For 94 years it has flourished without me, and, for the 6 years that I was ensconced within its hallowed corridors it survived my chaotic presence.
|Photo: © Vogue |
Working under the editorship of Beatrix Miller, she mocked, cajoled, forgave, encouraged, exploded at, rescued and educated me.
She allowed me into positions that really I should not have been permitted to interfere with, but graciously, time after time, she was there to sort out my muddles, to quieten the storm force winds that accompanied me on most of my encounters with the outside world.
|May 1975, photograph by Normal Parkinson|
She called me (I hope endearingly) the office lunatic and I presume that if this was a moniker she meant seriously, she would have fired me after the second mishap, but she did not and there I remained until married life and the countryside enticed me from what was probably the best job in the world.
I last saw her in her beautiful artists studio in Chelsea 16 years ago.
|Photo: © Daily Mail/Rex/Alamy|
‘So how is the lunatic” she asked.
“Bored’ I replied, quite forgetting how this word so intensely irritated her.
“What are you going to do about that?” she replied crossly.
|Photo: Edina Van Der Wick|
I invented Cabbages & Roses, and boredom has never since been a problem I can claim for my own.
She died on the 21st February 2014.
On that day I was sorting through papers and came across a telegram from her sent on my wedding day.
I had no idea that she had died and had not seen the telegram since the last purge of papers, probably twenty years ago.
Synchronicity is a strange and magical thing.