A summer's social whirl, from Bette Midler to Satan

This summer brought highs and lows, sadness and laughter, some irritating, some exhilarating. I was fortunate to be uplifted by an encounter with Leslie Bonham Carter, a remarkable woman who seems quite British but is in fact American. She is the daughter of Condé Nast, who founded the company that bears his name. He was born 145 years ago, in 1869. Leslie witnessed the full glamour of 1930s America. When the first world war came, many British grandees packed their children off to America. Young Leslie had opposite plans. All she thought of was how to get to England, to be there in its darkest hour. Diplomatic strings pulled, she sailed, barely in her teens and without either parent, in a battleship across those sub-infested waters. At 8.30 on the morning of 8 July 1943, she ‘saw my first sight of England … the England I have talked, thought and dreamed about … the England I love’. Over 80 years later, despite its glaring faults, Leslie loves it still.

The death of another ardent lover of England has cast a pall on this summer’s lushness. Candida Lycett Green sought out, explored, and wrote about almost every building, lane, turret and copse, horse and cart throughout the land. She wore her knowledge lightly but she cared passionately — both traits she inherited from her father, John Betjeman. She created rooms, houses and gardens that were a miscellany of colourful vividness and gentle erudition. Her parties — and there were many — though planned to a T with her adoring family, had that ineffable ingredient, spontaneity. And then the beauty, the raucous laugh, the lack of swank or self-pity. Some years ago, on a holiday, I was moaning about a slight upcoming cancer operation. Of course she didn’t mention she had that devilish affliction herself.