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Guardian Article

The lie becomes one’s life; the past becomes hard to recognise as one’s own. I often wondered when the ghost of Duncan Roy would come claim me.

duncan roy as anthony rendlesham

This week, we met Thomas Salme and Adam Wheeler, the former fined for lying about holding a commercial passenger pilot’s licence and the latter for reinventing his academic career.

When I read about men like this, I remember the time I was, in the words of the News of the World, “The Lord of The Lies”.  I was the “Credit Card Earl” who apparently funded his “jet-set lifestyle” by spending money on his credit card with no intention of paying the bill.

For this petty crime I was sent to prison for 10 months.  I was 23.  Made an example of just in case there was some other working class lad who thought he could con his way into the aristocracy.

Wheeler, also 23, was “showered with scholarships” and will be harshly punished; Salme has escaped with a smallish European fine.  Yet, even as they wish to punish them, the public’s attitude toward accomplished liars will be tempered by some envy.

Yes, of course, it’s scary that a man with no formal training can fly commercial passenger jets but, really, who gives a damn if Wheeler reinvented his CV so that he might enjoy the delights of a great university?  Wouldn’t we all, at some level, like to reinvent ourselves?   Public condemnation conceals a private longing for becoming who we always wanted to be.

Come on! Let’s face it, we all tell lies. Some of us just do it rather grandly.

I was 18 when I changed my name. The press loved to describe me as coming “from humble beginnings”.  I would describe my childhood differently: born into a complicated family shamed by illegitimacy.   I realised that there was a better life, a simpler life to be had by telling a lie.  Lying from the earliest age because I simply had no idea what the truth was. My family was riven with lies. My father was in fact my stepfather and the entire family colluded to keep a secret from me, a small boy, by telling lies.

I ran away to Paris, away from the tears and the drama, the secrets and lies. I took the truth by the scruff of the neck and chucked it on to the Rue St Anne. I not only changed my name to Anthony Rendlesham but also appended a delicious title.

Lord Anthony Rendlesham.

Oh, just remembering it now, that moment in Paris after nearly 30 years of not lying about my name causes the hairs on the back of my neck to stand on end. It was so bloody exciting!

When I first lied about my name I expected the lie to vanish after a few hours. In fact, I would tell the same lie for nearly three years. Every time I said my name I buried my sad and ghastly past under the psychic woodpile.

Both the fake pilot and the fraudulent Ivy Leaguer must have known that they would one day get caught. Yet, from my experience that risk fades into the back of one’s mind as the lie grows exponentially. The lie becomes one’s life; the past becomes hard to recognise as one’s own. I often wondered when the ghost of Duncan Roy would come claim me.

For some, pretending is cathartic – a rubbing out of the past one seems to have no control over. I can spot a liar at 50 paces and can tell the truth about others like no one else I know, but the truth about myself was far too excruciating.

Telling the truth is made harder because we live, in the words of Michael Moore, in “lying times”. Honesty has very little currency in modern life – especially in the US where everyone feels that to tinker with the truth is essential if one is going to get on – from the monumental lies politicians tell about weapons of mass destruction and secret torture to the grotesque micro lies we tell ourselves when we allow the plastic surgeon to reinvent our faces.

Both of this week’s imposters worked very hard on their lies: Salme trained all night on a flight simulator; Wheeler became a convincing academic. I was a mere amateur compared with these two. I did not profit from my lie (the credit card was in my own name – I used it right at the end of my adventure, to pay for dinners and shirts).

I simply changed my name and learned how to hold a knife and fork properly. The various aristocratic tribes I infiltrated seemed to accept what I told them as the truth because I sounded right and I was a great deal of fun. They liked having Anthony around.

Of course I didn’t know how (Anthony’s) friends would react to finding that they had a dog in their aristocratic manger. Years later, however, a few of them contacted me, invited me to dinner and told me how sad they were that I had vanished, that they wanted me to know they had liked me, whoever I was pretending to be.

It was a very moving moment. Yet, regardless, they didn’t really know me.  I didn’t really know me.

It would take years of therapy, trauma work and sobriety for me to get to know who I am and put a stop to the fear and shame and resentment.

Like Wheeler and Salme, I know how it feels to be thrust back into one’s own skin.

Part of me will always be Lord Anthony Rendledsham. Anthony is the dynamic, charming, forceful part of me that gets things done. He is stronger than the Duncan me. He protects me when I feel vulnerable or afraid. He is the furious part of me, the catty, sharp-tongued bitchy part  of me who can make terrible enemies. I know that he wants me for himself.

Recently in therapy I realised that I can take what I need from Anthony, the good parts, and leave the rest.

Occasionally I can feel him surging through me.  Whenever I feel that crippling toxic shame I used to feel every day – I can feel him want to stand in front of the child me and fight those who give me pain. But now I can say to him, hey, I can deal with this. Thanks, but no thanks. And he skulks away.

As I grow older I strive for authenticity. I embrace the truth. Even though I fail, I try living without telling lies.  It is the hardest thing of all, the decision not to delude others or myself.

11 replies on “Guardian Article”

…hey duncan….you are a fabulous writer….hurry and write your book…xxoo

Great picture, very handsome!Funny, that furniture is exactly what you’d find in a Persian household.
the other stuff?You are right, your stuff is tame compared to those two.You were born into a lie, were lied to every day, all in all you did all right for yourself Duncan.

Can’t take my eyes off those shoes! Thoroughly enjoyed the article–both your style (as a writer and as Lord Anthony), and your insights.

Masterful article, Duncan. What I find interesting in your analysis (and useful as a template in keeping myself honest) is the complex dance of shame, cleverness and the painful, but therapeutic process of being found out. That piquant humiliation can be the best thing that ever happens to us. I inevitably thank those who call me on the bulls*** that, left unidentified, has the power to destroy. Well done! L

Wonderful article! Lord Anthony sounds like he had a great personality and you should embrace his bravery as your bravery. You really should write a book if you aren’t and if it wouldn’t be too painful. I’m sure your memoir would be a bestseller.
Have a nice weekend,
Lisa

Hi Lisa, Duncan made a film based on this adventure. It is called A.K.A. I bought my copy from Amazon.com.

Duncan,

You hit the nail on the head when you said that you now strive for authenticity. The two men that were mentioned were not striving to live authentic lives. If so, one would not have risked the lives of innocent people in order to fulfill his dream/fantasy of being a pilot and the other would not have trashed the incredible opportunity he had to “enjoy the delights of a great university” by using plagiarism to further his academic career once at Harvard. They were all about appearance and not substance.

People are upset because there should have been better safeguards to prevent the faux pilot from ever getting near a cockpit and because deep down, in the US, we still believe in a meritocracy. We believe that someone with talent has a chance to rise from humble beginnings to greatness which is why we have scholarships. There are many flaws in the system and not everyone who should get a chance, does, but we keep trying. Wheeler spit on the whole idea of merit being rewarded. He was indeed the dog in the manger, who prevented someone else from getting a scholarship and using the opportunity to grow and gain knowledge that he didn’t really appreciate. He wanted the appearance of Ivy league credentials without putting in the required work. He did not want what Harvard offered. He just wanted the brand name.

You on the other hand, were always, authentically — you — charming, incredibly intelligent and gifted, whether the package was wrapped in an aristocratic persona or not. You took every opportunity to learn from everyone and everything in order to become knowledgeable about art, fashion, theater and film. You became all of the good things about an aristocratic background — the appreciation of history, culture and fine art — and yes, some of the bad. The only thing lacking was the “legitimacy” of the title and the money backing it. As your friends said, they liked YOU.

We all wear masques and shift into different personas. Our appearance at work is probably not the same “face” that we show to our friends when we’re out bar hopping. The wife/lover, who becomes a mother, who is still a daughter, who works as an accountant but wants to be a painter, has to find a way to find a balance between the demands of sometimes, seemingly conflicting roles. The trick is not to get stuck in one role, say, mother, at the expense of the wife/lover. Or to let the accountant overshadow the painter.

The only difference between “normal” people and you, is that coming from such trauma, you put such energy into Anthony, that you believed that since the title and name were a lie, that that brave, talented, cultured man wasn’t really Duncan. As you said, you couldn’t really see yourself. But you’re finding out the truth. It was you all along. You have become more than a swan, arising like a phoenix from the ashes of abuse, you’ve become an eagle. You ride the thermals of this life and report back to us groundlings with your words and the art that you create. Your light blazes, Duncan. It always did. Float on.

Blessings,

Amanda

That is a ‘spot on’ description of the person we all have come to love. Great post Amanda, I hope D knows that most of us feel that way.We think he is genious,a talented narrator and a man with true taste.I agree completely with him being an eagle.Maybe a white eagle because they are the rare ones.

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