(London) Telegraph
28 February 2024
ARGYLL Iona Mary, Dowager Duchess of Argyll, died peacefully at home 22 February 2024 aged 78. Loving mother of Torquhil and Louise and much loved grandmother of Archie, Rory, Charlotte, Teale and Bertie. Private family funeral to be followed by a service of thanksgiving in Inveraray at a later date.
Reprint Journal Clan Campbell Society (NA)
Eulogy for Iona Duchess of Argyll
By Malcolm Colquhoun, - Chief of that family
"Hello everyone. For those of you who don't know me, I'm Malcolm Colquhoun, Iona's younger brother. It's good, but not at all surprising, to see this church so packed today.
Iona was born in June 1945, the middle of three children (I am the youngest). We were brought up on the banks of Loch Lomond at Rossdhu House, the Clan Colquhoun family seat, and enjoyed was was - see through rose-tinted spectacles at any rate - an idyllic 195s childhood, surrounded by family and cousins - Iona and I had around 20 of them in one of the world'smost beautiful locations.
Iona's upbringing was a highly conventional one in that era. Nannies, nursemaids, and tutors were followed by a small private school, St Bride's, in Helensborough, and then at 11, it was off to a suitable establishment for young ladies, Lawnside, Great Malvern. There she remained until 16, gaining maybe - a smattering of O-levels in such subjects as sewing and home economics, following which she was packed off to Europe to be "finished" for 18 months in Florence and spain, and in France, where a ferocious old dragon by the name of Madame de Beaucourt, possessed of a falling-down chateau on the Loire, took in girls like Iona to make ends meet.
Fast-forward to 1962. In those days, girls of Iona's age and background still underwent the ritual known as "coming out." Nowadays, it means something rather different, but then it meant an endless round of parties, balls, and events of one kind or another of varying degrees of dreariness, lasting nine months, in the hope of nabbing a suitable husband.
Accordingly, in pursuit of this venture, in 1962, our father purchased a house in London, no 44 Smith Street, just off the Kings Road, and our mother to whose mill this kind of thing was very grist, set to with a will. Parties were organised, photographers were arranged - that very beautiful one on the inside cover of the service sheet is the result of one of them - in the words of Hilaire Belloc, "the stocks were sold, the press was squared, the middle class was quiteprepared" - and a grand coming-out ball was organised to take place in May 1964 in conjunction with Iona's Perthshire friend, Diana Lyle.
It was to take place at Pimlico House, just north of London outside Hemel Hempstead, the home of our uncle, the Earl of Arran, a renowned columnist as well as a Director of the Daily Mail. He mentioned that the paper had recently signed a promotional deal with an obscure but promising band, and would we like him to see if they might be available to take care of the music side of things? Yes please, they were approached and said yes.
Iona, however, had decided she was having none of it. For all her lack of formal academic achievements she was far from stupid and could tell hwich way the wind was blowing, and went and scuppered the entire thing, by getting engaged. The handsome young Marquess of Lorne had appeared literally out of nowhere, and stolen her heart. The story was that he had seen a photo of Iona in the local rag, and said to himself, "This was the girl I am going to marry". Whether there is the slightest truth in this story, I do not know. But every good romance should involve a fairytale - why not? - and this was a charming and believable one.
All the arrangements had to be unwound at short notice, and the ball was cancelled. (The band in question later became better known as the Beatles. Now that would have been something).
And so, in its place, in July 1964, the grandest of grand weddings took place, at St Giles Cathedral in Edinburgh, 500 guests chomped their way through cake an champagne at the Assembly Rooms. A honeymoon followed in the Virgin Islands - interesting choice - and then the young couple (and gosh they were young! - Iona just 19, Ian 27 (settled down to ordinary life in London, where they lived and had their young family for the next 8 1/2 years.
And then, in April 1973, old Duke Ian died, and Iona suddenly found herself at the tender age of 27 chatelaine of one of Scotland's and indeed Britain's - finest and most important stately homes. It was a job she was born to; she took to it like a duck to water, and threw herself into it with gusto.
A couple of years later: catastrophe. In November 1975 the Castle was gutted and very nearly destroyed by a huge fire. Fortunately, however, most of the priceless contents were saved, thanks in large part to the heroice efforts of the local townspeople who turned out in force to help.
Confronted by such a catastrophe many others would have taken the modest insurance money and walked away - but not Iona and Ian. They threw themselves into the seemingly impossible task of restoration, launched a worldwide fundraising drive (this was long before the days of internet crowdfunding), and for 3 long years eked out an existence in the basement of the castle whilst working sometimes 18-hour days, cleaning and restoring all the armaments and treasures for which the castle was famous.
And when, 3 years on, the restoration had progressed sufficently to allow them to reoccupy the castle, Iona set about using her natural talents, and for the next 25 years until Ian's tragice and early demise she ran it as a perfect family home, welcoming endless and incredibly accomplished hostess, she made it all seem effortless - which of course it was most certainly not. It was a task she was entirely suited to. And she was the perfect foil to Ian, not naturally outgoing; together they made Inveraray into a byword for style, elegance, glamour and generous hospitality.
It helped that she was an inspired and original cook, something she inherited from our mother. Iona dressed the part, always looking incredibly glamourous. But she knew how to enjoy herself too: she smoked, drank gin, and was the queen of the dry sherry department pre-lunch - always followed by beer (never wine). She always looked a million dollars at the Oban Ball, the Caledonian Ball and on every occasion when she was required to play the part of the First Lady of Clan Campbell. She dazzled effortlessly, with her perfect figure and stature. Ian's whisky ventures took them all over the world - he was a shy man, but with Iona at his side they dazzled and charmed wherever they went.
Then, totally unexpectedly, Ian died in April 2001, and Iona found herself a widow at 55, 3 years after Ian's death she found solace in the company of Lars Ahrell, making a new home and a new life at Stronmagachan, spending 17 extremely happy years together until, sadly Lars' own health problems made it impossible for him to continue there. Lars was enormous fun to be with, and made Iona laugh - and the rest of us too. Lars had energy and purpose, and a sense of fun to match Iona's, and he was there to ease the inevitable, and inevitably traumatic, move away from Inveraray Castle. They travelled together a great deal and were hugely energetic. I went on a number of trips with them, and during when everyone else was having a siesta after rather too good a lunch, the two of them would be off and away on bicycles for hours at a time.
What more can I say about Iona? She had grace, and effortless elegance. She was the very embodiment of Kipling. "If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue, or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch" (you know the rest) - Iona frequently found herself walking with Kings - well Queens I suppose - and was summoned to Balmoral every summer - Ian was the Master of the Queen's Household in Scotland. But she never ever lost the common touch; she followed in the footsteps of our grandfather Sir Ian Colquhoun, whose legendary ability to connect with and inspire people she inherited in spades. These are natural gifts, not learned ones.
During her life, she had so many parts. She was a champion rifle shot in the 1980s, competing and winning medals at Bisley. She taught herself gardening, and struggled to maintain the castle gardens when funds were tight, putting in many hours herself. More recetnly she created an interesting garden at Stronmagachan. She took up scuba diving, learning in the chilly waters at the Dive Centre at Dunoon, and became highly proficient at it.
Iona was modest and never spoke much about herself and her deep local community involvement. She was very much involved with the church and was an elder. She took a lead in fund raising events, Christmas Fairs, country dancing and so on, and everyone who knew hwer would say she was a marvellous person to work for and with. She made an amazing fist of buying stock for and running the castle shop, having been taught the dark arts of retailing at a course at Stirling University, and then learning on the job - not an easy skill to acquire.
She was supremely competent at Anything to do with her hands, which were never idle - after everything else had been done in the day, there was always a ball of wool to be found in them. Iona had huge talent and total self-confidence in all her creations. She made curtains for all her houses - no mean tassk when your windows are 16 feet tall - and learned how to upholster sofas in her airy first floor workroom in the castle, equipped with an industrial sewing machine. She made beautiful tapestries, elaborate shooting stockings, smocked dresses for children, and all other manner of knitted goods. There was absolutely nothing she could not turn her hand to.
Iona was an animal lover. There were always dogs galore, chichuahuas in the early days, dachsunds, lurchers and latterly cocker spaniels when picking up at shoots was important to her way of life. There were ferrets, and a buzzard attached to a chain, Iona with a huge gauntlet. She was never happier than when out of doors and she was at bottom a true countrywoman, a keen stalker, and a crack shot - there was no one better to take to the hill with. She loved and knew the Inveraray hills intimately and, would swim in anything at any time. More recently, she took to growing her own oysters and never failed to turn up with a succulent dozen or two whenever she came to visit.
She was devoted to her family, and adored her children and grandchildren. And she was to the end the loyalest of daughters to our parents who, it must be said, were not always the easiest.
Iona faced the manner of her death with courage and complete realism. When in January it became clear that the end was near, her cousin Caroline Stanley asked her how and where she wanted to die. She simply said: "quietly, at Stronmagachan." And that is how it happened.
When I think of Iona, I think of those lovely words of the 19th century American poet Fitzgreene Halleck - "Green be the turf above thee/ Friend of my better days/ None knew thee but to love thee/ nor named thee but to praise."
I can think of no more perfect summing up of Iona.
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1945 - 2024 (78 years)
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