Word: quietness
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Dates: during 1950-1959
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Along with the silver-haired admiral's blunt words last week came quiet word from the Pentagon that Hyman Rickover, passed over twice (1951 and 1952) for rear admiral on the promotion lists because of his plain English opinions, will soon be marked down for a vice admiral's third star...
Tall, earnest Derick Heathcoat Amory, 58, is regarded as a comer in British politics, partly because he is not too pushy about getting there. A quiet, unpretentious West Country bachelor squire who rode to hounds and managed the family textile business until World War II, he helped plan the costly Arnhem operation and, at 44, insisted on going along. Breaking a thigh in jumping, he was captured, went home on crutches from a German prison camp at war's end in time to run for Parliament. He felt a family obligation to run because a young, politically promising cousin...
...their plans. But his father stormily forbade the marriage. "She's the same girl I fell in love with," insisted Walter. And so they were married, and have raised a close-knit family of two children-Terry, 23, an attractive, sad-eyed daughter, and Peter, 20, a husky, quiet...
...Quiet Evenings. There, about 40 miles from London, he lives with his wife and son, two dogs (Tilda and Vesta), a cat (Clover) and a teen-aged parrot (Percy) in a pleasant "Westport modern" house that is the architectural scandal of Hampshire. Mornings at 7 the Bentley pulls up. "Good morning, Fred." "Good morning, sir." Evenings at 7 it brings him back. Occasionally there are guests-the close friends. Merula does her own cooking, and Alec is an expansive host. "I say, that plate's cracked!" "Oh dear, Guinness has boiled the wine again...
...generally evenings are quiet and bedtime is 11. Alec works on his sides for the next day, reads a little Dickens, has a go at mah-jongg with Merula-he is "mad for the game." Weekends he stuffs his pockets with patented French fuzees and stalks about the Guinness acres (there are ten of them) waging chemical warfare on the moles. Last week, as he jabbed a poison capsule into the ground with the point of a stout stick, he cocked a fiendish eyebrow and remarked: "I feel beastly, but one of us has to go." And then back...