around somewhere in the Atlantic Ocean with land a million miles away, I threw caution to the wind and accepted my first beer. I didn’t particularly like it but, with no duty to pay, at least it was cheap. Where the gin and tonic ended up I have no idea.
They say all good things must come to an end. Any notion I might have had that this would be something of an extended holiday was sadly and quickly disabused.
Having taken no exams, I had no qualifications, and therefore immediately became the subject of intense family discussions. A path was set for me. I would commence anapprenticeship, and spend the next five years training to be an electrician. I had no say in the matter. It had all been arranged. My mother’s Uncle Walter had used one of his contacts to get me a job in what was the country’s largest electrical engineering firm. He took me for an interview with the owner and the foreman under whom I would be working. I was shown around the factory – a blur of grease, oil, loud noise and stares at the skinny Englishman. I was told to report the next day at 8am sharp.
Although I began my apprenticeship within days of arriving in Bulawayo, I found it incredibly difficult to establish friendships there. I was 17, and had not been schooled there, so meeting people wasn’t easy. I joined Queens Sports Club and tried playing football, but with winter daytime temperatures of 25ºC, I soon realised it was not for me, and despite the heat, cricket was not played during the winter months. Life in 1950s Rhodesia revolved around work, sport, the club bar and home. Adjusting to my new existence was very challenging and, tragically, five months after we arrived, Uncle Walter died. He had been rushed to hospital with suspected appendicitis. Two days after his operation, he collapsed in the bathroom and died of a massive heart attack. My mother was devastated, having shared so little time with him since their parting in Germany in 1934.
My saving grace during those trying times came in the form of a newspaper advertisement announcing auditions for an upcoming production of the Rogers and Hammerstein musical,
Oklahoma!
I was offered a place in the chorus. The only downside to the amateur productionwas the ten week rehearsal period for only one
In contrast to the generally low-key approach to leisure time, which had prevailed up until that point, there was suddenly an outpouring of competitive creative genius. Everyone was keen to impress, and the talk turned to whom would come dressed as what.
My mother had made several firm friends while onboard, not difficult to do as a glamorous single woman, and certainly not within the close confines of a ship at sea. She had chosen her friendships wisely, for on the evening of the party three imaginative young men in her groupappeared with some handy props in the form of what was apparently the ship’s entire stock of black crepe paper with which they fashioned some show-stopping costumes. The three men dressed as nuns; I borrowed a cabin steward’s tunic, and my mother appeared in a short negligee, a bra and five pairs of panties.
There was a method to this madness. As a steward I carried a tray on which were set bottles of gin and tonic and a propped-up envelope reading ‘ship’s issue’. Together we had entered the competition as ‘the captain’s nightcap,’ and although we didn’t win first prize, we certainly raised a few laughs – not least from the captain, who was one of the judges.
That night wasn’t just an introduction into the ways in which adults make their own entertainment at sea. It was also the occasion of my first proper drink. At 16½ I had tried a thimbleful of watered-down wine many times, but I had never had a proper adult-sized drink. Bobbing around somewhere in the Atlantic Ocean with land a million miles away, I threw caution to the wind and accepted my first beer. I didn’t particularly like it but, with no duty to pay, at least it was cheap. Where the gin and tonic ended up I have no idea.
They say all good things must come to an end. Any notion I might have had that this would be something of an extended holiday was sadly and quickly disabused.
Having taken no exams, I had no qualifications, and therefore immediately became the subject of intense family discussions. A path was set for me. I would commence anapprenticeship, and spend the next five years training to be an electrician. I had no say in the matter. It had all been arranged. My mother’s Uncle Walter had used one of his contacts to get me a job in what was the country’s largest electrical engineering firm. He took me for an interview with the owner and the foreman under whom I would be working. I was shown around the factory – a blur of grease, oil, loud noise and stares at the skinny Englishman. I was told to report the next day at 8am sharp.
Although I began my apprenticeship within days of arriving in Bulawayo, I found it incredibly difficult to establish friendships there. I was 17, and had not been schooled there, so meeting people wasn’t easy. I joined Queens Sports Club and tried playing football, but with winter daytime temperatures of 25ºC, I soon realised it was not for me, and despite the heat, cricket was not played during the winter months. Life in 1950s Rhodesia revolved around work, sport, the club bar and home. Adjusting to my new existence was very challenging and, tragically, five months after we arrived, Uncle Walter died. He had been rushed to hospital with suspected appendicitis. Two days after his operation, he collapsed in the bathroom and died of a massive heart attack. My mother was devastated, having shared so little time with him since their parting in Germany in 1934.
My saving grace during those trying times came in the form of a newspaper advertisement announcing auditions for an upcoming production of the Rogers and Hammerstein musical,
Oklahoma!
I was offered a place in the chorus. The only downside to the amateur productionwas the ten week rehearsal period for only one
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