His ingrained refusal to draw the line on social occasions brought his parties to the edge of anarchy and made them more interesting to the international clientele which his various jobs obliged him to placate. Lowell or Warhol was heard to ask, ‘What does he put in these drinks? I could have sworn that was an armadillo sneaking out of the room.’ It was indeed Priscilla, who did not like crowds; but Raymond loves animals. There was a game called Least Characteristic Remark in which Raymond’s was held to be: ‘Pull yourself together, man!’ It could be: ‘The party’s over. Let’s go!’ or ‘Take it away! I won’t drink that!’ But the Lord of Misrule was only one of his roles.
After all, he is Sir Raymond, the founder of a new department and a new branch of English learning (the history of Latin America), the author of two excellent books (Spain, 1808-1939 and Modern Spain) and some very readable ones among the ‘too many to list’, a significant defroster of Anglo-Hispanic relations at the intellectual level. He has been the Warden and reinvigorator of a graduate college, St Antony’s. He has played up, and played the game. The Royal Historical Society and the British Academy have welcomed him among their fellows, and the Grand Cross of the Order of Alfonso the Wise sparkles on his breast, alongside the Order of Dom Henrique of Portugal. And he still writes for The Spectator. Such distinctions don’t always win friends, because they often come with a stiffening of the neck and a loss of devilry. Not in this case.
When he was young they asked: ‘How does he get away with it?’ Now they ask: ‘How does he do it?’ He has forced a gasp of admiration from the pursed lips of censure without making concessions to the new moralisms. He has kept friends and made new ones despite the ribbons that hang from his coat. For many years after he retired he brought comedy and intellectual edge to the country folk of North Devon and West Somerset, where the deer and the recusants play. Now he rises to the challenge of deepest Hammersmith, and the personality or act which was launched in the West End of the Thirties remains current and congenial in a world as far from that one as the moon.
How does he do it? He no longer has Sara, the wife who supported him throughout; but ‘Some day we shall get up before the dawn/And find our ancient hounds before the door.’ His weaknesses have been his strengths. May he live for ever!
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