Anne Glenconner USE THIS

Anne Glenconner, daughter of the Earl of Leicester, reflects on her relationship with money. Despite growing up in a privileged family, she never had much money and always worked. She believes money doesn't buy happiness, but it does make difficult times more bearable. Anne shares her experiences of being around wealthy people and the downsides of great wealth. She also discusses her marriage to Colin Tennant, who was abusive towards her. Despite the abuse, Anne forgives him and credits a long affair for making her life more fulfilling. She emphasizes the importance of forgiveness and the impact it has on moving forward. Testing, testing. Yeah, I think it's jumping up and down. It is? Yeah. Yes, because it would be a disaster if nothing was recorded. Ready? Yes, absolutely. We're going to start, if that's okay, with money. Right, absolutely. Because you were born outwardly into a life of great privilege. Your father was the Earl of Leicester, and your family seeked the magnificent Holcombe Hall in Norfolk. How did you view money when you were growing up? Well, we never had any, because my father was a regular soldier. And I always remember, I mean, they were always slightly worried about money. And I knew at a very early age, because I was a girl, that I wasn't going to inherit Holcombe. And so my mother was extraordinary, actually, because she, even when we worked school, boarding school, when we came back for the holidays, we always had jobs. One of my jobs was to air the Leicester Codex, which is Leonardo's beautiful book on water. And I used to take it out of the butler's pantry, lick my finger, and go to the pages. Bill Gates bought it in the end. And of course, he doesn't realise that it's covered in my DNA. So I was brought up, and then my mother started this pottery, ceramics, at Holcombe. And I was actually rather bored. I wasn't very artistic. My sister was, and my mother was. They did a lot of painting and designing. And I got more and more bored with fettling and sponging. And my mother, in the end, said, well, what would you like to do? Because you don't look very happy. And I said, well, I've always loved selling, because we used to have a little shop at Holcombe and sell the pottery. And so off I went in her mini-minor, visiting all the villages and towns around the coast, and staying in traveling sales and hotels. And I was the only woman and girl. I wasn't very old then. And then I also went off to America. So I've always actually worked. I worked until I got married. And then I also worked with Colin, really, because he bought Mustique. And we spent 12 years there. There was no water, no electric light. And I used to work in the little school there, which was actually rather fun. And then, of course, I became Lady in Waiting to Mrs Margaret. And that, again, was like your park secretary, park friend. I used to go into the office, write lots of letters. And so I've always done something all my life. And I've never had much money. And of course, the awful moment came when my dear husband, Colin, died and left this terrible will. He left... I and my children weren't even mentioned. Our children weren't mentioned. He left everything to his valet, Kent. And I was left with very, very little money. And I thought, what am I to do? And luckily, so happened. I was having lunch in Norfolk, and it was outside. And a charming young man, who was a publisher, sitting next to me. And I was still rabbiting on with my usual stories. And he suddenly said, have you ever thought of writing a book? I said, of course not. I'm 87. I can't type or do anything. And he said, no, that wouldn't be necessary. I think you could record what you have to say. And we will send you somebody that could write it up every day as you do it. To my incredible surprise, my book took off and is a worldwide bestseller. I've sold nearly a million copies. And so I'm now earning my living properly for the first time. So that's, I just, money I've never had very much. And I've always really enjoyed working, doing something. You've spent most of your life around people who probably are quite wealthy, or a lot of them are. How do you see the impact that money has on people's lives? Does money buy happiness? Well, no, money does not buy happiness. It eases, it makes it, I think it makes it more pleasurable if you're having a difficult time. But I noticed so much in Mustique, because we were there for 12 years before we sold any land. And now when I go, I mean, absolutely extraordinary. I mean, it's full of very, very rich people. But I always wonder because you never see them. I love swimming in Mustique. I used to swim in Princess Margaret. But you never see them on the beach. I think they sit up and swim in their swimming pools. And I think they're sort of nervous about everything. Great wealth is a privilege, obviously. But it's also got its downside. It does. What would you say that that downside was, if you had to try and pinpoint it? Well, I think, in a way, I noticed, not that Princess Margaret was very wealthy or rich, but people behave differently around people who've got a lot of money or great wealth or big houses. I noticed how people behaved around her. You know, they sort of alter. And they're not themselves. And Princess Margaret minds about that. But I think, you know, sometimes, I mean, for instance, I've just been to America to promote my new book, Whatever Next. I was taking my lovely daughter-in-law. And we were travelling premium economy. We just sat in our seats. And then I suddenly saw one of the stewards come waltzing down the aisle. And he knelt in the aisle by me. He said, oh, Lady Glenconner, I've read your books. You know, I'm a gay person. And what you've done for the gay community is amazing, writing about your son who had AIDS. Would you like to travel first class? And I said, absolutely, I would. And so he took us up to the front of the airplane. Well, there are only eight seats first class in American Airlines. And we had a sort of mini room to ourselves. It was absolutely marvelous. And then he said, let me know when you're coming back. Because if I have somebody in the crew that I know, I will let time get you upgraded again. And we got on the airplane. Very nice stewardess came and said, are you Lady Glenconner? And I said, yes. And she said, well, come with me. And we will upgrade it to club. So I mean, that was lovely. I mean, if I was very, very rich, one of the first thing actually, one thing I would really, really like is a really nice car and a chauffeur. Because I do find, I'm now nearly 91, getting around, parking, driving is a nightmare, actually. So that would be my number one treat if I really had enough money to do that sort of thing. And so earning the money later on in your life, how has that felt? Well, it's been, I mean, I've never enjoyed my life so much. I can't tell you. It's wonderful being 90. I've had the best time ever. And what I'm so pleased about, which I didn't think, I didn't realise when I wrote my book, how much it would affect other people. I've had so many letters. And I spend an hour or sometimes two every day. I answer them all, sometimes rather briefly, but I do get letters. Actually, I've had one or two really heartrending ones from people whose children or relations are in a coma. Because I wrote very detailed about what we did when my darling son, Christopher, had this terrible accident in Belize in his gap year. And he was in a coma for about five months. And I then looked after him for about five years before he could really manage up to a point on his own. And that's amazing. I'm a gay icon in America. I was doing something for the Prince's Trust the other day. And they said, would you like to know who sponsored you? So I said, yes, I'd love to know. Well, it's a gay community in Milwaukee. I've absolutely no idea where Milwaukee was. I had to go and look it up on the map. And when I came on, it was Zoom. I had to say, hello, gentlemen. Thanks for so much for sponsoring me. I really feel very, very humble. I'm amazed. Sometimes I think, you know, Anne, you're going to wake up and all this is not true. But luckily it is. It must be very invigorating. It is. I mean, you know, I feel a bit bossy. In my latest book, because I tell people how I live my life. And, you know, I've brought up quite strictly. I remember my grandmother putting a broom handle around the back of my shirt to make me sit up at meals. We always had to look at people when we talked to them and walk. We walked every day. And that's what I still do. And if I see something, somebody shuffling, I am tactful up to a point. I say, oh, are your feet hurting? And when they say no, I say, well, look, you must walk properly. Stop shuffling. Walk properly, you know, with your feet. And then I show them how it should be done. The other thing, of course, is I'm far too busy to think about being old. I mean, I never think about it. Except when sadly, which does, of course, happen to everybody my age, you lose so many friends. And that is really sad. And all the funerals one goes to. And when I go to a funeral, I say, oh, I do like that hymn, or I do like that. I come back and write it down. And my two daughters roll their eyes and say, mum, you've got enough. Your funeral's going to take days. You'll have to cut it down. So anyway, I think we are going to cut it down. Moving on. Right, shall we? Are you ready? Yeah, absolutely. Moving on to sex. Rightly. Slightly dreading this one, but still, I'll do my best. I believe your mother introduced you to the concept of sex. Yes. It was when I went to boarding school. I was 11. And she said, darling, I've got something to tell you. So I thought, well, I wonder what. And she said, you know, when she had a dog called Biscuit, and my father, and that was a terrier, and my father had a Labrador called Willie, actually. What a funny name. But anyway, he's called Willie. And mummy said, my mother said to me, you know when Biscuit's on heat, that Willie gets on top of her. And we try, we pull them apart because we sort of don't really want her to have any children. And the thing is that you know that before this happened, we noticed that blood is coming out of her bottom. And she said, well, the same thing will happen to you. And I was simply horrified, you know, thinking somebody's going to jump on me. And then she said, of course, when you get married, the same thing will happen, but you'll probably be in a bed. And that was the only thing I knew about sex. And you were a virgin when you married your husband, Colin Tennant, when you were 23? Yes, I was 23. Yes, I was. Because the things we all were, except for a few girls, and we knew who they were, because there's no contraception. There was what I call very heavy petting went on. But no actual, the full thing didn't happen. And so I always remember I had a tremendous wedding at Hoke. My father sort of treated me like a boy. We had two tents. And then our friends were in the house. One tent was the Tennant farmers and people like that. The other one was for all the workers on the estate. And Colin's family home in Scotland, a busload of people who worked there came down. And what was so charming, quite a lot of them had never seen the sea before. Of course, Glen is in the middle of the borders. And they'd never been to the sea. Anyway, I had three wedding cakes. And the whole thing was fantastic. My parents really pushed out the boat. And then we were going off on our honeymoon. I must say I did feel a bit apprehensive. And I remember a few tears in my mother before I absolutely went. And then we got in the car and flew off to Paris, where we were staying in Hotel Lottie. We arrived very late. I said it was about half past two or three in the morning. And there was a very small concierge behind the desk. And he took us up where we thought was going to be the honeymoon suite. Well, it turned out that it had single beds. Well, Colin had promised me on bended knees he'd never lose his temper once he got married. Had an absolute breakdown. He screamed and shouted. And the concierge said, well, the only thing I can suggest is there is a mattress, a double mattress in the cellar. If you would help me carry it up, we could put it over two single beds. So down they went. And I was standing in my best silk dress and high-heeled shoes waiting. I could hear this awful thumping coming up the stairs. And everybody was woken up. They all came out of their rooms and wondered what on earth was happening. Eventually, the mattress was flung over the two beds with the concierge half under it. But he managed to get out. And then Colin lay down on the mattress and went to sleep. And I thought, God, is this my honeymoon? And so I then undressed and got in the morning. Something did happen, but it wasn't all that marvellous. And then we went off to the Louvre where we spent the day looking round. And then we got back to the hotel. Colin said, I've got a treat for you this evening. So I thought, oh, dinner at the Ritz. And dressed up. And I said, you know, couldn't you tell me? And he said, no, no, no, it's a secret. And in we got to the taxi. And I thought it was a bit odd because I vaguely knew where the Ritz was. We didn't seem to be going anywhere near it. She seemed to be driving somewhere. I'd just go to Paris. Then she arrived at this very, very seedy hotel, which in fact turned out to be a brothel. We were led up to this bedroom where there were two velvet winged back chairs. Where Colin and I sat. And on the bed was two frightfully unattractive French people having sex. And there's ghastly sort of squelching noise. And I sat back as far as I could and sort of shut my eyes. I didn't dare look to see what Colin was doing. And they kept on, the couple, saying, would you like to join in? And being quite so polite, I said, it's very, very kind of you, but no, thank you. And then, thank goodness, they then left the room. And I said to Colin, why on earth did you bring me here? I mean, I thought it was absolutely awful. And I think he took me there in order to see how it really should be done. I don't know. Or to excite me. Because it had the opposite effect. In your latest memoir, Whatever Next, you delve a bit deeper into matters that you alluded to in your first memoir, Lady in Waiting. And some of the stories about your marriage are quite horrifying to read. The reason I wrote about it, I mean, I'd never written a book before Lady in Waiting. I didn't like, you know, to put various things in. I felt embarrassed, really. And you do feel quite humiliated, funnily enough. And then, because of Queen Camilla, who's done so much for domestic abuse and abuse in war, rape in war, and I felt encouraged by her. And I then had a really good talk to the children. Because I wouldn't have done it if they had said, no, mum, we'd rather you didn't. And what was wonderful about that, they then told me various stories about what their father had done to them. Quite shocking, some of them. And I told them what, you know, what had happened to me. And it was absolutely great. We all talked together. And I don't know why. The mood has lightened. We suddenly get on. I don't get on better. But we feel there isn't this elephant in the room, like there was, you know. I stayed in the marriage. I went back to my mother at one point when I was expecting Charlie, because I really couldn't cope. I mean, you know, he really, and he was very, very disturbed. And I went back to her and I said, I don't think I can manage, mum. And she said, look, Anne, you've married him, you're having a baby, you go straight back. And I did for 54 years. But I could only, people write to me a lot now, and I try and advise them up to a point. But I always say, I don't in any way think that you should stay in a marriage that's really too difficult and awful. And I was able to, really, because Colin moved back to St Lucia. So we didn't see each other all that much. If we'd been in a marriage, like some people are on a flat or something, no, I would say to people, you know, get out, leave, it's impossible. He was, and I know it's a difficult subject, but he was violent towards you. Yes, I mean, once, you know, he killed me. And that was the moment that my mother and we said, you know, if you ever, ever do that again, I will go. But he used to do things which, in a way, was even more, he used to spit at me a lot. He would throw things at me. And I remember a moment at Glen, our house in Scotland, when I was coming, I was at the bottom in the hall, and he was throwing, the thing is, I always had to remain absolutely still. If I moved, it got much worse. And so I was, I just wasn't still, and he was throwing these pots at me. When down the stairs behind me came my third son, little Christopher, he was only five, four or five. And he came whizzing down the stairs, and he said, stop it, Daddy. How dare you be so cruel to my mummy? And luckily, Colin burst into laughter and thought it was wonderful, and said to me, look at your shining knight. He's come to rescue you. So we never quite knew how Colin was going to take things, you know. But it was humiliation and never knowing when these terrible rages. He was like a little child. He was very spoiled. His parents had divorced. I think he had a, his mother very much over-indulged him. His father, when he sent a Christmas present to Colin, his secretary would sign a book saying, from your father, you know. And I think, I very much think that the way children are brought up, it does affect them all their life. I mean, my life, just at the beginning of the war, my father was in the Scots Guards and was sent to Egypt. My mother went to be with him. Like wives, husbands came first always. Children came second. And they engaged this governess just before they left, called Miss Bonner. Well, Miss Bonner was a sadist, and we were sent, my sister and I, to live with an aunt. And luckily, she wasn't cruel to Kerry, but Kerry witnessed her being, I was tied up, whatever I'd done, I tried to be so good the whole time, so dready, every night she said, and you've done this, or you haven't done that. And she'd tie my hands behind me to the bed all night. And I still wake up sometimes, quite often actually, with my arms above my head. But luckily, my aunt was a Christian scientist, and Miss Bonner was Roman Catholic. I don't think my aunt really knew what she was doing to me, but because she was Roman Catholic, she took me to mass once, and this was a sackable offence in Aunt Bridget's eyes. And so she was asked to leave, and I remember I was so frightened of her that I pretended to be sad she was going, because I thought if I didn't, she'd take me somewhere and do something horrible to me. And then luckily, because my parents were still away, we got this lovely old governess who'd looked after some friends called Billie Williams, and she sort of put Kerry and I back together again. I mean, she was brilliant. I think she knew something awful had happened to me. But what I did in my novel, which, funnily enough, I don't think about anymore, because in my novel, I don't know if any of you've read my novel, but Miss Bonner comes to a really horrible end on the beach. I buried her, because during the war, on the beach, which was mined, and there were a lot of London buses and taxis, which they used to practice, the Air Force used to practice. And at the end of the war, it was too expensive to remove them. So I think the buses were slightly blown up. They'd been buried. They were sitting there on Holcombe Beach, covered in sand, and that's where Miss Bonner, my governess, ended up. And when I finished the book, I just felt quite different. It was extraordinary. You were abused by her and then by your husband. Can you forgive him? It's not until you can forgive that you can move forward. You have admitted to having a long affair during your marriage that was much more gentle and fulfilling. Well, I was very, very lucky. I had somebody who was my friend. I'd been my friend for 34 years, and he just made my life possible. He also, because men in my life had all been very difficult. My father was rather difficult. I was a terrible disappointment when I was born. My great-grandfather and grandfather, you know, men had always, although my grandfather did make up for it later, and was lovely to me. And so having this wonderful friend, I just knew that a lot of men were marvellous. You know, they weren't all difficult and bad. And I think that's what he did for me. And we didn't see each other very much, but the occasional wonderful weekend, and generally lunch once a week for 34 years. I was very, very lucky. And you had a gentle and fulfilling love life. I did. I realised what love was about, really. I also realised what sex was about, which I'd never really known before. I've had great luck in my life, as well as awful things happening to me. You've seen the place of women in society change immeasurably in your lifetime. I mean, the life, the world that your grandchildren are growing up in is completely different to the world you grew up in. How do you see being a woman in the modern world? Well, I thought it was so interesting, having been to two coronations, because the Queen's coronation, there was the Queen, but otherwise, there were no women at all. And King Charles's coronation, I mean, Penny Morton carrying the sword, I thought was magnificent. And the gospel choir, lots of ladies there swaying about, and there were girls in the choir, young girls in the choir. I mean, women sadly were there, taking a tremendous part. And life has changed in the most amazing way in 70 years since the coronation. Well, I'm 90, so in 90 years. There were certain women, I think the Queen, becoming Queen at such a young age, did make a lot of difference, actually. Rather like, I think, Queen Victoria up to a point, you know. But of course, there were ladies in waiting, there were women doing wonderful things, but you never heard about them very much. It would be interesting on the subject of sex to talk about motherhood, because to be a mother now, the way you've seen your children, your daughter's mother, is very, very different. Well, I'm full of admiration, because one of my twin daughters, Mary, she's married, got two daughters. I mean, she brought the girls up. She also works, because they have a business. You know, I just don't think I could have done it. I always think, I don't know what on earth I did, because I had a nanny, a nurse she made, a butler, a housekeeper, two daisies, and we had three in the garden. It was so different. And I don't know, I don't think I could do what my daughter's done, I really don't. We're going to move on to religion. Did you always have a faith in God? Yes, I was brought up. I remember I always said my prayers. I always knelt at my bed, said my prayers. My mother used to read me religious books for children, and my father was a stickler for being on time. And every morning, my great-grandfather had prayers in the chapel, and I remember being taken, there was a sort of balcony. I didn't think we'd be concentrated to him. I remember we used to take a lot of rubber bands and drop them down from the balcony to see if we could drop them on people. I think my religion then was not very strong, obviously. But I've always had religion. I've always been to church. It was more lip service, I suppose. And it wasn't until this really awful, when my two boys were dying, Christopher was in a coma, I suddenly had a very serious talk to God. I suddenly thought, and I felt so lucky that he was there. And I just had to bring it out. You had five children, but your two eldest sons, Charlie and Henry, died young. And then your son, Christopher, when they were both unwell, had a terrible bike accident. Christopher's the youngest. How does a faith survive that sort of loss? Well, I thought, this was so awful, I couldn't think. And then there was nothing else. I just, I wanted something to help me. I thought I can't carry on. I mean, you know, two of my sons died, and Christopher was 19, and he was so good looking. And his whole life was in front of him. And it was this washed out in a moment. And that they thought he was going to die too. And I thought, I just, I can't, I can't manage this. And then it came to me. I think God came to me. And I started to pray. I said, please, God, I probably haven't been a very good Christian up to now. But will you help me now? Because I need it. And he did. And he did. And I found the most wonderful Christian healer, called Mrs Black. And she lived in Scotland. And she would come down to see Christopher in his coma once a month. And she could get him to do the most extraordinary things which nobody else could. And I said to her, could I, she used to use her hands on him. And one day I said, can I feel your hands? And they were boiling hot. They were literally radiating heat. Anyway, one day she was in Scotland and she rang me up to find out how Christopher was. And I could hardly speak. I thought, actually, I'm going to die. I'm so tired. And she said, Anne, I think you need a bit of help. And I said, yes, I do. So she said, look, tomorrow morning, sit in your sitting room in a comfortable chair and just completely relax. And sit in your chair at 10 o'clock in the morning. So I sat there, all like Dieting Thomas, you know, relaxed completely. And the most, suddenly, the most extraordinary feeling came over me. It was as if I was being filled with sort of champagne, in a way. With energy and hope and light. It didn't last long. But after it sort of ebbed, I said to her, what's happened to me? Something extraordinary has happened. And she said to me, Anne, I'm so glad. She said, I've been praying for you so hard. And sometimes this does happen to people. It never happened again. But from that moment on, I was given energy and hope. And I went back to the hospital to be with Christopher. And that has been with me ever since. And even now, I just feel God has really rewarded me in the most extraordinary way by giving me a completely new take on life. I've now become an author. I'm earning my living. I seem to be able to help other people. And he's just given me... I've never been so happy in my life. Do you feel like a path has been chosen for you? Well, I do. I mean, I don't think I deserve it. Because looking back in so many ways, I've been so lucky compared to so many people, you know. I just feel wonderful and full of life and optimistic. And if you're feeling optimistic and happy, you can help other people. Somehow, you know. And I can always tell, especially with my friends, when they're down or depressed, you know. I don't know. Maybe they think I'm very irritating. But, you know, I don't think they do. Because I go and see them and we chat and we laugh. I get them to laugh. And when I leave, they often say, oh, Anne, I just feel so much better. So that's very nice. Has suffering made you more compassionate, do you think? Yes, I think it probably has. I think I'm more tolerant probably than I was. I used to be quite, you know, intolerant. I was always rather quick. And people were slow or weren't getting the points. I used to feel irritated. But now I don't. Now I don't. And, you know, I'm just so amazed and thrilled to think that I can help other people. I mean, so many people for different reasons write to me and say, your books have made all the difference to my life because of this and that, you know. And you've shown me a way through what I'm going through. And I've taken your advice. I say that's being an agony art. Does a belief in an afterlife make the idea of death less frightening? You have to think about it. I mean, I think about death now, rarely because so many of my friends are dying, you know. I mean, luckily, if you die of old age, it's a sort of more graceful way to go. You've got to die. I mean, what is awful when people die in an accident or I had a great life. Or I had a great friend whose daughter died of an overdose. I mean, that's awful. At least I had a chance to say goodbye to my boys, which I think, you know, was great. But I believe it. Yes, I do. I mean, I don't quite believe we sit up there, you know, chatting to God quite. But I think there's an energy. I think we don't altogether die. Our spirits go, I think, somewhere. I hope. And you feel much, well, it must be lovely to think of your boys as not being gone. No, I mean, somebody said, a friend of mine whose daughter who died of an overdose, she tried, she wanted to get in touch with her. And there are people who say, and I said, English don't. I mean, once they're dead, you don't want to be brought back. You want to go on. You know, you're doing it because of you, not because of them. Let them go. Let their spirits go. And I certainly, I mean, I can see Charles and Henry saying, Mum, what on earth are you doing bringing us back like this? It must be nice, though, talking about them and writing about them and keeping them with you. Yes, and you know, one lovely thing that happens is quite often when I'm talking, some rather graying man comes along and says, I was at school. The other day, somebody came up and said, I was at school at Eden with Henry. And it's a lovely, lovely talk. He came and saw me the other day. He's also a writer. Quite often, people come up, and that's wonderful because, you know, it's just as if they're still here, still there. And of course, a great thing about, well, one of the things, not great, when you die young, you always remember them as young. I mean, I can't think of them as gray-haired, balding old men. Because to me, they're always young. Do you promise you'll live to 100? Well, I've got every intention of it. I had a wonderful birthday when I was 90. And at the end, I said, well, I welcome you all in 10 years' time. I hope you'll all come back.