It is that time on an autumn afternoon when the last of the light has emptied from the sky. And only silhouettes of skeletal trees can be seen in the garden. Ella switches on a lamp with a yellowing shade. Part of me wants to challenge her about her father, but another part of me is pleasantly surprised at her openness, so I feel it’s better not to interrupt her flow; let’s go where the river takes us.
‘You know Pa never went to university? His two brothers did, but not Henri. But he was brilliant at maths, got a job in an Amsterdam bank, and after a while was sent to the Dutch East Indies. He sorted out a serious financial crisis they were having there, but the bank didn’t even promote him. His first connection with Shell, well, I’m not sure about the date but it was with a man called Kessler. And in those days Royal Dutch mainly produced kerosene for lamps. And when Kessler was going through real problems Pa took kerosene as security, you know, credit against his loan. Soon after, Kessler asked him to join the company. Then came the boom years and it really changed from a kerosene-producing company to an oil company. Round about that time Pa persuaded the King of Holland to buy a lot of shares in Royal Dutch (he could persuade people to do almost anything!) and became good friends with Queen Wilhelmina. Of course the British navy switching from coal to oil, that was also hugely important, and that’s when Pa became friends with Churchill. He let them have the oil at a very cheap price. Churchill offered him British citizenship soon after, but he said “I’m staying a Dutchman!” so they made him a KBE instead.’
Hardly pausing for breath, she takes another cigarette from the packet, lights it in an elegant movement, and sinks back into her chair with a sigh: ‘When Pa took over Shell it had been going through a bad patch – the end of the Samuel years [Marcus Samuel – the founder of Shell]. Anyway, a lot was sorted out, and soon things were flowing smoothly, but there was one problem. Pa had always had this obsession about all the oil near Armenia and the Caspian, then what happens in 1919, or 1920? Yes, the Bolsheviks confiscate the lot. He was very anti-Bolshy his whole life – in fact that was one of the reasons he married Lydia, they shared this very strong anti-Bolshevik thing. He wasn’t too fond of Jews either – “thieves” he called them, “They’re going to ruin the world.” I suppose that sounds bad nowadays, but a lot of people shared these kind of views then … Anyway, all before my time really. I was born in ’25, then Olga in ’27, and well, my first memories were all of Buckhurst Park, as I’ve told you, and that wonderful garden. Late 20s, early 30s. And then everything changed.’
The house is quite still. Only the sound of the Labrador’s deep breathing.
‘When did that world end for you?’
‘With the divorce. I was eleven. 1936. Buckhurst Park went to Lydia as part of the settlement, and then we were just told we were going to Germany with Pa. It was around this time that he stood down from Shell. And those last years spoilt everything that he had achieved. If that hadn’t happened he’d probably still be remembered today as the greatest Dutchman ever. He had a huge estate, Dobina, near the Polish border – he was crazy about hunting. And he admired what Hitler was doing. I don’t know when the first contact was, but I know he went to Berlin to meet him, and they made some kind of deal. Yes, when he was still at Royal Dutch, and then later he lent him a lot of money as well. But there had been other deals as well, I think in the early 1930s when he first started supplying oil to Germany on a kind of credit arrangement.’
‘What did you feel about moving to Germany?’
‘Well, we weren’t thrilled about it. But of course we didn’t have any choice, just had to get on with it. Nanny came with us, that made it easier, and she liked me. We lived just outside Berlin, in Wannsee, and the house seemed very small after Buckhurst Park. We were sent to a grammar school in Golzow – all German-speaking, so we had to learn it pretty quickly. We were driven in the car every day, and I remember at first, when we really didn’t know any German, I was desperate to pee but we couldn’t ask the chauffeur to stop. So I had to use some kind of dish and then throw it out of the window! Not how young ladies were supposed to behave! And that’s when we first came across Lotte as well – Pa’s new wife. She’d been Pa’s secretary, so of course we blamed her for the divorce. She was a very controlling woman, very cold to us. And after a few weeks at Wannsee, Nanny had a huge row with her, and she was out immediately. That was very hard for us because we’d been together for so long – Nanny, Olga and me. We didn’t even see her to say goodbye. Later Lotte tore up the photos of Buckhurst Park in front of us – that was a horrid thing to do. And it really affected Olga, she wasn’t a survivor like me. She went into her shell more and more. That’s probably where her depressions started. After a few months we were sent away to a boarding school in Dresden. And we hardly saw Pa after that. You’ll laugh at this, but we didn’t even know how to dress ourselves; you see, everything had always been done for us.
‘We were away at the school in Dresden when we heard about Pa. It was very frightening. We were called to the governess’s room, and on the first day told, “Your father is very ill,” and then the next day, “Your father has died.” That was it. We were told to pack, but no coloured clothes. Feelings of pure fright. We were then taken to Berlin by people we didn’t know, to a shop in the Kurfürstendamm, where we were both kitted out all in black, and finally we were taken back to Dobina. When we arrived Lotte was still in St Moritz with Pa’s body – that’s where he’d died – at Chalet Olga. February 1939. Never had a day’s illness in his life, and suddenly gone. Something strange about that. And there was no autopsy either – I only learnt about that later.
‘We just waited for the body to be flown back to Dobina. A kind of limbo. And in those days everyone dressed in black, and all I remember was Olga and I in this huge barn catching mice. In our black dresses! It’s curious that was one of the only times we were there without Lotte. Dobina was very wild – vast pine woods, flattish, a little like Breckland. In the summer the best trout streams. And we could go on our bikes for mile after mile. Left completely to our own devices. Just come back for meals, which were served by Pa’s butler in a green jacket, and even then sometimes we’d eat the second course first, and then just put the other food in napkins and run back to the woods. Running barefoot. I can still feel the pine needles tickling as we ran.
‘The funeral was at Dobina. In the old riding school. I remember they cut hundreds of Christmas tree branches so that the whole place was padded with green. And Pa’s coffin was there. Lotte appeared and told us, “You must say goodbye to your beloved father,” but we just ran outside into the woods. The next day a procession of black cars, flags, uniforms, all the bigwigs from Shell and Royal Dutch were there. And lots of senior Nazis, of course. But as children we didn’t know who they were. Except Hitler, and he didn’t come, I think he just sent a wreath. Our stepbrothers Henry and Ronald, from Pa’s first marriage, they flew over in a small plane. They were wonderful, much older than us and very reassuring. Later on, just before Germany invaded Holland, Henry went over to Amsterdam, stuffed the plane with Pa’s share certificates and came back! He was quite a character. Loved hunting and fishing too. A few weeks later we were sent back to England but Lydia didn’t want much to do with us. I remember going to Buckhurst Park for the last time and her telling us (she’d remarried and had more children by this time): “Henry and I feel that as we have four children of our own we can’t take you as well, so we’re going to send you to our sister’s.” So that was it – we were sent to Baddow, and then later to board again at St Felix’s.