Straight on Till Morning (50 page)

‘I fell in love with her,' he told me, but explained that this is in addition to his love for his wife Berta to whom he has been married for over forty years. When he was first introduced to Beryl she responded quickly, ‘George…ah yes, like Georgie Porgie.' George, uninitiated into English nursery rhymes, was perplexed by the sobriquet until it was explained to him, and then he was enchanted. The nickname stuck, as much at his insistence as for any other reason.

In all, during that three weeks or so of filming, the crew managed to amass some twenty-four hours of film, but the planned documentary was to run only an hour. A mammoth task lay ahead in the cutting room to edit and produce a documentary from the colourful material George bore home in triumph.

The mass of film, which included archive material from British newsreel sources such as EMI Pathé and Movietone, gathered by Maxwell-Hyslop during a period of frenzied activity covering four or five weeks, was delivered to KQED's Steve Talbot. ‘A lot of it was useless but there was the germ of a very good documentary,' Talbot said.
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Using Barry Schlachter's researches, Talbot wrote a script following the biographical line of Beryl's life. He then called in Joan Saffa as editor and producer and Judy Flannery as executive producer, and the huge footage, backed up by stills and US newsreel clips, was distilled into a manageable unit of one hour. With Diana Quick, the British actress,
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reading Beryl's own words in voiceovers, the documentary entitled
World without Walls
was first shown in the Bay area of San Francisco in January 1986.

Beryl's book, though (as before) lauded by critics, had by no means been a big seller before the documentary. The first print of 5000 copies seemed adequate for a book which was considered a specialized subject. After the first year and another reprint it had sold 9100 copies. By the end of 1985 it had sold 15,000. But after the documentary was televised, bookshops in the area served by KQED sold out of copies overnight. North Point Press immediately set about reprinting and within months had sold 100,000.
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But earlier, in 1984 it was the publicity surrounding the filming and the interest from journalists, rather than the first small royalty cheques from her book, that gave Beryl a new interest in a life which she told many had recently become ‘rather boring'.

Her ancient Mercedes, although repaired after its assault by bullets during the attempted coup, had finally given up. Part of the problem was Beryl's driving. She used to drive two or three times a week to the local shopping centre at Ngong. ‘More often than not she'd get in, put the car into first gear and drive all the way without ever changing up,' Jack Couldrey told me. Eventually the repair bills were so huge that Couldrey told Beryl the car could no longer be considered repairable – it was just too costly.
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Beryl tried a smaller replacement and loathed it. ‘Nasty little thing,' she said, ‘I could never get on with it.' There was an upsetting incident in 1984 when one of Beryl's dogs was kidnapped, but her friends were able to ransom it back for her after some weeks.

Despite all the interest, money was still slow in filtering through to Beryl's account. Publishers have what are called ‘accounting days', on which royalties due on books sold during the previous six months are calculated. It may be weeks or even months after the accounting date that the author receives a cheque. So despite all the growing interest in the United States, Beryl was still only moderately better off, and at times Jack Couldrey was driven to asking friends such as the Bathurst Normans for more financial help to make ends meet.

Moves were also afoot to make a film version of
West with the Night
, though at the time of Beryl's death these had still not crystallized. Age was making her forgetful and eventually Couldrey had to recommend that her remaining horses should go. There were only three: one of them – Supercharger – was the horse with bowed tendons belonging to David Sugden, and there were two belonging to Charles Ferrar, the professional golfer. For a while Beryl was left with only Supercharger. David Sugden had returned to England and leaving the horse there. ‘Really for her to keep, to give her an interest,' he said. ‘Beryl used to say to me, “I'll get that horse right one day, you know.” She was convinced that the horse had tremendous potential if she could only keep him sound.'
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But eventually even Supercharger had to go as Beryl's health deteriorated. ‘She stopped training only when some of us, by sleight of hand, disposed of her last horses which were costing her a fortune to maintain,' Jack Couldrey recalled.
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She must have read the following letters with mingled amusement and pleasure:

Beryl was still driving herself about, ‘dangerously',
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when in October 1985 she suffered a thrombosis. On that afternoon, which was Kenyatta Day – a public holiday – Paddy Migdoll received a telephone call from Beryl's manservant, Odero. ‘Please come quickly,' he said. ‘The memsahib is very ill.' Paddy knew at once that it was serious, for Odero only called her in emergency. She rushed over to the racecourse, a journey of sixteen miles or so, to find Beryl unconscious on the floor. ‘She had had a massive thrombosis and was dying,' said Paddy.
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Beryl didn't die, though she was very ill for a long time. She pulled through only because of a fierce determination to live. She could not talk much at first, but Paddy could read the will to live in her eyes. Her legs were terribly swollen and as she recovered she was unable to walk. She was particularly distressed that her long slim legs and pretty feet were often red and puffy following her illness. ‘Hideous!' Beryl recalled with revulsion. Through the winter and spring she made a slow recovery, confined to her armchair and waited on, literally hand and foot, by her two servants.

Occasionally friends came to call, and as her book sold all over the world, visitors to Kenya stopped off at the cottage just to meet her or ask for an autograph. She loved to meet new people, but now, sometimes, her mind wandered and those unfortunate enough to time their visits badly reported to the world that she was senile. It was not so, but clearly it was the prelude to such a condition.

Mercifully Beryl did not know of these small lapses, though she was understandably annoyed and ‘a look of despair came into her eyes'
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when she tried to recall an incident in her past but could not summon it to mind. She had great support from Paddy Migdoll and Daphne Bowden, but even the visits that they were able to make seemed to Beryl to occupy a small time in her long, interminably long days. ‘I'm so bored, I hardly ever see anyone,' she complained.

With her two servants she enjoyed an almost farcical relationship, calm and insouciant in her manner one minute, the graceful English lady ordering tea – lashing them with her tongue in rapid Swahili the next. Usually they took this in good part but on one occasion when both were badly hungover after a night spent drinking a bottle of brandy purloined from Beryl's drinks cabinet, she reduced Adiambo to tears and Odero to an anxious hovering shadow who could do nothing to please. A nurse called several times a week, visits which Beryl did not relish. ‘Why does everyone treat me like a two-year-old?' she asked fiercely.

When I visited her in March and April of 1986 Beryl welcomed the daily visits with a flattering eagerness. ‘Are you sure I'm not tiring you?' I asked constantly. ‘No-o. I love to have company, sweetie. What shall we talk about?' she would invariably reply.

In early April, showing indomitable determination, she was able to walk a little. Upright she seemed to shed years and the tall, slim woman standing so triumphantly on her veranda was ageless. On 6 April it was Derby Day in Nairobi and Beryl decided quite suddenly, a few hours before the race, that she would like to attend. It was her first social engagement since the previous October. She dressed for the outing with care in an outfit as modern as the day – crisply pressed pale blue denim trousers, a pale blue silk shirt, a scarf in bright shades of pink and cerise tied stylishly at her neck. A blue leather blouson jacket completed the ensemble. Her hair, silvery ash blonde, was carefully styled, and her fingernails and toenails were painted a matching glossy clear red. Her skin still glowed with pink and white colour, showing no traces of the effects of hot climates.

I drove her to the races with George Gutekunst. Though with determination she could walk a little, the seat organized with admirable promptitude by the Jockey Club was on a high vantage point overlooking the finishing post and she had to be carried up the narrow stone stairway to the terrace of the Owners', Breeders' and Trainers' Club. She enjoyed watching the races and flirting with her male friends. ‘How lovely to see you, darling.' She reminisced with Lady (Elizabeth) Erskine about old times, and chatted to Lady Erskine's daughter Petal. It was the start of the rainy season, and though the rain held off during the afternoon, a chill wind sprang up and she borrowed a headscarf to save her hairstyle from being blown awry.

But the day of triumph and happiness, enhanced by the numerous friends who came over to greet her, turned sour. When Beryl asked to leave, a volunteer came forward to carry her downstairs. He was young and strong and used to the task, for he regularly carried an invalid friend in similar circumstances. Beryl grinned as he swept her up into his arms. But descending the steep, narrow stairway, and failing to notice a wet patch on the stairs, he slipped and fell and the pair tumbled to the bottom.

It was a horrifying moment, and though it was quickly established that no bones were broken, Beryl was clearly in pain from the bruising her legs and ribs suffered in the tall. Her carrier had gallantly taken most of the impact and actually landed with Beryl on top of him, but it was an anxious little party who rushed Beryl back to her cottage and awaited the doctor's arrival. Beryl was sedated and slept well, probably – according to friends – the best night's sleep she'd had for a long time.

Although no damage was sustained her doctor thought it best to use the opportunity to get Beryl into hospital for X-rays and general care. Despite her dislike of hospitals, she did not appear to find this stay unpleasant. News of her accident brought her visits from many friends. Each day her two dogs were brought in by her servants and Beryl was allowed to have her customary glass of vodka and orange each afternoon. She was clearly seriously undernourished and the hospital used the opportunity to make sure she ate well and properly; she gained weight rapidly on a good diet and seemed happy and talkative. She even walked a little. On her discharge from hospital, bolstered by renewed vigour which came from a combination of good diet and lots of mental stimulation, she spent the summer happily enough. Paddy Migdoll wrote regularly to me saying that Beryl was in better health than she had been for a long time.

As the date of the fiftieth anniversary of her flight drew closer, plans were made by various bodies to celebrate the day. Beryl was almost the last of the great aviation figures in a line which had included Charles Lindbergh, Amelia Earhart, Wiley Post, Amy Johnson and Jim Mollison. At Abingdon, the Royal Air Force particularly wanted to mark the anniversary, and with the help of the original sponsors of Beryl's flight, Smith's Industries and Castrol, and surprisingly, the Province of Nova Scotia, they commissioned a bronze model of the Vega Gull. This they hoped could be presented to Beryl in person at Abingdon on the anniversary of the flight. Though there was never really any hope of Beryl being fit enough to make the journey, she talked happily about her supposed trip, but also about an invitation through George Gutekunst to visit California. ‘I think I'd like to go back and see my lovely house,' she said.

One day towards the end of July she was pottering around in her cottage – she managed to walk a little now and then – when she tripped over her dog Tookie, whom she had just stopped to pat. She broke her hip in the fall and was again rushed to hospital. Paddy Migdoll saw her there on 29 July, propped up with pillows and disagreeing violently with the theory that her leg was broken. Beryl was still experiencing the numbness that occurs after fracture and may also have been given pain-killing drugs. She and Paddy spent the time discussing the proposed trip to England in September. Beryl was still determined to attend if she could, and if Paddy had any doubts this was not the time to voice them.

The X-rays revealed a bleak picture. Beryl's hip joint was badly shattered. It was not a clean break but a complex shattering of the joint. ‘The surgeon told me that if they did not operate she would certainly die. If they did operate, there was a fifty-fifty chance she'd make it,' Jack Couldrey stated. ‘I had no option really.'
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Following the long operation Beryl showed signs of fighting back and the hospital were pleased with her progress. Paddy visited her in post-operative recovery and found her friend remarkably happy and mentally strong, and so she was surprised when two days after the operation she learned that Beryl had been moved into intensive care. It was pneumonia.