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Lady Catherine Augusta Amelia Gladys de Burgh, author, stateswoman and lady, was born 1st January 1910 at Scrotum House, Grosvenor Square, London, the youngest daughter of Phimosis Bonkbuster, 14th Earl of Scrotum (1860 - 1930) and his wife the former Arabella Wyndham-Berkshire.

From the moment of Her Ladyship's birth London society was astounded by her wit, charm and beauty.^[1] Winston Churchill once said during World War II that had Lady Catherine been born a man she would have been very different.^[2] From the time of her first marriage in 1928, Lady Catherine has changed the course of world history by her mere presence at momentous events. The greatest of literary works remain unpublished as Lady Catherine has always understood her work to be too refined for the lower orders, tradespeople and those who work for a living. Her Ladyship also mistrusts publishers as a breed, following slanderous comments made by one during negotiations, soon thereafter terminated, for publication of her first great work "My Memories of the Scrotum Family".

Today, following the untimely death in 2006 of her eleventh husband at the age of 23, Her Ladyship lives in quiet retirement at her homes in Eaton Square, Dorset, Deeside and Cap Ferrat.

Lady Catherine's childhood was as idyllic as is only possible to one so highly born and blessed with so many talents. She was the youngest in the nursery she shared with her sister "Flopsie" (Lady Florence Bonkbuster), her brother "Arsie" (Archibald, Viscount Broadmoor), and nobody else.

Lady Catherine was overjoyed in 2007 to discover that her eldest sister "Vishy" (Lady Venetia Bonkbuster) was still alive. For years Lady Catherine had been informing people that Vishy was dead, a very understandable mistake. All the time Lady Venetia had been living in a beautiful institution in Margate. Sadly devoid of the beauty and charm bestowed upon her sister, Lady Venetia, the eldest of the Bonkbuster girls, became jealous, vicious, conniving and scheming: qualities which Lady Catherine was too innocent to understand. It was only when the slanders uttered by the spiteful creature became so unbearable that Lady Catherine was forced to have a word with her beloved Uncle Buffy, a high court judge; and it was he, ignoring Lady Catherine's cries of protestation and pleas for mercy, who had the creature confined indefinitely in a home for the insane.^[3] Despite all the vitriol and undeserved hate directed at poor Lady Catherine by her demented sister, Lady Catherine has never been known to utter a disloyal word against Lady Venetia.^[4] - such is the inner beauty and tranquillity of the highborn.

A different view of the matter is presented in her mother Arabella, Countess of Scrotum's collector's item What the Baronet Saw (1927), and supplemented by Roy Throng's Wrinkled Retention (2008).^[5] Shortly after publication of her extraordinary memoir, Arabella succumbed to injuries sustained in an unusual accident involving a zebra, details of which are unsuitable for the gentle reader but entirely suitable for Mr Throng.

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Sir Marmaduke Arbuthbott-Bumley-Smythe (1850 - 1929) was a retired cavalry officer and 12th baronet when first espied by the youthful Lady Catherine Bonkbuster. Still known by her childhood name of Kitty, she was kittenish in every way and this captivated the 78-year-old Brigadier. Marmaduke Arbuthbott-Bumley-Smythe (a member of a cadet branch of the famous Clan Arbuthnott) was grossly overweight, bald and suffering from halitosis - members of London society could not understand what attracted the youthful and intelligent Lady Catherine to the aging billionaire (for they failed to understand her warmth, compassion and kind heart^[6]). However, on the 1st June 1928 the bells of St. Margaret's Hanover Square rang out joyously as the 18-year-old bride pushed her new husband's wheel-chair down the aisle of the church.

Sadly, within weeks of the wedding, London society would return to the same church to mourn Sir Marmaduke. Finding his inert body at the foot of his imperial staircase, his wheel-chair atop of him, his young and hysterical bride could only weep that he had seemingly slipped from her grasp. It was with a heavy heart that Lady Catherine learnt that she was now possessed of the Arbuthbott-Bumley-Smythe fortune.

However, before the poor baronet was decently buried, rumours of a vile nature were circulated by his children, claiming that the grief-stricken young widow had been comforted to an unusual degree by her under-footman Sven Skandaborg. Although well aware of the troubled past of Sven (known to the London underworld as "the Swede"), Lady Catherine had complete confidence in him. So confident was she that she entrusted him with a large sum of money for his quick return to his native Sweden, to spare him from the rumours maligning him. In this way Her Ladyship once again demonstrated her kindly and thoughtful nature. But how often must the good suffer! Lady Catherine was to be no exception to this rule. So inconsolable was the beautiful widow that she had to be dragged screaming from her husband's funeral by his family and the police.

As the whispering campaign continued, the unfortunate Lady Catherine found herself arrested and charged with the murder of her husband, and the dark shadow of the gallows loomed ahead. When Lady Catherine finally appeared at the Old Bailey she was surprised to find the judge was no less a personage than her father's old school friend Justice Sir Bufton Sleighthand, her beloved Uncle Buffy. Sir Bufton was horrified to find that the girl he had dangled on his knees so many times, and so recently, was charged with such a heinous crime. Thus it was that the wise old judge directed the jury that it was inconceivable and impossible that a descendent of an Earl of Scrotum, and such a pretty one as that, could be capable of such a crime. Only one juror dissented, and he was given twelve years for impudence and contempt of court. Lady Catherine was immediately acquitted, to loud cheering from the public gallery where sat the many tenants and retainers of the Earl of Scrotum.

So distressing had her ordeal been that she went straight to Coutts and withdrew the first of the Arbuthbott-Bumley-Smythe millions. Placing the cash in her handbag she proceeded to Sweden, where by happy coincidence her faithful young retainer "the Swede" was now resident. Thus a distressing and sad chapter in Her Ladyship's most interesting and exciting life drew to a close.

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Sadly, the happiest moments in our life are all too fleeting, and this was to prove all too true of the time Lady Catherine was to spend with her second husband Baron Lars-Hendrik Abba af Waterloo, a descendent of the Swedish hero and victor of Waterloo, and one of the wealthiest men in Scandinavia. Baron Lars was considered one of the handsomest men of his generation, so it was only natural that his penetrating eyes should fall on the injured but still ravishing Lady Catherine.

The happy couple were introduced by Lady Catherine's former footman Sven, who by happenstance was in the employment of the Baron as 2nd under valet. Indeed, it was Sven's amusing idea that Lady Catherine should hide in the Baron's bedroom during a game of sardines. Lady Catherine was always a great lover of party games, but on this occasion overcome by weariness, she climbed into the Baron's bed and fell asleep, failing to notice that the Baron had already retired himself. Some people are born evil, and it seems the disloyal Sven was one. The sleeping couple were awoken by the explosion of Sven's flashbulb. Lady Catherine, who fortunately had not removed her make-up before retiring, was hysterical with grief and shock, as the wicked Sven outlined his intentions of blackmailing the Baron. Only Lady Catherine's quick thinking and alert brain saved the Baron from one of the greatest scandals of the era: she allowed the Baron to marry her. In order to protect the Baron's reputation she insisted the Baron pay Sven his cruel financial demands, and with an evil smirk Sven left to live in Antibes.

The Baron was a great horseman, and Lady Catherine was delighted to buy him an outstanding Lipizzaner as a wedding present. The horse was trained not only in the usual manoeuvres of war, but also on the sound of three distinct blows of a whistle to leap into the air and perform a backwards somersault. Was ever a husband so spoilt by his young and adoring wife?

It was at this time in her life, marooned in the Swedish countryside, that Lady Catherine, a solid English countrywoman at heart, decided to find herself a hobby. Naturally, her thoughts turned to hunting, shooting and fishing - in particular shooting, and the training of gun-dogs. As she watched her husband skilfully performing the levade on his mighty Lipizzaner, Lady Catherine had one of her many inspirations - she would train her dogs to retrieve game, in the English fashion. Gathering he pack of Pekingese she went to the garden. As the dear little Pekingese chased the two footmen cunningly clothed in elk skins, Lady Catherine trained them with lusty blows on the dog whistle concealed in her muffler. The Gods must have been angry for, as has happened all too often in Her Ladyship's life, tragedy struck. The great Lipizzaner carrying her husband, over a kilometre distant, suddenly pricked its ears and with no warning performed its famous backward somersault: and by the time the attendant grooms, alerted by the sickening squelch, caught up with their master, the poor Baron was no more.

Sweden, that cold land of permafrost and snow, now held too many bittersweet memories for Lady Catherine. It was with a heavy heart, and ignoring the protestations of the Baron's relatives, that she sold Skandabrod Castle, auctioned the contents, sent the Rembrandts to Scrotum Towers and, packing only the family jewels, clad in her newly bought sable, left Sweden for ever.

Following Lady Catherine's sad flight from Sweden, Her Ladyship, like so many others of her class and intelligence, settled in Berlin, with a small rural retreat near Munich. There, dressed in a simple dirndl and a minimum of jewels, she would lead the simple romantic life of a goat-maiden. It was only natural that as the daughter of a leading British peer, she should from time to time be entertained by the German leadership. While it is true that a Pathe news report shown in British cinemas did show her standing on the dining room table at the Reichtag singing the Horst-Wessel-Lied, this in no way showed any support of Fascism; indeed she had been begged to sing it by those anxious to hear her remarkable voice: a voice once sweetly likened (by no less than Dame Nellie Melba) to a melodious alpenhorn echoing across a frosted mountain side. If such vile rumours of Her Ladyship's political beliefs had been true, would the Duke of Windsor have taken luncheon with her at her Alpine retreat in 1937? But, ever the nomad, Lady Catherine was not destined for a long stay in Germany. It was after a prolonged and particularly amusing lunch at Bechtesgaden, when her Ladyship had been entertaining the menfolk with renditions of German marching songs, that her close friends Unity Mitford and Eva Braun suggested Lady Catherine might be happier elsewhere. So thoughtful were they that they even had a staff car and armoured platoon ready and waiting to escort her to the Italian-German border. And so began another exciting period in Her Ladyship's life of tears and pain.

It was in Italy, that land of culture, grace, art and refinement, that Lady Catherine found her spiritual home. Coincidentally it was here that her brother, Arsie, Viscount Broadmoor, had also chosen to make his home. like his sister Lord Broadmoor was of a delicate and refined disposition, finding the roughness and coarseness of England intolerable. He chose to spend his life in the freer, more tolerant Italian society. There, like so many other English gentlemen, he whiled away his days painting precocious "shepherd" boys in the classical style, dressed in goatskins (or not), and also designing ladies' fashions that his sister happily wore to society events. However, it was not to be either a member of society or one of her brother's muscular friends who would capture the injured and lonely heart of the bereft Lady Catherine. That honour was to fall to another.

The great love of Her Ladyship's life was ultimately to be her greatest and most noble sacrifice. Threatened with a charge of treason, she stood fast. It was, alas, that cruelest of blows, a note from her father threatening to disinherit her, that forced her to rethink her future. How could she have so upset that aged, lonely, much beloved and very rich old man? This one cruel act forced her to make her historic broadcast of 1938 to the British people, relinquishing her love.

As Lady Catherine sobbed into her microphone on that terrible night, a nation wept with her. No one was closer to the hearts of the British people than Lady Catherine. As the war clouds gathered over the White cliffs of Dover, toothless peasants from John O'Groats to Land's End muttered: "Things'll be alright now, Her Ladyship is cummin home." Alas, Herr Hitler had other ideas. The lights were already dimming over Europe, as the biplane bearing Lady Catherine, with her noble heart beating fast, flew into Croydon Aerodrome.

Oh her return to London, Lady Catherine decided to throw her indomitable spirit and energies into the war effort. The war had not quite started, but ever a practical and resilient person Her Ladyship could see the hardships that would lie ahead. It was of course for the upper classes to lead by example, and this was exactly what Lady Catherine decided to do. She realised that with fathers and sons torn from their families by the evils of war, and mothers toiling in munitions factories, there would be a huge void in the lives of so many little ones. The solution was obvious - Lady Catherine would found a finishing school.

Purchasing a large and secluded country house, conveniently close to a well known garrison town, Her Ladyship personally selected the girls for her school. It was reported later, after the trial, by the gutter press, that many of the girls selected were in fact far beyond school age, and had in fact been deriving incomes long before coming under Lady Catherine's protection. Yet again, Her Ladyship's refreshingly innocent and vulnerable nature had left her open to deception, and she had been truly deceived by these wicked girls. Following a six-month visit to her dearest friend Lady Mosley who was spending the war at her North London home, Lady Catherine bid England a sad farewell in order to spend the remainder of the war in the far and distant land of the "USA".^[7]

It was on a dark and misty morning that Lady Catherine's yacht "Scrotum IV" glided silently past the Statue of Liberty. Posterity will never know her innermost thoughts as she gazed at that impressive statue representing a freedom so cruelly denied to her in England. Forty-eight thousand people had gathered unobtrusively on the quayside to welcome her (and graciously also remained to greet their President, arriving on another ship twenty minutes later). Lady Catherine greeted them with a small brave smile and an understated regal wave. Lady Catherine commandeered a waiting limousine and went on to a new life.

Lady Catherine has always maintained a dignified silence surrounding the exact number of husbands she took during a difficult period of her life when, forced to leave England, she was exiled in Sicily for ten years. Approached with questions about this period of her life by Hello Magazine she replied with her usual candour and wit "I shall only speak to Tatler."^[8] With these few simple words Her Ladyship demonstrated, yet again, her charm and wit.

According to discreet hints in Her Ladyship's famous memoirs My Life of Joy and Tears, she has led a fulfilling life on every possible level. Her friends among the titled, the artistic, and the exotic have benefited in no small measure from her fame and popularity. Pursuant to studies with a Bangladeshi master in Brick Lane, a valued friend who shall remain nameless here, she is one of the foremost English authorities on the Eastern arts and positions of love, as well as on the related terminology of the Bengali language. This is the explanation of the frequently noted fact^[9] that in moments of abandon, Her Ladyship employs only the rich amatory vocabulary of Bengali, never the crude terms which disgrace the English language.

Lady Catherine is a prolific and consummate author. Her memoir My Life of Joy and Tears, one of the iconic autobiographies of our time, gives a unique view of her mind, body, and intimate relationships. For the fascination of her personality, this memoir may be the most deeply interesting of all her writings; its publication is keenly anticipated. Together with her 27 novels, with their keen observations of lavish dinners and the sometimes unusual ministrations of unpolished young waiters, her slim pseudonymous volume of nature poetry, The Stuffed Owl, bears witness to the originality of her imagination. The best-known of all her works is probably Tales of a Strict Housekeeper, published by the Obelisk Press in 1937. The able summing-up of her counsel in the trial that followed will long be celebrated in the annals of British justice.

Twilight? How dare you!

It was during this relaxing period of her life that Lady Catherine developed her well known, and best selling, meditation techniques by reciting the simple mantra:

"hum hum hum hum hum hum hum hum hum hum hum hum, humm humm humm humm humm humm humm humm humm humm humm humm humm humm humm humm humm, hummm hummm hummm hummm hummm hummm hummm hummm hummm hummm (at this point one must take a sharp intake of breath, and intone in a deeper voice): hummmm hummmm hummmm hummmm hummmm hummmm hummmm hummmm hummmm hummmm hummmm hummmm hummmm hummmm hummmm hummmm (and now in a voice exitedly hyperventilating) humpety-hump humpety-humphumpety-hump humpety-hump humpety-hump humpety-hump humpety-hump humpety-humphumpety-humphumpety-hump humpety-hump humpety-hump humpety-hump humpety-hump humpety-hump humpety-hump humpety-hump humpety-hump humpety-hump humpety-hump humpety-hump humpety-hump humpety-hump humpety-hump humpety-hump humpety-hump humpety-hump humpety-hump humpety-humphumpety-hump humpety-hump humpety-hump humpety-hump humpety-hump humpety-hump humpety- hump humpety-hump humphumpety-hump humphumpety-hump humphumpety-hump humphumpety-hump humphumpety-hump

• Carbuncle, Lady Arabella. What the Baronet Saw. Obelisk Press, 1927, Paris. Exceedingly uncommon, and happily so.
• de Burgh, Lady Catherine. My Life of Joy and Tears. Privately published 1962, London.
• Sleighthand, [Justice Sir] Bufton. The Condemned Cell: 70 Years a Judge. 1953, London.
• Sleighthand, [Justice Sir] Bufton. The Long Drop: The Dangers of Lenient Sentencing. 1949, London
• Throng, Roy. Wrinkled Retention: The Scrotums through the Centuries 2008, London and New York.